Vengeance of the Pirate Queen(11)

It must have been terribly expensive.

I try it on.

Fits like a glove.

I find the mirror near the closet and appraise myself.

I look … like a captain. Like a girl who’s meant to be seen and give out orders. The jacket hangs down to my knees, just above where the leather of my tall boots ends. The rest of my clothes are worn and faded, not matching at all with the fancy new coat.

Mandsy would probably say that I need to break it in. She’d point out it will get dirty and worn with usage. I’ve never been one to care what people think of me, but maybe that’s because I’m not used to them looking my way at all, not when I’m so careful to hide myself in the shadows.

I look above the coat, at the features of my face. I like to keep my hair in small braids, which I then pull back into a ponytail. I prefer it kept out of my eyes. Makes it easier to kill things. I have pointed features, strong cheekbones, and an angled brow. My nose is wide, and my brown eyes have a circle of black at the outer edge of the irises.

Even I can admit the coat looks incredible against my dark brown skin.

It would be rude not to wear it. The voice of reason in my head sounds strangely like Alosa’s.

But Mandsy’s not here to know whether or not I wear it.

You’re the captain, Sorinda. You need to look the part. You need to command the respect of all aboard this vessel. Just wear the damn jacket.

Before I can lose my resolve, I make for the door. When I open it, I leap backward.

A large body stands on the other side, fist upturned to knock.

Kearan.

His other hand is behind his back, clutching something.

“Captain,” he says, surprised by my sudden appearance. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You don’t scare me.”

He blinks once at that, then asks, “Can I come in?”

“No.”

“I have something for you.”

“I don’t like gifts.”

The silence is painful, but I refuse to let it show on my face. I say not a word more, nor do I move from my position. I will not back down.

Kearan brings his other hand around, and I see the rim of a tricorne pinched between his fingers. “I just thought, as the captain, you need a hat. Besides, you won’t be able to hide in the shadows like you usually do. Maybe the hat will give you some semblance of privacy. A way to hide your face when you wish. I would have given you something sooner if I’d known it was your birthday.”

I absolutely loathe the thoughtful gesture. What is this? Another attempt to win me over?

“I didn’t get you a present on your birthday,” I say.

“I don’t care.”

“You’re in my way.”

He steps backward. “Sorry, Captain.”

I haven’t the slightest idea what to do. That hat is still being offered to me, and some of the crew have to be watching. The way is now sort of clear, but how will it look if I brush past him without doing anything else?

In a split decision, I take the hat, toss it onto the bed behind me, then shut and lock the door before leaving Kearan standing next to it.

There.

Now I need to find Dimella so she can save me from any further interactions with this reprehensible man.

Instead, she finds me.

“Captain, all crew and supplies are accounted for. Vengeance is ready to set sail.”

That means it’s time to give my first order as captain. I swallow my discomfort. “Then let’s be off,” I tell her.

“Aye-aye. Kearan, to the helm with you!” she shouts to the man still standing behind me. “Weigh anchor! Riggers, to your posts!” I climb the companionway to join her atop the aftercastle. From here, I can see a single figure on the beach, strands of red hair brushing over her shoulders. Alosa waves.

I wave back as the ship starts to turn, heading for open ocean.

Here we go.

We’re sailing north to the Seventeen Isles. From there, we’ll take the same path the land king’s lost vessel, the Wanderer, did. Hopefully, we’ll catch some trace of her—and Alosa’s missing crew.

With the ship on its proper course and the sails set to rights, the crew is free to relax. Some go below for naps before they’re expected to take night shifts this evening. Others lean their forearms on the railing to watch the sun splay over the ocean. Girls chitter in the rigging, preferring to be up high. The crew is mostly women, I’ve noted. In fact, I’ve only counted five men, including Kearan and Enwen.

Alosa prefers it that way. Simply put, women make the best pirates. They think with their heads instead of their privates. They feel they have more to prove, so they work harder. They’re more honorable and trustworthy. There are, of course, the exceptions. Wallov and Deros, stars grant him rest, were fine pirates when they were on Alosa’s crew. And I’ve known women who double-crossed their own crews.

Still, numbers are numbers.

One of the men went below. Two others stand above the bowsprit, chatting with each other.

Dimella catches sight of them, too, and we both take their measure.

“What are we starin’ at?” Enwen joins us up top, placing himself between Dimella and the helm, where Kearan is stationed.

“The men,” Dimella answers for me, nodding at the fore. “They’re rather big.”