Page 43 of The Sea of Zemira (The Zemiran Chronicles 1)

“Lincoln?”

“Yes, Nola.”

“I’m immensely grateful you are helping me. Truly, I am. I can’t repay you, other than the ruby—”

“I’m not takin’ your ruby, Nola,” he said hastily.

She lowered her brow with a sudden relief hitting her body. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you, Lincoln; I cannot tell you how much I appreciate that gesture.”

He pointed his finger past her at her bag against the wall.

“I placed it back in your bag. I put it inside a tote with a strap to keep it more secure. If a pirate out here were to see somethin’ like that tanglin’ from your wrist, they’d cut your hand off to get it.”

Nola’s stomach jumped.

“Mazie and Kitten are on deck waitin’ for you. They will give you your assignment for today. The crew can be a bit unruly from time to time, but we do our share to keep this ship tidy,” he explained. “Everyone works, but don’t worry, there’s plenty of time to enjoy these waters. Just not today.” The sudden shift in his mood and demeanor towards her was unexpected but comforting. “The ship took quite a beatin’ durin’ the storm, and we need to get her back to her ol’ self.”

Nola nodded eagerly.

Despite loving her chores and to-dos at her father’s workshop, she had never felt useful.

“Aye, Captain,” she said, saluting him. Her gesture only caused a small, barely noticeable smirk at the handsome captain’s lips.

* * *

When Nola stepped up to the main deck, she looked out to the water, staring at the waves. She inhaled the scent of wet cedar and rum. Then, as a reminder of being safe, Nola allowed herself to close her eyes and let the salty air fill her lungs. There was something she had not felt since the storm hit the night she broke onto the ship. Peace. No danger lurked in the waters—it was tranquil, serene, almost perfect.

Boisterous laughter drew her attention to the ship’s stern while Kitten and Mazie had to shout over the loud clamor for Nola to hear them from the other end. Both pirates stood by the broadside holding a fishing net and throwing their morning catch into empty barrels lined by a prep table.

“They all seem so lively this morning,” Nola said as she stood by Kitten.

Kitten and Mazie exchanged glances. “It’s the first time in weeks we’ve ’ad an afternoon where we weren’t tossin’ ’bout the deck from the ill weather plowin’ through the sea,” Kitten explained. “If I believed in the gods, I’d think they be tryin’ to murder every one of us.” She snickered to herself. “But we’re still standin’, aren’t we now?”

“Still standin’?” Mazie pointed her finger at different parts of the ship, babbling stuff the stowaway girl did not quite understand.

Nola followed the lady pirate’s finger, trying to catch what she meant. The deck was covered in ocean filth, along with several new cracks in the old wood. Half of their black flag had been ripped—pieces of it spread out along the deck.

“Is that what you call this?” Mazie said, her face taking on a bitter scowl. “Look at this mess.”

Nola somewhat agreed; everything was in bad shape. She did not get a look at the Sybil Curse before the storm. Still, it must have seen better days. Nola had spent most of her time hidden below deck during the storm. That morning, after being caught, she had not looked around to see the wreckage. All she could look at was the plank under her feet and then Captain Lincoln’s deep green eyes.

“Don’t ye worry, we will get ’er up to ’erself in no time,” Kitten assured. “Mazie, toss me that orange one, will ye?” She held up her hands. “Make sure they be dead before ye toss them over, eh. They are squirmy lil’ things.”

Mazie tossed her a bright orange fish, the size of a large boot, then pulled another net out from the water, all by herself. At least twenty fish fell from the frayed net and hit the deck.

“Ever kill a fish before, Nola?” Kitten asked, placing the fish in a large sack.

She shook her head. “My father was a fisherman,” she explained. “But he never showed me how to catch and prepare. I just ate it.”

Nola smiled at the memories of her father bringing home bunches of fish to provide for his family. A tear crept at the corner of her eye at how he would wait until she and her mother would finish dishing their own meals before grabbing one for himself. Often, he would go without his supper so his family could have a bigger meal. Nostalgia hit her. She missed them so much already.

Mazie rolled her eyes and pulled a knife from the sheath at her hip. She bent down and stabbed the fish clean through its bottom. Nola’s stomach cringed a bit; the slight rocking of the ship did not help either. Kitten, noticing Mazie’s bluntness, grabbed a knife herself, and started showing Nola how to do it.

Kitten placed the gutted fish inside a sack as Nola held it open. Mazie continued descaling her own and tossing them into another bag without uttering a word.

Why does she hate me so much?Nola thought.

Once the bag looked plenty full, Kitten signaled Nola to follow her below deck. As they entered the kitchen, Nola scanned the room, peering over at the stove, which was already boiling water. The scent of lemon and what she thought was maybe cinnamon filled the air. The space was mostly empty, but it was tidy. A long wooden table with eight chairs sat in the middle of the room. Several barrels stood in each corner, along with at least ten crates loaded with bottles of rum.

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