The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea (boyxboy)

CHAPTER 18

Portos Grava | Present Day

There have been very few times in Az's life where others have taken him this seriously. As a child running around Tahril, people tended to be more focused on whether or not that iron cuff was snapped shut around his wrist or ankle. It was his magic, his potential to do harm with it, that they concerned themselves with. During his homeless days in Albahri, when he was smaller and scrawnier than he is now, it wasn't often anyone would even give him or his companions a second glance. On board The Merry, he is ignored, chastised, or otherwise patronised.

When Slade reaches out to grasp his shoulder in a grip so firm it borders on painful, anchoring him to the present moment, Az still thinks he might be dreaming. Or having a nightmare. Slade shakes him. The nearest patrons of the inn stare.

He manages a single choked word; a name. Slade's glacial eyes harden, his mouth thinning into a grim line.

"Show me."

Az's desire to go back there is the same as his desire to once again jump into a sea full of thrashing sirens. But just like back then, he has no choice. Even if Slade hadn't said it with such finality, he would have no choice.

With the captain in pursuit, Az runs on shaking legs all the way back down the street, feet slapping hard on the dry pavement, dreading whatever it is they are about to find.

It's surely by some god's benevolent grace that they make it in time. Paver and his friends seem to be arguing, but at their arrival, the voices die down. Hasim and Eddie shift nervously.

Paver's dark eyes glare at Az with an entirely new kind of unadulterated anger, almost like betrayal, more like he knows he should have been expecting this and someone will have to pay. Az's mouth dries. He feels like he's done something wrong. He has. How many times in the past couple of months alone has Paver warned him off, reminded him and shown him how thin his patience has been wearing?

Ivan Paver had been the one to bodily coax Az out of hiding in those early days at sea. Ivan Paver is a man not afraid to get his hands dirty. In fact, he likes it. One thing he does not like is being told what he can and cannot do. And he especially does not like Az. All these things, Az knows, maybe had briefly considered somewhere in the back of his mind, before running away to tell on him.

That burning, rotted look Paver gives him says that he should have considered it more. The choice to interfere was the wrong one.

But if Paver's fury is to be feared, that is nothing compared to Slade's. Someone escorts the girl to her home before he lets loose. Az will later think the whole thing sort of fascinating.

Slade is neither tall nor short, but his body is willowy and almost delicate-looking as if his bones could snap like twigs with just the faintest amount of pressure. Paver towers over his captain by at least a foot, and is a fair bit bulkier. He still goes to the ground when Slade makes him.

The captain strikes too fast for Az to see if it's with a closed fist or an open palm. Paver's head snaps to the side and he bares his teeth, but before he can right himself, Slade aims a sharp kick to the back of his knee. With a grunt, it buckles out from under him, forcing him to kneel. Without hesitating, Slade seizes Paver's brown hair in hand and smashes his face against the wall of the nearest building. Blood trickles down the pirate's forehead.

"Ivan Paver, repeat rule number three," Slade commands, steely and cold.

Paver doesn't reply right away, so Slade pummels his head into the wall once more. The action leaves a bloody smear on the stone that Az stares and stares at.

"That's an extra ten lashes for hesitating. Rule number three, Paver. Do not make me tell you a third time." Twisted disgust cracks Slade's marble face.