Lions of the Sea

50

Marina filled her lungs in the salty air and closed her eyes, feeling the caressing wind on her skin. She didn't want to think. Her thoughts hadn't given her a break ever since Castillano had vanished behind the horizon. She didn't want to feel, either. Her emotions seemed about to choke her. But no matter how hard she tried, she still felt the lump up her throat and the tears flooding her eyes.

Her hand slid slowly, gently along the gunwale, yearning for that sensation she'd grown used to. That warm, invisible embrace, the certainty that she was not alone. But this time it didn't offer her any comfort, for it felt like a persistent call she didn't want to heed. She didn't want to meet with her father and her uncle so soon. She didn't want to melt into the waves of gold and sapphire stroking her ship. Not yet. Not like that, to entertain a bloodthirsty mob that would cheer out loud when the noose broke her neck.

She'd thought she'd see her mother again. She'd dreamed of dying in battle, like Wan Claup. A good death, as a Brethren of the Coast.

But she had no right to seek such a death and drag all her crew along. Not while there was a chance to save them. She owed them that much. Her men had defied rules and superstition just as much as she'd done. They'd dared to follow a girl, bearing mocks from friends and strangers alike. It didn't matter that every time they moored back in Tortuga stuffed with plunder nobody mocked them again. They'd needed real courage to sail under her. And they'd done it.

So she had to be up to it.

For them.

"Not yet, Father, Uncle," she whispered. "But soon."

Morris found her on the bridge, eyes lost in the northern horizon behind them, where what was left of the Armada would show up any moment now, chasing them down.

"We're finished with the hull," he said.

"We need to talk, you and I," Marina said, as if she hadn't heard him.

"What is it, pearl?"

"Tell Briand he's in charge of everything for an hour and come meet me in the cabin."

Marina looked back one last time and left the bridge, avoiding eye contact with him.

The pirates traded concerned looks when they saw her lock herself up in the cabin in the middle of the day. And again when they saw Morris follow with a concerned frown. And yet again when they heard their voices from the cabin, engaged in a heated argument. That gave them a bad feeling. What could've happened for those two, who were like siblings, to fight?

In the cabin, Marina held Morris' glare without a blink. He turned to the table and swept everything on it to the floor, charts, tea cups, instruments, cursing aloud.

"Face it, Morris: we'll never make it to Curaçao. They'll catch up with us today, tomorrow tops. And then what? Should we invite them to tea, like I did with Castillano?"

"We'll fight! What was it you said? This is the damn Phantom!"

"And it's damn battered! It'd be a slaughter! And that's what I'm trying to prevent!"

"No, Marina! I won't let you do it! I'll kill you myself if I have to!"

His next words died away when she reached out to him.

"It's the only way," she said with a shaky voice. "Please, help me find the courage to do it."

Her tears defused him in a heartbeat, and he circled the table to hold her tight to his chest. "I can't, Marina. I can't let you do it," he murmured against her hair. "Not now, not ever." She clung to him, crying. "Come, my pearl, calm down. We'll find a way."