Page 14 of Crossbones
A ship thatdefinitelyshouldn’t be here.
“That’s a De’Vero ship.”
“She’s not flying De’Vero colors—” He trails off, knowing better than to question me. “Last I heard, the Seven didn’t bother with trade here. You think she was commandeered?”
It’s possible, especially since she’s flying the Black. But I don’t recognize the colors and I know Harrison doesn’t either. The flag is black with a simple white outline of swords crossing through an animal head—maybe a fox, but I can’t be sure from this distance. Usually the only ships you see anchored here are the occasional pirate ship or merchant from Ironhold or Brookveil.
Harrison lowers the spyglass and turns to me. “Want to investigate?”
“See what she’s hiding, then raid her. Whoever that is, she’s not part of the Pirate Coalition.”
Meaning the ship is fair game to loot.
The entire affair is over quickly as my men clear the ship quietlyto avoid signaling anyone on shore. By the time I climb over the railing and onto the ship’s deck, they already have the three men left behind lined up on their knees. I hear a scuffle, followed by shouts and curses, coming from the hallway leading below deck. Seconds later, Harrison comes stumbling out with Lan following. Both look furious and beat to shit. I raise an eyebrow at them as they drag the man responsible behind them. With a shove from Harrison, the man falls to the deck, clutching his side where red is seeping slowly through his white shirt. He climbs a little unsteadily to his feet and he’s—laughing?
Yeah, he’s definitely laughing.
Harrison steps forward and decks him across the face. The man goes down on one knee as Lan aims his pistol at him, but the entire event doesn’t quite smother his humor.
“You think this is funny?” Harrison snarls, yanking him up by his shirt.
The man scoffs, gets his feet under him and bares bloody teeth in a wild grin.
“What I find funny is you surprise a man with his pants down and then get your ass kicked—both of you—” He says, glancing at Lan who takes a step towards him, pistol still raised. “That’s what I findfunny. But we all can’t have my sense of humor I suppose.”
Harrison, sensing me, releases the man and steps back. Wiping blood from his face, he turns his back on him and stops at my shoulder.
“Let me kill him, Captain,” he snarls quietly.
I look at Harrison, noting the multiple cuts on his face, the quickly blackening right eye and how he’s favoring his left side. I’ve never known Harrison to lose a fight, or even come close. He’s still breathing heavily but attempting to get himself under control. Mostly I think it’s his ego that’s bruised but I don’t bother to comment on that.
I move past him, stepping towards the man responsible. Unlike the other three men who are on their knees, this one has presence. He’s standing tall, amusement still glistening in his eyes as he watches Harrison retreat. Besides the cut lip and a sword wound gently bleeding across his side, he looks none the worse for wear. Which tells me everything and nothing all at the same time.
I stop in front of him. “What’s your name?”
His eyes find mine and his attention slams into me like a physical force catching me off guard. Those eyes, filled with humor a moment before, are now sharp—calculating—and the most vivid blue I’ve ever seen in my life. They drift down my person and slowly, leisurely, make their way back up and suddenly I’m trying to avoid the thought of how this man is also absurdly attractive.
“My name is Fox, Captain.”
I highly doubt that’s his real name but I ignore it for now. I take another moment to study him. He’s tall, about my height and just as built—strong for purpose, not just aesthetics. Tousled brown hair and that smirk give him a rakish air and he has an authority about him that demands people stand up and take notice. He’s giving off the pretentious energy of a noble but as the Black snaps gently in the breeze above us, I’m reminded of the contradictory nature of my original observations.
Fox takes in my attention patiently and by the time I meet his eyes again the smirk is solidly back in place. Irritation floods me at his nonchalance and I’m about to speak when I catch a flash of black on his collarbone. Two steps and my knife is to his throat, my attention locking onto the five small stars inked along his skin.
“You’re one of the five Houses,” I snarl. “De’Vero?”
Something flickers in his eyes, noticeable only because I’m close enough to see the depth of blue and how they also bleed into green, like the sea on a clear day. He doesn’t seem concerned about the knife but he is deathly still—hopefully because he realizes an accusation like this could cost him his life where I’m concerned.
“Why do you say that?” He asks.
“The five stars—”
He makes a sound interrupting me. “Obviously, Captain, but besides that? I could very well be from any of the other Houses.”
My jaw ticks. “Your ship. It’s a De’Vero vessel.”
“Maybe it’s not my ship.”
“I’d be more inclined to believe that if you’d told me a name other than Fox, which happens to be the animal on the Black flying above us. Combined with the mark of the Houses and the De’Vero vessel we’re standing on—” I give him a humorless smile. “You can see how this looks.”
