Page 72 of Blood of Dragons

His eyes roamed over my face, taking in my features far longer than he took in anyone else’s.

“I know how to hunt. I’m good with the blade. I’d make a much better addition to your crew than the butcher’s son.”

He continued to stare at me as he considered the offer. The silence seemed to last a lifetime. Then he looked over his shoulder and made a gesture to the pirate who had the boy. “I accept your trade, good civilian.”

The pirate pushed the boy back to his father.

The man caught his son then immediately pulled him away, like Captain Blackstorm would change his mind and take us both instead.

One of the pirates grabbed me by the arm and escorted me toward the ship.

I twisted out of his grasp and shoved him hard in the chest, refusing to be manhandled by anyone. It was instinct.

He pulled out his blade like he wanted to cut me for my insubordination.

“Leave him be, Squid,” Captain Blackstorm said. “He comes willingly.”

I’d never sailed a galleon, but I learned quickly. I worked the ship with the others by day, and by night, I slept in one of the bunks below deck. It was no different from my life before, except for the fact that I never left the ship.

We sailed out on the blue ocean, nothing around us except the sea and the sun. I had no idea where we were or where we were headed, but it didn’t matter. I’d been floating through life for nearly two years, more dead than alive, so this suited me. Never in the same place for more than a day. Dwarfed by the size of the world that surrounded me. Unafraid to sink to the bottom of the ocean because my life had no value.

The crew seemed to have their own cliques and camaraderie, and the slaves weren’t a part of those social circles. We slept in the very bottom of the ship next to the supplies, and they didn’t make conversation with us.

Which was perfectly fine with me.

The slaves talked about how much they missed home and the people they’d left behind.

I didn’t join those conversations.

I was on the port side of the ship, adjusting the sails to catch the wind because the captain had changed our course. The wind blew through my hair, having a tinge of warmth that reminded me of home, of the evenings Vivian and I lay in the sand and watched the sunset. I was certain that was where we had conceived our child, our toes in the sand and wine in our bellies.

“You’re a decent sailor.”

I hadn’t heard Captain Blackstorm’s approach because I was lost in the memory of my dead wife. I secured the rope in place before I looked at him. “I used to be a fisherman.”

“A fisherman is no sailor. The comparison is an insult.”

“It won’t feel like an insult when we run out of food and you need me to fish for you.”

His hardened stare bored into my face like he was angry, but then a slow smile moved on to his mouth. “You’ve been on the crew for a month, and I haven’t heard you speak.”

“Not much of a talker.”

“Regret taking that boy’s place?”

The sun was directly in my face, so I had to squint to hold his stare. “No. He’s got his whole life ahead of him.”

“And you don’t?”

My whole life was behind me—long gone.

He continued his stare, his eyes burning into my face like candle flame over a piece of parchment. “There’s a story behind those eyes. Maybe after we sail the sea long enough, you’ll share it with me.”

“I doubt it.”

A hint of a smile moved over his lips. “The tides rise and fall, turn the hardest rock into grains of sand. They clean shores, wash the barnacles off the hulls of ships, bring lost vessels home. The sea heals all—even the most broken.”

“You sound like you speak from experience.”