Live to Venture (#0)

40 | The Spiral of Adventure

Liam was a man that fell hard.

He used to love the Avourienne with his whole heart, with his whole soul. The ship had been his everything, until he learned to love the crew even more. He was a man that fell hard for everything—women, friends, leaders. Vallin Bardarian was the first man to ever truly inspire him, so Liam fell especially hard for him.

It wasn't because of the unflinching cruelty or the horror and violence. Yes, Bardarian held his morals just as tight as the worshippers of the angels, regardless of anything else. It was admirable, but it was not what earned Liam's respect.

Instead, it was the instants between Bardarian's surety. The moments of confession to his strategist—that he was in love, that he was nervous, that he wasn't as confident as he seemed. It was in those moments that Liam developed pride. If Bardarian were naturally the perfect leader he appeared, then it wasn't all that impressive how he accomplished what he had. But the truth—that Bardarian was just a boy one day, and a king the next—was so much more important, because it was relatable. It was attainable, with the right amount of willpower.

Liam found himself spinning a gold band around his finger as he stood outside the captain's quarters. Bates and Rusher glanced up at him from the deck, but eventually they lost faith and decided they'd find hope elsewhere, perhaps in the rum.

The gold band was a bad habit. It was a ring he used to wear, back when he'd promised someone a whole lot of things. She'd been the love of his life, without a doubt. He knew that the second she dropped dead.

And here, now, there was nothing left to do but live on. Mourning was not something he understood. Perhaps he'd love someone again, but he'd never love like that another moment in his life.

His fingers shook as he spun the ring. He understood the kind of hell one lived in after the death of someone they truly loved. He understood it, truly, but he knew that Bardarian was different. He had the kind of fire that burnt a person inside out if they weren't careful.

As Bates and Rusher walked away, Liam raised his fist to the door and knocked. The first mate and the navigator stopped moving, then glanced up at the balcony. Liam had done what no one else had dared these past few months.

There was no answer from inside, so Liam knocked again. He spun the ring a few more times, and then he opened the door. To hell with this terror.

It was dark inside, the cruel red of the curtains dangerously close to the feel of blood.

"Captain?"

There was no answer. The curtains were all drawn, and the room wasn't lit with anything, so Liam had to maneuver carefully to avoid falling.

"Captain," he said.

"Fuck."

Liam heard the mumble before he saw the man, lounging in his chair, his feet up, the surface of the black wood covered in empty bottles.

Bardarian had once disparaged Liam for swearing so much. He advised him that no intelligent man resorts to profanities, which led Liam to discover that a fully formed thought always held more value than any curse could. When Silta came aboard, Liam noticed she'd never once used a swear. She had better ways to covey whatever it was she felt.

"Fuck," Bardarian mumbled again. He was sorting through the bottles, looking for a full one.

"Captain," Liam said.

Bardarian glanced up, his eyes hazy. "Liam? Good. Get another."

Liam looked down at the bottles. He shook his head. "I'm not getting you another."