Page 43 of Virelai's Hoard
The last time she’d felt that something, she’d fucked herself on Sable’s tongue. She knew better than to expect anything of the sort now.
But she couldn’t help herself. The echoes of the siren song still had her nerves fraught with tension. Sable had only helped in part. Or, if she were to be entirely honest with herself, she’dbeen feeling drawn to Calla for a while now, siren song or not. Not even the funeral dimmed her curiosity. Quite the opposite, in fact. Riley knew she wasn’t a good person, and the darkness she’d glimpsed inside the captain felt like an echo of her own. Eryx had struck at a soft spot, and Calla had struck back. If the captain had just laid down and took it, Riley would’ve been frankly disappointed.
“Maybe you should. Make it a habit.” Riley met Calla’s gaze evenly, testing the waters.
Calla raised a smooth eyebrow at her. “And why is that?”
Absent-mindedly, Riley rubbed her thumb against a slight bump on her cup. “Your crew would appreciate it.” Then, lower, licking her lips. “Imight appreciate it, too.”
Calla’s eyes flicked to Riley’s lips. For just a moment. It was enough to make them tingle. There were no other sounds other than their breathing and the faint creak of the Moonshadow somewhere low below them. “Has anyone told you you should be careful what you wish for?”
Riley’s lips spread into a wide grin. “You have no idea.”
Calla laughed. It was sudden and startlingly beautiful.
Riley wished she could capture the sound so she could listen to it again, because it was over too soon. But the captain’s blue eyes held a spark that hadn’t been there before. Riley had done that, just by being silly. The thought made her both want to beam and to slap herself.
The spark faded as Calla’s gaze shifted to the porthole. Tonight, the sky was clear, and up on deck, the stars shone brightly. Not in here, though. The light of the lantern hung on the wall robbed them of the sight. All that came from the porthole was darkness.
“Maybe one day.” The captain’s voice had gone soft. Yearning.
Riley frowned at her, but Calla’s mind seemed to have wandered somewhere far away. “Why not now?” she probed.
She could blame the nosiness on the rum. The alcohol was already making its effect, a warm rush spreading up her neck. She should’ve sat on the bed, with Calla, draw her out of her own mind with a small touch here, a casual brush of the leg there. But she hadn’t dared to when sober.
For a moment, it seemed as if the captain hadn’t heard her, but then her eyes slowly came back into focus. “You don’t know what it’s like to shoulder the weight of people who depend on you. Do you, Riley?” When Calla’s blue eyes peered into hers, they were startling in their intensity. It wasn’t the sort of thing one just got used to.
Riley shifted in her seat, suddenly uncomfortable. She glanced at Patch–who was more than capable of taking care of himself–and said, “No, I don’t.”
It was the truth, for once. Someone else depending onher? That wasn’t something that would ever end well.
Calla sighed. “Every step I take, every decision I make, lives depend on it. Not just my own. Everyone’s. If I falter right now,allof you could die. I cannot afford distractions.”
“But…” Riley tilted her head, studying Calla. “You’re not alone. You don’t have to bear it by yourself.”
Calla smiled. It was indulgent, more than anything, as if she were dealing with a child who didn’t know much of the world yet, didn’t know how things really worked. Riley felt vaguely offended. Then Calla’s eyes fell to Riley’s hands.
Just now she realized she was massaging her own palm, comforting the phantom pain in fingers that weren’t there anymore. She stiffened as she anticipated Calla asking about them, about what she’d done to earn that. Stopping the massaging, she picked up the empty cup from her knee again, filling it up just for something to do.
But Calla didn’t say anything. She got up instead, walked to the other side of the bed, and bent to rummage through herbedside drawer. When she came back, she was holding a small, black, folded bundle of… something.
She handed it to Riley.
“I can never be anything but alone,” Calla said as Riley unfolded the bundle. “It’s best if you go now. You and Patch. Consider this a small thank you. For the company.”
Riley frowned down at the items in her hands. A pair of leather gloves. She traced the material with the tips of her fingers, turned them around, her eyes scanning the stitches, their softness. This wasn’t a small gift. They were expertly made. If she were on land, she’d sell them and use a tenth of the earnings to get herself a cheaper, more practical version.
Riley didn’t receivegifts. And certainly no one paid her any mind to guess at things she wanted, needed, craved. Her throat felt tight as she stood and looked at Calla, and she had no idea what her face was showing right now. She didn’t know what to say, or feel.
And suddenly, surprising them both, Riley closed the distance separating them with a step and wrapped her arms around Calla. She smelled like the sea after a storm, of salt and stone and something ancient and wild beneath it all. And she wastense. Tenser than Riley had ever been able to tell just by looking at her.
Before she had a chance to push Riley off, Riley already stepped back, gathered Patch, and left.
A strange ache settled in her chest as she closed the door behind her.
Still clutching the gloves in her hand, Riley carefully set Patch on the floor and walked away. It took her several steps to realize there was no signature scuffing of little claws following her way, and she stopped, glancing back. Then she fully turned to stare at Patch, frowning.
He was sniffing beneath Calla’s door. Then he rose on two feet, scratching lightly at the wood, as if he wanted to be let back in. Riley’s frown deepened.
