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“How generous of you.”
“Hey, you stabbed me in the heart. I’ll seek retribution however I see fit. It’ll give me immense pleasure to slay you grandly, and in broad daylight, for all to see.”
“You are your mother’s son, alright,” mumbled Berolt, half to himself.
The commander gave him a sharp look, but said nothing.
Riella pulled herself onto her feet by gripping the wooden panels of the wall. The ship hit a wave, sending the bow high and the floor rocking. She stumbled and fell forward onto her hands and knees, causing her to hiss and spit in frustration.
“Gods, I better make sure you can walk,” said Jarin. “Artus is no puppy-dog and you’ll need the use of your legs. Go to the helm, will you?” he added to Berolt, who nodded and left up the stairs.
“I don’t need your help,” she replied, standing. “Ouch!”
The soles of her feet were uncomfortably sensitive and she’d stepped on a rock. The pirate offered his hand and she ignored it.
“Take my hand, for gods’ sake. It won’t kill you to touch a man, you know.” His gravelly voice became serious. “You need to be able to defend yourself, don’t you?”
“You threatened to kill me a minute ago!”
A deep frown creased Jarin’s brow. “Yeah. But I’m not talking about death. I’m talking about what Terrick and Lovel would do to you.”
“Oh.” Riella’s face grew warm. “Well, I was handling it.”
His frown cleared and he snorted. “That you were.” After contemplating her for a moment, he offered his hand again. “Here.”
She pushed up the sleeves of the oversized shirt and took his hand. His skin was warm and his palms were slightly calloused.
“Clothes are so uncomfortable,” she said, to distract from the strangeness of holding a man’s hand. “I don’t understand why you all wear them. Bodies aren’t shameful and they shouldn’t be something to cover up.”
“In your opinion. I don’t want to see what my crew are rocking beneath their clothes.”
Riella gained her balance, her feet flat on the rocking floor. Holding onto Jarin’s hand did help keep her steady. Her core muscles tensed, distributing her body weight evenly on her legs.
“Good point,” she conceded. “I don’t, either.”
“Go on. Take a few steps.”
Riella walked several shaky steps, frowning fiercely down at her pale feet in concentration. Jarin’s boots moved alongside her.
“Makes it all the better, though,” he murmured. “When a member of the fairer sex finally does take her clothes off for you.”
Caught off guard, she looked up at him mid-step. A wave buffeted the hull and sent her sideways. Jarin broke her fall with his arm around her waist, hauling her back to her feet.
While the waves subsided and the floor stopped careening, Riella held the pirate’s muscular forearms. For some reason, he didn’t make her skin instinctively crawl, the way the other men did, despite that he’d promised to kill her. Why was that? Because he was handsome? She would never be that shallow, would she?
She’d always thought men were all the same—probably because she’d never had cause to distinguish between them. If they were in the ocean, they were the enemy. It was simple.
But now, forced to consort with men up close, she was fast realizing it was helpful to gauge them as individuals. Polinth was vile. Berolt had shown her kindness. Terrick, vile. Lovel, vile.
Jarin? Remained to be seen. He had blackmailed her into killing someone.
“Who’s the sorcerer you know?” she asked, wanting to break the loaded silence between them. Jarin was so close she could feel the steady in and out of his breath. “The one who studied with Polinth.”
“What’s at the Black Cliffs?” he repeated, conspicuously dodging her question.
“Someone who I promised would live. And someone I promised would die. Who’s the sorcerer you know?”
A horn blared outside, sending a shiver through Riella’s body. She’d heard that ominous sound many times before. During the war, the Dark Tide Clan would use it to signal to each other’s ships that sirens were attacking. To her, it meant a fight was imminent.
