“Aye to that,” Zumari agreed. “Besides, he’d take too much pleasure in eating our entrails. Methinks he’s the only captain alive—or dead—who craves a mutiny.”
“Would definitely explain some of his more peculiar actions,” Bart muttered before he cast an exaggerated grin toward Devyl. “Don’t know why I said that, Captain. Must be the witch a’witching my tongue.”
Devyl rolled his eyes at the sorry lot of them. “Sure of that.” His tone carried the full weight of his sarcasm.
“So what’s with the feathers?” Kalder picked one up from the deck to hand it to Devyl. “Not sure why it was worth the risk of attracting the witch’s notice for so paltry a thing.”
Before Devyl could answer, it was Belle who stepped forward and volunteered it. “Why, Mr. Dupree, ye might be able to swim with the fishes, but with what you have in your hand, the rest of us can fly with the birds.”
“Pardon?”
Devyl nodded. “With those … we can cast a spell that will grant us flight. Forget relying on the winds to find your Miss Jack. We’re going airborne to get to her. And this time, they won’t be able to stop us from taking her back.”
17
“He doesn’t love you. You have to know that his kind is incapable of comprehending what you think of as love. It’s beyond their ability.”
Mara ignored Strixa’s words as she went over the map in Du’s room while waiting on him to join her there. “You know nothing about him.”
Still in her owl form, she pinned those creepy red eyes on Mara. “I know his kind. As do you. They only value the goal and their people. You are a pawn to get what he wants. Worse? You’re his enemy.”
“And you are a troublemaker.” Mara picked up Du’s baldric from where he’d left it, draped across his chair. Hand-carved with intricate Celtic scrollwork, it was a piece of exquisite beauty. And a lot heavier than it appeared. Gracious! No wonder the man was so muscular, wearing things that weighed so much. “I won’t allow you to come between us.”
Strixa shook her fowl head. “I’m not the one who will come between you. He doesn’t need my help in that. You two have broken a cardinal rule. Think you you’ll be left alone to live in peace?”
That was honestly what she feared most. But she refused to show it to the creature. “I know what you’re about and it’s not working.”
Yet in spite of her denials, it was, and she suspected the witch knew it as well as she did. Returning the baldric to the chair, Mara swallowed hard. Even if Du’s flying spell worked, they still had a ways to go to get to the islands that made up the Quella.
Antillia shouldn’t be that hard to get past … especially if they weren’t in the water. It was policed by a group of fairymaids who were known to lure sailors to their deaths. They haunted the shoreline caves and rocks where they would call out for help, and when the unwary tried to lend a hand, the fey creatures would drown them. But so long as they didn’t wreck the ship or find themselves forced to land near Antillia, nothing would happen. The fairymaids shouldn’t come near them.
Of course, if they were flying it would put them directly in the path of the dragon clans who called Jesirat al-Tennyn home. In fact, that was what the island’s name translated to—Dragon’s Isle. Those vicious, bloodthirsty clans were highly territorial and wouldn’t take kindly to anyone venturing near their lands. They barely tolerated one another.
Humans were seen as nothing more than snack food.
Then they’d have to get past Satanazes—the demon island that was nestled close enough they’d have to approach it from the sea. Some twenty leagues west of Antillia, it would be directly in their path and would be tricky, as demons always were. A mist covered the island and shielded their presence. Some claimed the mist itself was a demon.
The only ones who knew for certain were the unfortunate victims who’d been eaten or enslaved by the island’s inhabitants. And none of them ever escaped to tell others what happened there.
As for the Meropis island, rumors claimed it was inhabited by flesh-eating, soul-sucking creatures who preyed on any dumb enough to venture there. They were worse than even the demons, and were said to be far more unholy.
Crueler.
Those vanishing islands were directly responsible for many of the legends that made up the Caribbean. The monsters and mysterious disappearances. It would be hypocritical of her to not believe in them, given that her own race could turn into and live as trees.
Still …
She knew how humans could also twist, turn, and expound on reality. So what was told and what actually existed could be radically different. A little truth went a long way in an overactive imagination and the overblown legends people told for attention.
Suddenly, she felt the air behind her stirring. A smile spread across her lips at the rich masculine scent that warmed her an instant before Du wrapped his arms around her and pressed his cheek to hers.
“Sorry it took so long to get away. Janice took more convincing than I thought to get her to leave for Santiago’s crew. But she’ll be safer there for the time being.”
Closing her eyes, she savored the sensation of being engulfed by him. And a part of her wanted to kick herself at the centuries she’d deprived them of that could have been spent like this. And for what?
Vanity? Stupidity? Stubbornness?
Things that no longer seemed to matter.
“Is anything amiss?”
He glanced to Strixa. “Nay. Not where I’m concerned. What treachery has the she-bitch wrought?”
“Pardon?”
He stepped back. “If she’s anything like Vine, I shudder at what lies, doubts, or half-truths she’s filled your head with in my absence.”
Strixa squawked indignantly at his words.
Mara laughed. “Fear not. I didn’t listen.”
“Good. Because the only one to hear is me.”
But as he leaned against his desk to study the map, her gaze went to his battle-scarred hand that toyed with the hilt of the dagger that held the parchment in place. In spite of her bold words otherwise, doubt played in her head.
Worse? It played in her heart.
Strixa was right. Du was a creature of extreme and utter violence. Love didn’t come easily or naturally to him. It was an alien concept. As foreign to him as generational war was to her. While she knew it existed, she wanted no part of it and didn’t really understand those who partook of it or why they did so.
And in that moment, she didn’t see the loyal pirate captain in front of her. She saw the ancient warlord, covered in blood and dressed in his black armor. Saw his black braids and beard. The arrogance of his swagger as he returned from war and strode through their hall to claim Vine while his bloodlust still colored his cheeks.