The Nightingale

Chapter Thirty-One

When she woke later in the afternoon, rolling onto her back with a stiffness in her neck, her shoulder brushed against another object in the bed and she jumped at the contact, sitting up quickly and looking down at John's body next to hers. He was lying on his stomach, his feet still in their boots as they hung off the edge of the bed onto the chest at the end, his hands both tucked underneath the pillow resting below his cheek. Even in his sleep, however, he seemed tense, his muscles tight and his brow furrowed together slightly, creasing his forehead. Whatever was perplexing him in sleep had pulled him in deep enough that he didn't stir when Natasha brushed against his shoulder, nor when she sat up quickly, jostling the bed. His only movement came from the subtle rising and falling of his back as he respired, and Natasha took this moment to study him again.

Removed of all of his layers of clothing around his torso, except for a simple, long-sleeved undershirt that had hitched up to the middle of his back, Natasha could once again see the raised, pink scars that were woven across his back. They reminded her of the angry strokes of her charcoal she etched into paper when she was feeling frustrated, and she felt the urge to run her fingers over the scars until John started to stir beside her. She watched as he turned his head over so he was resting on his other cheek, turned towards where she had just been laying, and stretched his hand out across the empty space. His fingers curled into the empty folds of the blanket and then his body stilled, his only movement once again being the slow rise and fall of his back as he continued to sleep. Once she was sure he was entirely asleep once again, she carefully climbed off the end of the bed and made her way across the floor, looking back at John once before she quietly slipped out of his room.

Out on the main deck, much of the activity from the morning had given way to a calmer afternoon, as The Nightingale sailed easily across clear waters, and the men around her moved with much less urgency, making it easier to find the particular pirate she was searching for. Standing at the helm, flanked by Maverick and Adan, was Castille, and as Natasha approached them, all three stopped their conversation and turned their eyes towards her. She met each of their eyes in turn, beginning with Maverick, holding his gaze the longest, searching his expression for any kind of remorse in his eyes over what he had done, but his expression was cold and his dark eyes distant as he looked just beyond her head. Adan smiled at her, always one of the kindest of the crew members, and nodded his head slightly in her direction.

When her eyes landed on Castille, she felt herself involuntarily square her shoulders as she looked into his gray eyes, his expression emotionless, but not unkind.

"I need your help." Castille's head tilted minutely to the side, barely noticeable even to Natasha, and his expression shifted as a curious look bloomed deep in his eyes. With a silent wave of his hand, Maverick took Castille's place at the ship's helm, and Natasha followed Castille as he walked a few paces away, steeling herself once again before asking for his aid.

An hour later, Natasha was hunched at the waist, hands pressed hard against her thighs to support her body as she hung her head, lungs gasping painfully for air. Her hair clung to her skin in damp strands, beads of sweat rolling down her skin as the late afternoon sun bore down on them mercilessly. Her sword lay by her feet where it had been knocked out of her hand for the tenth time, and Castille was standing a few pieces away, ordering her once again to pick it up.

Training with Castille proved much harder than training with Alexander, and any improvement that she felt she had made at wielding a sword in her sessions with Alexander felt insignificant as she reached down to pick up her sword once more, straightening her back as she looked at Castille. Gripping the handle tightly in both hands, she moved her feet apart when Castille instructed her to, moved her elbows in a way that mimicked his own stance, and waited. After a moment, he nodded at her, and Natasha lunged.