She sat on the rocky shore, hugging her knees to her chest and eating a piece of hot, buttered cornbread. Rohan sat quietly by her side, sipping some kind of herbal beer brewed in a cauldron.
After the morning’s run, she and Lir had spent the day practicing sword fighting. Her body throbbed with aches. I’d sell my soul for a hot shower.
Along with the sound of the waves rushing over the rocks, crickets buzzed and hummed. Lir had secluded himself a few hundred feet away, scribbling in a journal under the light of a foxfire sphere. The others sat around a campfire, eating stew and drinking beer from pewter mugs.
It was beautiful here. Fiona could understand why Nod was so in love with this life; why he thought it was worth the risk of death.
She wanted it badly now. Wanted to be one of the Picaroons, sailing the oceans with Nod. She’d have a home, at least. But Nod had said they were only looking for one new recruit out of each crop. No room for failures, he’d said. And what were the chances they’d choose her?
Rohan glanced up at the stars. “Has Lir relaxed any, or is he determined to drive you to an early grave?”
“We’ll be getting up in the dark for our morning runs. Aren’t I lucky for all this extra attention?” Truthfully, she didn’t mind so much. At least running was something she knew how to do.
Rohan picked a blade of grass from the rock and began peeling it down the middle. “What did you see when you walked the plank?”
The question shattered her sense of peace, and she inhaled deeply. “Violent things.” It was as much as she wanted to divulge. “What about you? You were the only one who didn’t seem rattled.”
“I saw myself, aging before my eyes. And then the life left my eyes, and I saw myself dead, decomposing in the earth.”
She blinked. “And that didn’t bother you?”
“I think about it all the time. I’m always rattled by it. But it’s not unfamiliar to me.”
She swallowed the last bite of cornbread. “Do you think it was showing us some kind of truth about ourselves? About our true natures?”
“I’m certainly preoccupied with death. It’s what got me kicked out of Beaucroft.”
“Do you miss it?”
“I miss my boyfriend, Tristan, but I don’t miss all the pointless spell-casting lessons. ‘Let’s make a table float through the room for no reason at all,’ ” he mimicked in a falsetto before turning to look at her. “What about you—do you miss anyone?”
“A few people.” Tobias. Mariana. Celia. Mom—but she couldn’t think about them. If she started crying, the tears wouldn’t stop, and everyone would know she was a mess. Mercifully, the sound of Valac’s fiddle interrupted their conversation, and she turned to look at the other recruits.
By the fire, Nod launched into a song about a woman named Eliza Lee, his voice sweet and strong. Berold and Ostap gripped each other’s arms and began swinging around in a wild reel, joining in for the chorus. Mid-reel, Berold paused to chuck his pewter cup at Rohan’s head, and it clunked off the back of his skull.
Jerks. Fiona wondered again why Ostap and Berold didn’t bully Ives, who wasn’t a big, brutish lout like them. Even she could break his nose.
Rohan’s face clouded, and he turned, snatching up the cup and chucking it back at Berold. But instead of the gaunt pervert, it cracked Ostap in the chin.
Ostap paused in his dancing, striding over to them. “What do you think you’re doing?” he snarled. “Oh look, a little lady sits on the rocks. Oh, and Fiona is there, too!”
Berold broke into a high-pitched giggle; his Russian friend leapt through the air, twirling once before kicking Rohan in the forehead.
Rohan gripped his head, scowling. “Watch it!” He turned to Fiona, muttering, “Twat.”
Marlowe sauntered over the rocks, a jug of rum in his hand. “Play nicely, children, and stop tormenting my recruit.”
Jacques stumbled alongside him. “They’re for us to torment.”
Marlowe pulled off his leather satchel and plopped down next to Rohan, steadying himself with a hand planted on the jagged rocks.
Jacques sat beside him, pointing an unsteady finger. “I take it you two haven’t made friends with those guys.”
“That would be accurate,” said Rohan.
“Think nothing of it.” Marlowe’s thin frame was hunched over his drink. “Some of Dagon’s men used to beat me. I even got pissed on once.”
Fiona cast a quick look at Lir, who still scribbled in his journal. “These guys? They beat you?”
“I never beat anyone,” said Jacques.
Marlowe waved it off. “Not anyone here. Dagon took them in the end, and now they’re sleeping in Davy Jones’ locker. Nod always had my back, even when we were kids. He’s the most loyal man you’ll ever meet.” He poured rum into Rohan’s cup, spilling some over the side.
She eyed Jacques. How did he feel about Nod? The Picaroons had kidnapped him from Dogtown. But she could read nothing in his calm features as he raised his cup. “To loyalty.”