Page 89 of Pirate Witch
Thankfully, my previous interactions with Alletta have been limited to selling her the occasional oddity we picked up. Even then, she rarely came to the docks. Rysen dealt with her on land, for which I’m eternally grateful. The mad witch gives me the creeps.
Nilsa bites her lip. “There’s a way to wield the power of the Sun and the Moon,” she admits. “The high priestesses outlawed it centuries ago because it turns witches mad, but it also makes them powerful. Alletta is one of them, so is the Alchemist, Lily.” She sighs and touches the rock again. “I think she was saying that the sigils on this tablet are the key to unlocking that power without the madness, but she’s so crazed, I doubt that’s true. If it was, she’d have used it on herself.”
“Madness isn’t worth the risk,” I mutter. “If you turn into anything like that fucking lunatic…”
It would be worse than her dying. The thought of seeing her, walking and talking, but completely different to how she used to be… It would destroy us.
“I’m not going to do it,” Nilsa retorts, staring at the stone. “Alletta is crazy, and I don’t plan to cross the line into that territory. It… it scares me.”
“Good.” As far as I’m concerned, we should break the stupid rock right here and now, but I know she’ll never let that happen.
Witches and their sacred artefacts.
At the very least, I want it far, far away from her.
“Anyway, we should probably get this off the ship. Can you teleport it to the Lunar Temple? That way, Danika can keep a close eye on it.”
I shrug to disguise how relieved I am that she’s the one to suggest it. Not giving her a chance to second-guess her decision, I send out my power and a deep purple transmutation circle flares to life beneath the cursed boulder for a second before it disappears. It takes a lot of concentration to move something so far away, but the lightness I feel when it’s off my ship is worth it.
If that thing contains some magic sigil that will turn our witch crazy, then I want it far away from our home.
ChapterThirty-One
VALOREAN
Nilsa looks around the hold, seemingly at a loss with what she should do now that she’s here. Or perhaps she—like me—doesn’t know what the fuck to say when we’re alone together.
I stroke a hand down one of the beams, my gut clenching as I recall just how it felt thinking I was going to die. How I couldn’t even think of my ship. Only her. Not that I’llevertell her that.
Fuck. I’ve had enough of not knowing what to say. I’m sick to fucking hell of this gap between us.
Nilsa has bent enough for me over the course of our relationship. Offered enough olive branches. Now it’s my turn.
When I raise my head to look at her, she takes a step back. That tiny action is almost enough to make me rethink my decision, but I take a deep breath and force away the doubts plaguing me. I step forward, holding my hand out.
“While we’re here, I’d like to show you something.”
Surprise flickers in her eyes, laced with a healthy dose of wariness.
Ah fuck, am I really that much of an asshole that she has to be so suspicious of my motives?
Yeah, okay, I probably am.
The feel of her tiny, cool hand in mine shocks me out of my musing, and I look up to find those spectacular grey-blue eyes trained on me.
“Yeah, okay.”
Two simple words, but it feels like a lifeline between us, and I cling to it like a dying man. My fingers curl around hers, pulling her closer even as a rope uncoils from the ceiling and wraps around the two of us. We’re lifted up through the floor, and through room after room until finally we reach it.
The heart.
“I know we’ll probably have to hand it back to the wraith now that I know it’s technically one of their people.” I release the rope and scratch the back of my neck. “But because of the way it lights the room, I’ve always called it the heart of the ship.”
Nilsa says nothing, stepping away and taking in the room rather than focusing on the giant, pulsing crystal like I expect her to. Shit, she’s going to notice all the cushions on my bed. And to make things worse, theDeadwoodhas fluffed them all and made the bed just to highlight my collection. Fuck. I brace myself for her scorn.
It never comes.
She walks right by the bed, as if my unmanly collection of cushions isn’t even noteworthy, heading straight for the overflowing workbench. Goddess, it’s a mess. Shit. Why did the ship decide to fluff the cushions but not clear up my desk?
