Page 66 of The Sea of Zemira (The Zemiran Chronicles 1)

Kitten,Nola thought.

The golden-eyed pirate stood at the other end of the ship with the rest of the crew surrounding her.

Nola’s eyelashes fluttered faintly. “She sings beautifully.”

“Aye, shall we join them?” he asked.

She nodded. Lincoln placed his hand on her lower back and escorted the siren across the deck.

Hill leaned against the mizzenmast, with his legs crossed at the ankles, nibbling on a biscuit and an overly ripe apple. Ardley sat on a short stool—his pipe hung immobile from his mouth. The white smoke slid from his nostrils, tingling his pointed nose. Mazie sat straight up against the helm and combed her long jet-black hair with her fingers. Raven smiled despite her worry over the water. Seeing her crew—her most dear and only friends really, that happy, relieved the burden she felt upon her shoulders.

Lincoln piled a few sacks and laid a quilt for him and Nola to sit together on the cedar floor. Boots moved over to give them some room and wiggled his messy brows at the captain. Lincoln’s cheeks blushed under his scruff as he knew what his mate meant. Dyson laughed and leaned his back against the side of the ship. His eyes locked on Kitten’s, and she sang to him.

“We all think back with glee.

T’ th’ ships we sent t’ th’ bottom of th’ sea.

Th’ir crews all drowned ’cause th’y couldn’t breathe.

Sent beneath th’ waves like...scum!”

She bowed then took off dancing. A side smirk crossed her face as she wobbled on her heel.

“Now th’ sun’s so hot, time’s almost up.

No water t’ e’en wet th’ bottoms of our cups.

We may have just run out o’ luck.

Fish food we’ll be when ’tis sun comes up.”

Everyone sprang laughing, raising their glasses high and shouting, “Drink!” It was rum in their mugs, of course—because rum they had plenty.

“But let’s think back t’ th’ song o’ th’ wires.

Th’ flash of a blade when th’ cannon fires.

Th’ billow o’ t’ sheets and t’ creak o’ th’ masts.

We chose this life, and we know it can’t last.

We’ve paid the price. We’ll stay afloat.

There ain’t not leaks on this fine boat.

We’ll find a spring and drink our fill.

Then off t’ find, our next fine kill!”

She belched, placing her closed knuckle over her mouth.

“It may look bleak but show some spine.

Afore I put ye t’ th’ cats ’o nine.

Lubbers ’ave their yards, but I ’ave mine,

An’ they anchor th’ reefs in th’ gale.

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