Chapter Seven

Contradictions

Annabeth sighed in relief, wiping her hands down. She paced towards Nico, ignoring the loud clicking of her short heels on the wood. She had been working with the dark-haired boy for nearly five days and found she still knew very little about him. The two never shared more than a few words here and there, and even those were of directional nature.

Annabeth, however, having never considered silence an overcomeable impediment, had immediately set herself to work in analyzing his gestures, his tendencies, small idiosyncrasies that might clue her into the larger whole.

He scowled when speaking to a certain blonde pirate. His eyes shone when he faced the captain. His tone became marginally more severe when discussing the stern beams. His gaze followed her, discreetly noting each and every careful step of hers when she returned to the captain's quarters every night.

Despite these minuscule notes, Annabeth found herself unable to piece together the puzzle without more—more gestures, more information, more background, more knowledge of pirates, more, more, more.

Annabeth considered this desire—her absolute need to understand, to thoroughly comprehend exactly where her calculations had gone wrong, where she had misjudged pirates, where she had misjudged these pirates—as she made her way back to her sleeping quarters—well, the captain's sleeping quarters.

The blonde could feel a pair of dark eyes locked on her back as she walked away, a certain edge of wariness slackening on the clinical curve of her spine. She turned into the small hallway leading to the captain's quarters, but before proceeding any further, she rolled out her shoulder and relaxed her fingers.

Her whole life, Annabeth had worked. At a young age, she had fought to be chosen by Chiron—or rather her parents had inscribed her, and she had fought not to disappoint. At the age of ten, she had learned to act, to walk, to speak, to dance, to breath like a monarch—like a proper duchess. When she was only days from twelve, she had been introduced to the prince and had immediately begun inwardly noting his inclinations, his aspirations, his motives. At fifteen, she had solidified her place at court, impressing even her own advisors with her tenacity.

She was halfway to seventeen when the prince finally took interest in her. Annabeth never fought for anything so hard in her life, never worked more determinedly than she did to ensure his affections. At eighteen she had bewitched not only Luke but the privy council and the royal family as well. All her life, from infancy to maturation, Annabeth had fought and kicked and screamed and danced to achieve her ambitions.

She had worked her entire life, but she had never worked like this. Sure, Jason had taught her to defend herself and to use a weapon, but she had never been forced to partake in such brutish activities as these. Ropes, beams, and sails—surely there was a more efficient way to manage the three aspects.

Perhaps she'd invent one and have it built into the naval ships. It would certainly strengthen the empire, her empire.

Annabeth had struggled her entire life, and, though she had often fallen into bed exhausted and irritated, she had never felt like this.

She ached, fucking ached. Her limbs felt as though they were filled with lead, her feet were splintered and sore, her fingers were rope bitten, and the tip of her nose stung from the sun.

This physical pain was new, different from the psychological warfare the blonde had continuously waged within the enclosed walls of the castle. She supposed it was ironic, in a way, that she was forced to battle for the power to halt all battles, all wars.

Fight fire with fire.

She weighed the idiom momentarily. No, she determined, fire was best fought with water, violence best fought with words, words best fought with well-kept secrets—

Annabeth swallowed back any last minute qualms and straightened her posture, determined to hide any stress from the arrogant captain. She reached to open the door to the captain's quarters, and just as her fingers curled around the knob, an abrasive voice reached her ears.

The blonde held her breath, arching a brow delicately as she tilted her head to better hear the argument seemingly occurring behind the closed door.

"I don't care—" the captain hissed only to be cut off by a gruff voice.

"But your men do," the man insisted. "They're confused and—"

"Then let them be confused," the captain laughed, the sound was cruel and cold, not unlike Luke's. "I act in the best interest of the Argo II," he asserted. "I have always acted to ensure the Argo II—"

"But Captain—"

"Do you doubt my ability to put the safety of the ship ahead of my own interests?" The captain's voice had dropped so low Annabeth could barely make out his words. She closed any distance between herself and the door, pressing her ear to the painted wood. "Have I ever failed my men before?"

"Of course not, Captain," the man admitted after a beat, audibly remorseful.

"Then I suggest you inform the rest of the crew of my position," the captain pressed. "And if their ideas persist, I suppose they will have to be taken care of."

Annabeth swallowed at the implications of the captain's words, the suggestion a surprising boon to her confidence. She had thought herself in foreign waters, unfamiliar to her surroundings, but political games were being played even at sea, even among the most brutal and uneducated of men.

She should have realized she would never stop dancing, spinning stories, navigating minefields. The players had changed, but the game was the same—the game was always the same.

In her musings, Annabeth failed to notice when silence fell over the room. It was only when the loud scuffling of boots on wood broke her train of thought that she realized how close she was to being discovered.

The blonde trod backward lightly, not wanting her footsteps to give her away. She was barely hidden in the shadow of the hallway when the door swung open and out walked a tall blonde pirate with scraggly hair. She held her breath as he moved towards her only to have him stop halfway and turned back around.

He stalked back into the captain's quarters and despite Annabeth's insatiable curiosity being peaked, she resisted and took the opportunity to leave the hallway completely. She heard the captain and the pirate share a few more heated words but found herself caring very little as she made her escape, disappearing into the moonlight.

Annabeth, desperate to put a believable distance between her and the door, rushed back, her eyes stuck on the hallway she had just emerged from. In her haste, however, she only worsened her position by running into someone.

She turned, her breath faltering, and caught sight of inky choppy hair.

"Lost?" the pirate, Thalia, sneered, looking the girl up and down.

"No," Annabeth replied shortly, her chin held high.

"Good," Thalia scoffed. "Because you have no business on this ship."

The blonde blinked, noting a threatening undertone to the pirate's words.

"Hm," she hummed thoughtfully. "I never said I did," the duchess sniffed, and, before the Thalia could reply, she stalked in the direction of the hallway from which she had just emerged.

She walked deliberately slow, taking her time as to not clash with the participants of the argument she'd heard earlier. This time, when she reached the captan's quarters, there were no shouts permeating the air. She wrapped her fingers around the knob and turned without hesitation, the creak of the door breaking the silence.

Annabeth sighed, her eyes caught on the bed—the dirty, disgusting pirate cott. It looked fucking amazing. She could hardly contain a wanton whine at the enticing sight. She stepped forward, her toes searching for the heels of her shoes to pry them off. She was so tired. She'd never admit it out loud, but gods she was exhausted and the bed—that fucking bed—looked soft and pillowy and—

"The captain isn't here," a voice suddenly entered her blissful dreams of rest.

Annabeth whipped her head to the left to find a blonde pirate standing by the captain's desk, the same pirate she had witness fighting with the captain earlier. He was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, his legs in a wide intimidating stance. He was confident. He thought she was weak, thought she was less.

He was wrong.

"Why are you here then?" she inquired innocently, careful to keep her eyes in the shadow of her lashes so he would not see her roving pupils.

"Captain asked me to grab him something," he responded casually, his fingers tightening marginally. He was lying, she could tell. She could always tell.

"And what did he ask you to grab?" she mocked, condescension bleeding into her rounded vowels.

"That's none of your business, princess," the pirate derided. He uncrossed his arms and turned back towards the desk.

In two long, graceful strides, Annabeth had reached the study. He picked up a meaningless piece of parchment and swiveled on his heel just as she arrived. His forearm roughly knocked her shoulder, momentarily throwing her off balance.

"Watch it," he growled, peering down at her with a patronizing smile. His lips curled up at the corners but his nose scrunched up. It was a look Annabeth had not seen in ages, the look she had fought against. It was the look with which a vain king looked at his starving subjects, the look Luke wore when she'd pointed out the beauty of weeds.

"You watch it," Annabeth answered heatedly—not thinking, she wasn't thinking, why didn't she just think?—She knew why. She would have needed to be hopelessly oblivious to reality not to know—she hated that look, absolutely loathed it. She was better than him. She fucking knew it. If not by blood then by intellect, by ferocity, by tenacity.

"What did you say to me?" the man asked curtly, his lips twisting in disbelief. He hunched his shoulders over and lowered his face to hers as posed the question.

"What were you looking for among the captain's things?" Annabeth prompted once more, resisting the urge to cringe at the hot, foul breath spilling across her neckline.

"I already told you," the pirate spat, his eyes narrowing. "It's none of your business—"

"But if you were—" she didn't get to finish her counterargument, the pirate already had his fingers wrapped around her small wrist. Annabeth gasped but otherwise did not make any sound of pain, not wishing to acknowledge the power he held over her physically.

"A strange servant you are," the pirate taunted. "Considering how positively uncivilized you are—"

"And surely you'd know—" Annabeth retorted sharply, failing to consider the consequences of speech for the second time.

She was angry—her face hot and her breath heavy and her cheeks red—She never made sensible decisions when angry—No, that was entirely untrue. Annabeth had been angry the majority of her life and had still managed to fight her way to the top of the social ladder. Her whole life—her whole fucking life—she had existed in a state of cold, clammy anger, the type that made one freeze where they stood and caused them to clench their teeth—No, this anger was different. This was hot. It was hot and sharp and scorching and different. It made her impulsive, made her senseless.

It was dangerous.

And it made her dangerous—for all the wrong reasons.

The shaggy-haired pirate pulled her roughly towards him, twisting her wrist in the process. She bit her tongue to fight the scream threatening to give her away. Her lips, tightened into a tight line to restrain any involuntary sounds when a cutting voice materialized behind her.

"C'mon, Sam," Annabeth heard the seemingly omnipresent pirate she'd run into earlier call. "Let the girl go."

The pirate—Sam, apparently—flicked his eyes over the blonde's shoulder, shuttering slowly at the opposition pressed into the dark-haired girl's features.

"Thalia," he grunted in response. "This is none of your concern—"

"She's precious cargo," the bright-eyed pirate cut in, her tone bordering on snarky. "Captain wouldn't want you to damage her."

Well, at least she was her, not it or that. It could be worse, she supposed.

"I'm not hurting her," the pirate returned, his grip loosening marginally. Thalia's eyes flickered to Annabeth's wrists dubiously. "I was just teaching her a lesson. She—"

"That's not your job," Thalia asserted, rolling her eyes.

"Then whose is it?" Sam spat, quickly growing frustrated with the line of questioning.

"That's none of the fucking business—"

"Really because it seems like the captain is letting his ship—"

"That's the captain's problem—"

"And if he can't handle—"

"If you honestly believe that," Thalia seethed, taking a dangerous step towards him, daring him to counter the move. "Then you need to get the fuck off this ship."

The night was silent except for the melodic crashing off the waves against the ship's flanks, but the quiet was anything but calm; tension swelled in the stillness, and pressure strained the boards beneath their feet.

"Is he hurting you?" Thalia asked finally, her eyes flicking lazily to the blonde before returning to the tensed man before her.

"No," Annabeth bit out, not wanting to appear weak in front of a pirate who had just reprimanded her for not belonging—as if she wanted to, as if it was something to be desired, to find companionship among pirates, among thieves and rapscallions. It was utterly ridiculous, positively ludicrous.

Thalia pursed her lips, looking annoyed. It pleased the blonde, perhaps more than was healthy.

"See?" Sam's teeth gritted in victory.

"Doesn't matter," Thalia sighed, waving off Annabeth's admission. "Give her to me," she held out a hand, challenging Sam's grip. "I'll deal with her insubordination."

"What are you going to do to her?" Sam demanded, seemingly eager to pry the gruesome details from the dark-haired girl.

"For the last time," the female pirate asserted, rolling her eyes. "It's none of your the fucking concern." She snatched Annabeth's arm from him, surprising the duchess with her agility. "You manage the lower decks, everything else is not your domain—besides, I stand above you on this ship so stand down—"

"I will never be inferior to—" Sam began to scowl, stepping back only to be interrupted.

"Don't finish that sentence," Thalia advised in a soft but ominous voice. "You be sorry otherwise—"

The pirate was silent as the dark haired girl dragged Annabeth to her chest, holding her tight by the wrist.

"You can leave now," Thalia revealed patronizingly.

Sam turned and left, his jaw tense and his teeth audibly grinding as he slammed the door behind him.

"I didn't need your help," Annabeth remarked harshly after a beat of raised quiet following Sam's exit.

"Looked like it," Thalia sneered, dropping the blonde's arm and stepping towards the captain's desk.

"I can stand up for myself," the duchess asserted firmly. "I have my whole life, this is no different."

The pirate was mute for a second, her eyes scanning the paperwork laid out across the desk. Annabeth was momentarily fascinated by the dexterity with which her pupils examined the area.

"This is no different, you say," Thalia repeated slowly. "You mean this pirate ship is no different than your living in a castle?"

"Well—" Annabeth began, weighing her words

"What a strange castle you must have stayed in, Miss Evans," the pirate muttered, a sly tilt to her expression that worried the blonde.

"All I mean," Annabeth amended quickly, noting the spike in suspicion, "is that there is a similar tense political atmosphere."

"I'm sure," Thalia accepted with a slight nod of her head, indicating her disbelief with a slow flutter of her short dark lashes.

"Thalia!" a familiar deep voice suddenly boomed through the doorway. "Where the fuck did you—oh."

"Oh indeed," the dark haired girl mocked, nudging the duchess forward. "It appears your precious servant has found herself in an ill-disposed interaction with Sam—oh, and yours truly."

Percy's eyes flicked to where his fellow pirate restrained the blonde by her wrists. He observed their body positions, considering the details for a moment before speaking.

"Sam was in here?" he questioned, and Annabeth found herself surprised by his disregard for the alleged hostility

"Yes," Thalia responded.

"Well—" Percy urged, exasperated, "what was he doing?"

"Don't ask me," the pirate said plainly, "ask her."

Annabeth felt her mouth go unusually dry as both their bright eyes landed on her—she wondered if the light colors were a byproduct of the sun, raised levels of vitamin D.

"He was standing by your desk when I came in," the blonde explained without question. "He appeared to be searching for something."

"That's all you saw?" the captain inquired, his eyes lost in thought.

"Yes," Annabeth answered, swiftly licking her lips in an attempt to return moisture to her skin. "And when I questioned him further he revealed nothing."

"Mh," Percy acknowledged, his fingers coming up to curl around his chin.

The blonde examined him as he contemplated. The captain had dark circles under his eyes, barely there wrinkles below his eyes—from laughing she guessed, she wondered if she'd develop them as well—his dark hair was sunkissed at the tips, bleached by golden rays. He was wearing a billowy white shirt that flattered his skin, making it appear bronze, or golden perhaps. He looked tired, his scruff more defined than usual along the sharp line of his jaw.

She queried as to what had affected him so.

"You may leave," the captain stated suddenly, breaking her from her thoughts.

Annabeth glanced awkwardly at him, wondering if she should leave. Before she could ask, Thalia let go of her wrist, allowing it to fall back at her side.

"But I need to speak to you, Captain," the pirate protested, moving towards the dark-haired man.

"Not now, Thalia," he shook his head, a slow flutter of his eyelids confirming Annabeth's conclusion—he was tired, and extensively so it appeared.

"Captain—" she tried again. "Percy, it's important."

"Please, Thals," the captain breathed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he angled his face upwards to meet the dark-haired girl's eyes.

Annabeth was struck by the nickname. She hadn't heard before, not in her few days on board this pirate ship anyway. She had known the two pirates were close but had misjudged the level of their intimacy. She wondered if it was just that, intimate.

The thought left a bitter taste on the back of her tongue, she wasn't sure why.

"Fine," Thalia—Thals—sighed. She cast Annabeth one last look of contempt before leaving, closing the door behind her with a decided thud.

"Are you sure you didn't see anything else?" Percy asked once she was gone, his half-lidded gaze falling on her.

"No." The blonde wondered if he'd pick up on the note, the lack of a double negative, the language of commoners, of pirates.

He did.

"You did see something?" the captain rephrased, his eyes narrowing and ironically appearing more awake in doing so.

"He took something," Annabeth revealed surreptitiously, careful to make his stare.

"And what did he take?" he asked, clearly frustrated with the inefficiency of the interaction.

Annabeth smirked. He would also grow angrier if he continued to hold her hostage aboard this ship.

"That," the blonde couldn't help but smile, "is something you'll have to earn."

"Excuse me?" Percy scoffed, taking a menacing step towards her.

"You heard me," Annabeth maintained, leveling her loaded gaze. "You might be Sam and Thal's captain, but you're not mine."

"You have a very interesting way of interacting with your superiors, Miss Evans," the captain accused after a beat. "Extremely unlike the demeanor of a mere servant as you have identified yourself."

Fuck, she really needed to get better at this docile servant thing.

"Do you doubt my story?" the blonde shot back, ignoring his slow steady step towards her.

"Never," he whispered, pretending to be taken aback by the question.

"Regardless," Annabeth pushed away the allegation. "I have a piece of information you desire, and I require something in return."

"And what is that?" the captain humored her.

"Protection."

"From what?" the captain sneered.

"You'd be surprised how easily I have created enemies aboard this ship," Annabeth began, the smooth syllables easily rolling off her tongue. "It's even easier off the ship."

"And what, pray tell, am I supposed to do about the fact that you're unlikable?"

"A bed," the blonde snapped, ignoring his blow. "I need a safe place to rest, to change, to protect my fucking dignity."

"Your dignity," the captain seemed to sober as the soft slopes of his lips formed around the words.

"Yes," Annabeth nodded, blinking back wonder. "It's something important for even a lowly servant such as myself."

"All right," he confirmed, accepting the compromise with much less of a struggle than the duchess had anticipated. "I'll grant you your request. Now tell me, what did you see?"

"Not so fast, Captain," the blonde held out a hand. "I need more than—"

"I just told you," Percy emphasized. "You will be granted a bed and a room to yourself while on this ship—"

"Well, forgive me," Annabeth bit out, cutting him off as she stepped towards him, "if a pirate's assurances are not enough for me."

"What else do you want?" the captain gritted out.

"A plan," the blonde grinned, pleased she was getting her way so easily tonight—perhaps it was due to his apparent exhaustion. "Where will I be sleeping? Where will my room be? How soon will it be available to me—"

"You'll sleep here," Percy interrupted. "This will be your room, and it will be available to you from nightfall until dawn every day starting today."

Annabeth was silent for a moment, stowing away the information.

"He was carrying a piece of parchment," the blonde disclosed finally. "It was folded small, into four I believe. There appeared to be black ink on it."

"Thank you," he sighed, settling down into the chair by his study. She felt his skin brush hers as he passed and shuddered at the heat of his presence, at the tremble of the ground, at the sudden desire to wash herself.

Annabeth sat back against the bed, noting with a triumphant lilt that it was now hers. She watched as the captain hastily searched through piles upon piles of paper sitting on his desk. She kicked off her heels while he sought, hoping to urge him out of the room.

He didn't move, only continued looking.

The Duchess was suddenly struck with an insatiable curiosity to know what he was searching for so thoroughly. What was the captain hiding? What could he be hiding? He had no state secrets, no knowledge of foreign affairs, no plans of patricide.

"What are you mapping?" she asked loudly, knowing full well it would provoke him.

The captain's head snapped back to look at her. "What are you talking about?"

"Maps," Annabeth stated, her gaze shifting over him. "The images one follows in order to safely and efficiently arrive at their desired location."

"I know what maps are," Percy scowled. "What about them?"

"You tell me," the blonde countered, crossing her ankles primly. "You have books on cartology and notebooks riddles with rough drawings and scribbles that appear to be forming one larger picture."

"Where did a servant learn about cartology?" the captain snapped, his eyes narrowing suspiciously in her direction. "Why is it you claim you are a Lady but employ none of the characteristics of the ladies I have met—"

"Oh," Annabeth sneered. "Have you met many ladies?

"I have met enough to know that you," he stood up from his chair and stepped towards her, dangerously close—again, "are not one."

"If I am not a lady, then what am I, Captain?" the duchess queried, momentarily losing herself in the hot blood rushing through her veins and the pounding of her heart in her chest—in the heat, the scorching, blinding, heat coursing through her. She stood up, meeting him step for step.

"You think me unclever, Miss Evans," Percy began slowly, his breath—hot hot hot—ghosting over her mouth. "But your gravest mistake will come in underestimating me and my crew."

"Answer me, Captain," Annabeth requested, her indignant eyes staring up at him. "If I am not a lady, then what am I?"

"I have no answer," he revealed slowly. His fingers—rough and burning—came up to frame her chin, lifting her face slightly. She persisted, her gaze never faltering. "But your behavior is quite peculiar. You are by no means quiet or shy enough to be a servant, and a Lady acts with much more subtlety than you."

Annabeth bit her tongue, feeling her jaw twitch under his fingertips.

"It would logically lead me to believe you are the lowest of the low, a simple thief who snuck into the castle and managed to finagle herself into an unfortunate situation. However, your actions are much too confident to strike me as those of a theif—a practiced thief, perhaps."

Annabeth scoffed, fighting a reaction when his tongue darted out from his mouth, unconsciously dampening his lower lip.

"But there is a much more sinister conclusion to be drawn. You are too weak to be a laborer, too uncouth to be a Lady, too outspoken to be a servant, too confident to be a theif—someone higher up then. Higher than a lady, but low enough that I have not heard your name across my travels—"

"Your theory," the blonde pushed at the man's chest, shoving him back, "is ludicrous."

The captain only grinned.

"Do you perceive me as weak, Captain?" Annabeth inquired, keeping her voice steady.

"I haven't perceived you as anything, merely observed the obvious," he replied matter-of-factly.

"You told me not to underestimate you," the blonde recalled. "You assured me, it would be my gravest of mistakes. Well, let me assure you that underestimating will not be a mistake, it will be fucking fatal."

"Are you threatening me, Miss Evans?" Percy questioned, a sheen of incredulity shinning over the darkness below.

"Never," Annabeth chuckled hollowly. "But remember, Captain, we all have fatal flaws." She watched his pupils dilate, shifting to absorb her—her. "Don't let yours be me."

The blonde felt the tension reach its peak—felt the heat consume her, scorch her limbs and ignite her mind—and subside. She tilted her head mockingly, fixing him with her unabashed gaze.

"If you are my fatal flaw, Evans," the captain said finally, dropping her title and any prior air of cordiality. "Then what is yours?"

"Oh, Captain," Annabeth traced the curve of his shoulder with the movement of her wrist—"Percy"—her fingertips dancing on the edge of the flames. "You can't possibly expect me to tell you."

"Of course, not," the captain laughed. The sound was deep, but it didn't meet his eyes, didn't make them crinkle at the corners—she wondered if she'd ever seen the skin fold for her. "I suppose I'll have to figure that one out myself."

"I suppose you will," the Duchess agreed.

Annabeth watched him eye her one last time before leaving without further dismissal. He was correct, she had underestimated him. She wouldn't make the mistake again.

The Duchess lay back in bed and undressed. Her fingers trembled as she unlaced her corset. She wasn't sure if it was a result of the adrenaline still flowing through her system or if it was the sudden realization that she had been moments from being discovered.

She shut her eyes and sighed. She was a duchess—a false duchess, but a duchess still—and she would not let anything, anyone, compromise her mission.


a/n: yes, so obviously I was gone for a long ass time. So basically, here's what happened. I had a ton of stuff going on and missed a Thursday and was like, whatever, I'll just post next chapter the next Thursday. But then it was spring break and I left the country for like 10 days and everything got super muddled. After that, I was slammed with schoolwork because I had missed days of school for vacation and had a lot of tests and random shit to make up. Then I had to go to state like the following weekend so I had to prepare for that. Then, after that whole ordeal, I got to where I am now, which is desperately trying to finish my online courses before the school deadline in order to fucking graduate. Like it's so dumb, I have to take a freshman class online to get my diploma.

Also, senioritis has been hitting me hard bc I've committed to college and, like, the chances of them residing that acceptance are astronomically low (unless I don't graduate bc of this stupid freshman credit). Finally, I have ib testing in May so all my teachers are hitting me with a ton of mock exams. Anyway, if you managed to read through all that rambling, here's the light at the end of the tunnel: After my ib exams end my time frees up immediately. Also, during the exams, I will be very very tempted to procrastinate and write instead of studying. This will most likely be bad for me but probably good for yall.

So, in conclusion, I know I always promise that I will be more reliable or that I am coming up on a break so will get to post, but the truth is I'm shit at predicting the future and predicting my own moods so unfortunately, I would not put a lot of weight into the promises I make. I am going to try to get back on the every Thursday schedule for Treason (excluding this week), I am hoping to finish Hotel Escape by like May 5th or something, and Funny Business should be resumed by mid-May.

Sidenote: I have decided to start dedications in my a/n's because when other authors do it it makes me happy. So this chapter today is dedicated to Sapphiretrafficker because I know they're going through the same ib stuff as me and also the guest reviewer who took the time to review every chapter of Dumb Luck because your reactions made me genuinely smile.

iCiao!