"Victoria let the bouquet of wilted roses fall from limp hands as Alistair's shadow appeared at the arched door of the chapel. She turned away from the altar and on legs that were not her own, raced back down the aisle, and into the arms of her once beloved. Dropping to her knees when she reached him, the debonair pirate dropped with her, taking her face in his hands and looking deep into her eyes.
"Victoria, I love you." That was the only thing he said to her as he grabbed her by the arm and they raced down the stone steps, away from the life that had awaited her and into the arms of her lover. Though the shifting waters of the ocean currents had dragged them away from one another, they had once again been brought back together by the rising tides that bound them."
"What a crock of shit!" The voice echoed through the small apartment, making the woman at the coffee bar wince. She turned towards the noise and leaned up against the counter, sipping at her coffee.
"I told you that you were going to hate it," The woman called back as a figure came, stumbling out of the hallway, hair a mess, glasses skewed slightly off-kilter.
"Daphne, this mess of a novel is an incoherent disaster of the English language, and you should be ashamed of yourself for even bringing it into your house." The emerging figure slammed a book down on the counter next to Daphne's elbow, "Bound By the Rising Tides? Please. It's more like Bound by the Rising Vomit. Victoria fails the Bechtel test so hard it hurts me."
She shook her head and rolled her eyes, "Just because you and Stephanie graduated in the same year doesn't mean that she's any better than you, Del."
The older woman pursed her lips and looked back down at the book, narrowing her eyes in disgust, "The fact that she was able to get it published through…" She shook her head, "It's so bad. Victoria doesn't even have a personality for three-quarters of the book and then to actually use the worst trope imaginable…The misogynistic pirate lord who falls in love with a simpleton, please."
"I told you were gonna hate it." Daphne said, motioning to the coffee bar, "Help yourself."
"I need it after last night," Delilah sighed and glanced over at the mess of wine bottles on the table, "Sorry we went through your entire stash. I'll buy you more."
Daphne waved her hand dismissively, "Don't worry about it. Most of it was bottom shelf at best."
"No wonder my head hurts so badly," Delilah ran a hand through her already disheveled hair, looking up at the clock, "Is it already noon?"
Daphne glanced at the stove, "You spent most of the morning reading. Not to mention that I didn't wake you up till almost nine."
Delilah pulled her phone out of her hoodie's front pocket, her brow furrowing in dismay, "He still hasn't texted me. Oh god, what did I do?" A wave of nausea crept over her, and she swallowed down the anxiety, remembering the night before. She and her husband had gotten into yet another argument about her career path, and that had spiraled into a full-on screaming match. In the heat of the moment, she had fled their shared home and had holed up in her sister's house. That had been almost two days earlier. Now, it was Sunday afternoon, and her lesson plan for the week hadn't been touched, her poor cat probably hadn't been fed, and she was up to her eyeballs in stress. Her phone had been silent all weekend.
"Well, you can't stay here, I have work in an hour," Daphne crossed her arms over her chest and furrowed her brow, "Look, you need to go home and talk to Harris. I'm sure he's worried about you in one capacity or another."
"Or he's drafting the divorce papers as we speak," Delilah responded miserably as she shook her head, "Maybe I should call Mom."
"Mom would lose her head if you told her that you and Harris got into a fight. You're her golden child, remember?"
Delilah winced at the words. When the sisters had been younger, Delilah had found herself living up to the nearly impossible standards that Dr. and Dr. Watson put on their firstborn. Daphne had found herself cracking under the pressure, falling into a pattern of trouble that seemed to have followed her throughout her life.
"I mean, this isn't the first time this has happened," Daphne continued, "Do you really want to be tethered to someone you're going to argue with for the rest of your life? I've already told you how I feel about the man on numerous occasions."
Delilah pursed her lips and looked down at her hands. They were so much older than when she had met Harris for the first time. They were a story for the ages: high school sweethearts who promised themselves to one another as he went off to get his degree on the East Coast. He now taught an advanced English course at the local community college while she worked as a creative writing teacher at the small high school that sat squarely in the middle of town. Dr. and Dr. Watson, who had expected their daughter to follow in their footsteps were less than pleased at the announcement of her career choice.
Of course, Delilah always had a sneaking suspicion that there had always been a third person in their marriage. Late-night phone calls from colleagues and long hours at the office were common for Harris, the rift between them growing by the day. The allegations drove most of their arguments in downward spirals that lasted hours, if not days.
She shrugged and looked out the window. The infamous Pacific Northwest rain hit the window panes softly, casting a foggy light over the kitchen floor, the ocean beyond the windows grey enough to blend into the sky. "You're right; I have to go back."
"That's the spirit," Daphne tipped her coffee mug to her sister and smirked, "Go kick his ass. Maybe grow a backbone and finally serve him those papers."
Without bothering to answer her sister, Delilah gathered her belongings and hurried from the small apartment, a barking dog catching her ear as she fumbled for the keys of her beat-up car.
The engine turned over with a groan and flipped her hair over her shoulder. she looked behind her long enough to see the other car behind her that had decided to park too close to her bumper. She swore angrily, putting the car in the park and stepping out, praying that whoever owned the car wouldn't smell the alcohol on her breath. After a moment and nobody coming out to inspect the damage, she scribbled her contact information on an old piece of an index card and shoved it under the windshield. There was hardly a scratch, but she felt bad.
She trundled down the road, her mind swirling with all sorts of thoughts, none of them good. Turning into the driveway, she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that there was no other car in the lot of their small, rented house. However, she didn't look at a gift horse in the mouth as she turned the car engine off and slid the keys from the ignition. A rock of dread settled in the pit of her stomach as she ascended the steps, opening the door as she had done a million times before.
Out of habit, she put her keys on the counter as the yowling cries of a hungry cat echoed through the home. Delilah dumped some kibble in a bowl for her cat Leia and turned her attention to the rest of the house. The home was cluttered yet cozy with piles of unread books and yellowed tomes scattered in every corner; plants perched precariously on top. A worn sofa sat under a window facing an old television. The sound of a shower could be heard further in the house, the water gurgling down the drain.
"Hey, Harris?" Delilah called down the hallway, taking a cautionary step towards the noise. The water stopped, and she slowly walked down the hallway, wishing she had grabbed her keys to defend herself from whoever was on the other side of the door.
'It's just Harris,' She thought to herself in vain as she swallowed the rising lump in her throat.
The water stopped and she paused for a moment, slowly opening the door. Sure enough, Harris was just stepping out of the shower. Their eyes met and he leapt back in, like he was ashamed his own wife had caught him naked.
"Really, Delilah?! You couldn't hear the shower running?!"
There he was once more trying to pick a fight. No exchanges of greeting, it was only jumping out of the frying pan into the fire with them. The rage that had been sparked on Friday evening came bubbling back up in her throat and she couldn't help but retort.
"Holy shit, Harris. It's not like I'm your wife or anything." She snapped sarcastically before slamming the door behind her, the precariously hung hook falling off the back of the door as she stormed back towards the kitchen, her bad mood percolating into a seething resentment for her partner. Her black cloud of anger followed her around the kitchen as she slammed a glass on the counter, grabbing a carton of orange juice from the fridge. The cap hadn't been tighten down and when she went to grab it, the box fell out of her shaking hands, spilling its contents over the floor.
"Fuck!" She swore loudly, grabbing a roll of paper towels to clean up the mess. It was in that moment, she heard his phone ping loudly above her. A sudden wave of dread washed over her, the emotion eating away at the anger. She slowly stood up and reached for his phone. Picking it up, the phone buzzed again, the flash of a text message making her heart freeze. It was the confirmation that she had known, but had refused to admit to herself. The urge to vomit overtook her and she dropped the phone, stepping away. She covered her mouth with her hands to stifle the gasp of realization. She stepped into the orange juice with her bare feet and swore again.
"Not even 5 minutes home and you're making messes. Typical Del." The words while holding a tone of jest, cut deep into her like a knife. "Can we talk?"
She was afraid to uncover her mouth and let the string of choice words on the tip of her tongue come bursting forth so she took a deep breath, closing her eyes. Her words failed her now that she had the ability to speak. "I know." The words weren't hers, they belonged to a stranger that now spoke for her.
"What do you mean, you know?" He asked, the innocence in his voice making her stomach hurt.
"I saw your phone. Who's Kris?" She tried to keep her voice nonchalant, but the waiver was there, making her feel weak.
He rubbed his temples with his thumbs and sighed, "We've been over this before, Del. She's one of my teaching aides. You've met her before, remember? At the Christmas party last year?"
The faint memory of a tall, skinny bottle blonde bombshell found its way into her brain, "Yeah, I remember her."
"She's needed some recommendation letters to try and get into grad school next year and we've been texting back and forth about her chances to getting into Oxford. She really wants to go abroad to study. That's why we've been texting back and forth. Her letter goes out next week."
"I want to see the messages," She said firmly.
"Babe, we've talked about this. You don't go poking around my phone, I don't go poking around yours."
Finally, she snapped her head up and allowed the floodgates to break, the words raging forward like a tsunami of rage and fury, "Then why the hell did the message start with 'When are you going to divorce…?' It's not fucking rocket science, Harris. I've known for months that you've been fucking her behind my back. All those late nights where you had to stay at the college? Weekend trips to go see your mother? You want a divorce? I'll give you a goddamned divorce. I'll go down to the fucking clerk's office right now and bring those papers back. We can sign here and now." She turned on her heel to grab her keys off the counter, but was pulled back, the scent of freshly clean skin and the sage shampoo Harris loved so dearly enveloped her. A wave of serenity washed over her for a split second as he pulled her into a hug.
"You know my mother has cancer," He said quietly, "And I promise, I'm not having an affair. Please don't go."
She closed her eyes and learned into the hug, the feeling of calm dissolving the anger that she had felt. That was until his phone vibrated again. He went to grab it, but Delilah got there first. The final nail in the coffin was hammered into place when she saw the words on the screen that said "We can't continue this until you divorce her."
"Delilah…"
A fury like she had never known boiled over and she pulled her fist back, popping him square in the face, making him reel back.
"I hate you!" She yelled, grabbing her keys off the counter shoes out of the holder, racing out the door with Harris hot on her heels. She threw herself into the driver's side as Harris came up to the window, banging on the glass. Delilah was pleased to see the blood running down one nostril.
"Del, please! Let's talk about this!" He begged; his voice muffled through the glass. She paid no attention to him, throwing the car into reverse, driving dangerously down the driveway, nearly clipping another driver as she drove onto the main road, tires squealing on the wet pavement and she put her soon to be ex husband in the dust. She knew full well the clerk's office wouldn't be open on a Sunday nor could she return to her sister's house. Dr. and Dr. Watson lived down south, and, on her budget, she wouldn't be able to afford the six hour drive to go crash at their place. Besides, she had to return to her normal life, teaching normal English tomorrow. She had a life here, why should she ruin it? Forgiveness was an eternal spring in Delilah's heart, and she tried her best to always give people second and third chances. She had done this time and time again when she cast eyes down on privy emails between Harris and his old college chums who had been more than chums when he had been supposedly dating her. Could she do it once more? Delilah had to think about it.
She slowed her car and turned onto yet another road that sloped gently up. It was a place that she knew well, spending many of her primary education years there to escape the responsibilities put before her.
The wind rocked trees drew back, and an empty parking lot lay before her, the ghost of the earlier rain leaving puddles in the potholes. She parked and stepped out, the wind whipping her hair around her face. Delilah took her glasses off her face and wiped them on her jacket, sliding them back up her nose as she looked out over the sleet ocean. The smell of a storm tickled her nose as she walked to the water warped railing, peering over the edge of the cliffs. The ocean licked the rocks in a frothy fury, giving her a sense of vertigo.
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, listening to the thrumming of the mighty force beneath her. Here, next to the primordial waves beneath her, she looked up at the sky and began to sob. Nearly a decade of marriage between them and Harris had to go and throw it all away. Rage bubbled up in her stomach, and she looked down at her hands. Her wedding ring and engagement ring glittered in the hazy sun, and suddenly, she ripped them off and, as hard as she could, flung them into the air. The glitter of diamonds flickered through the empty space as gravity caught both of them, sending them plummeting into the sea.
"Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!" She screamed into the emptiness, leaning against the railing as waves of nausea overtook her once again, tears pouring from her eyes.
'Delilah!' The voice was sharp with a slight accent she couldn't place as she looked around for the source of the noise. However, she was still alone in the parking lot. The sound of her name startled her, and while her heart was racing, he walked back to her car.
Something told her to turn around, so she did. As the sun disappeared behind another cloud, she saw something glittering on the cliff. Thinking it was one of her rings, she walked back to the railing and peered at it. The object sat just out of range of her hands, so taking a deep breath, she ducked under the wood and carefully walked over to the item. It was half buried in the sandy soil and Delilah nearly had to go all the way to the edge to retrieve it. Finally, she bent down and pulled it from the mud, rubbing it between her thumb and forefinger. A medallion sat in her hand, the markings worn away by time.
The voice came again, 'Death is not your destiny today, Hope of Albion.'
This followed by the ground shifting beneath her feet. Like her rings, Delilah found herself in empty space, finger clutched around the medallion. Her stomach dropped as she began to plummet, her body hitting the water with a mighty splash.
For a moment, she heard nothing but silence. Her lungs burned and she tried to kick to the surface of the water, the current making it next to impossible. The ocean grew dark and the constant roar of the waves on rocks faded. Finally, she found her break and made her escape, kicking harder than she had ever kicked in her entire life. The stagnant air she breathed in was not the air that she knew. The ocean, now a colder blue, was calm and the sky above her was a gorgeous periwinkle. This was not the ocean she knew.
Heart in her throat, she turned, looking from the cliffs that she had come from. To her dismay, she saw nothing. No cliffs, no land, absolutely nothing but gently rolling swells. Delilah had nothing to go on.
That was until a schooner appeared over the crest of a wave. She swam from the wooden ship, watching as it passed. With the only hope of salvation being whatever this passing ship was, began to wave her arms and slap the water.
"Hey! Help!" She shouted over the crashing of waves. Without slowing, the vessel dropped a rope ladder and she managed to grab onto it, the ladder ascending as soon as she had wrapped her hands around it. The wood of the ship blurred with the movement and before she knew it, two pairs of strong, calloused hands were pulling her to her feet.
Delilah took a moment to center herself and looked around. There were at least 30 men on the freshly washed deck, all watching her with varying amounts of suspicion. A pregnant silence settled in the air as her heart slammed in her throat. "Uh…"
"What are you?" The question cut through her like a knife as she turned her attention to one of the men who looked like he was about to pull out the shiv at his hip and run her through.
"I'm…sorry?" The words left her lips before she could stop them.
"Women don't come from the sea." The man said, narrowing his eyes, "What are you? A siren? A sea monster masquerading as a woman?!"
She held up her hands in defense and took a step back as they closed in around her. The edge of the railing stopped her and she resisted the urge to leap back into the ocean. "Please, stop!" She cried out, her legs buckling underneath her as the gravity of the situation overwhelmed her.
"Now, now, my friends. That's not how we treat a guest." This voice was piercing, the words sharp and curt.
The men surrounding her took a step back as a man stepped forward. His face was handsome with a small heart tattooed under his left eye. His dark chestnut hair swept up around his face in a perfect line, not a single strand out of place. His thin lips were pulled back in a smirk and he watched her like a lion would watch its prey. "Now tell me, pet. How did a nice girl like you end up in the middle of the ocean?"
"I-I don't know." the stutter was severe, giving her away, "I was on a cliff and I fell."
His smirk turned into a condescending smile, "Would you listen to that, lads. Our lovely little siren here fell from a cliff!" He threw his head back and laughed and several nervous chuckles followed. "Why would a nice girl like you be doing on top of a scary cliff now, eh? Not that you probably remember that either, given your garb." He ushered down to her outfit and arched an eyebrow.
True, between Delilah's windbreaker and jeans, she looked quite out of place with the ragtag group that she had stumbled into. Even the man she had been talking to her wore a crisp white shirt and what looked like leather trousers tucked into a pair of boots that reflected the sun so badly, she had to squint to look at them. "I'm so confused." She finally said, rubbing at her temples with a thumb and forefinger, "What the hell is going on?!"
The man narrowed his eyes and took a step forward, making Delilah nervous once more, "Who are you?"
Delilah wracked her memory, looking for any explanation for her abrupt arrival. However, the memories from that morning were spotty at best. "I'm…Del." She said finally, "My name is Del." She chose not to give him her full name only because she was still trying to find her last name in her brain somewhere. Closing her eyes, she shook her head in vain, trying to retrieve any more information from her brain. "I'm sorry, I don't remember anything else."
"Do you know anything about me?" He asked, raising an eyebrow in question.
She shook her head in dismay, "No, I'm sorry."
The man scoffed and held out a gloved hand out for her. She took it wordlessly as he pulled her forward, "My dear girl, I am only the most infamous pirate to ever sail these waters! I am the Dread Pirate Reaver and you're on my ship, The Reaver II."
She bit back a comment of narcissism as he pulled her along the deck, "Now Del, you said it was Del?"
"Short for Delilah." She responded, wincing internally at her own willingness to give him her name. "I've never seen anything like this before."
He arched his eyebrow and watched her carefully, his hazel gaze making her avert her own eyes. "You are very interesting, my dear girl, and I have seen much of this world."
"Interesting is just another word for different." She responded, looking out over the ocean again, "This isn't home. I know it isn't."
Reaver was silent as a cold breeze cut through her clothes like a knife. She shivered involuntarily, catching the pirate's attention. He smirked and cocked his head to the side. "Do you know if your family is in Albion?"
Delilah rifled through her memory. Shadowy figures danced through her mind where her parents should have been. Fleeting snippets crossed her eyes, but she could pin nothing down. "No, I don't think so. I don't even know what Albion is."
The pirate's smirk grew, "You really don't know about this place, do you?"
Del shook her head, "No, sorry. I really don't."
He stretched to his full height, towering a good eight inches above her, "Well, there's no need to fret, my dear. I will take you back to the mainland with me and I can help you find your family."
"I'd really appreciate it," She said tiredly, looking down at her feet. Her shoes, a pair of trainers adhered to her feet with water and dirty laces, seemed to scream at her to remember, but her brain refused to cooperate. Frowning, she looked back at Reaver, "Where even is Albion?"
"That's…difficult to say. In retrospect to what?" He asked, looking back down at her outfit.
She opened her mouth to respond but another cold gust of wind cut through her and she shivered. "Is there somewhere I could warm up?"
"Come into my cabin, my dear. I think I may have some extra clothing that you may be able to fit into."
Wordlessly, she followed the pirate lord towards the back of the vessel, a freshly painted red door in front of them. He opened it and ushered her to step over the threshold.
Delilah took the invitation and stepped into the cabin, her eyes taking a moment to adjust. The room reflected the pirate's aesthetic, dark red tapestries dotting the walls. The curtains had been partially drawn, stopping the sunlight in their heavy velvet and a large desk sat in front of them scattered with various papers and inkwells.
"It's not much," Reaver said, closing the door behind him, "Now, to find you clothes."
She watched as he crossed the room, opening a large wardrobe in the corner she hadn't noticed upon first arriving inside the cabin. He threw several articles of clothing. A white shirt with black pants were added to the small pile, finished off with a pair of worn boots. "That should do it." He said with a curt nod, "Well? Get changed."
Delilah looked from the pirate to the clothes on the bed. "Wait, right now?"
Reaver leaned against the desk, his smirk returning, "I saved you, dear girl. At this point, I believe that you are at my mercy. Change."
This time, it was a demand. Panic rising in her throat, she turned her back to him and closing her eyes, she hooked her thumbs into the belt loops of her jeans and pulled them down, ignoring the loud swallow from across the room. She quickly shed her shirt as well and caught her reflection in a mirror adhered to the wall. To her surprise, she looked…different. Gone were the dark circles under her eyes and the faint lines of her age were gone. She looked at least five years younger than when the last time she had seen herself. Trying not to let her astonishment show, picked up the shirt and let it fall against her body. It fell nearly to her knees and the pants were far too big.
She gathered her hair from underneath the shirt and let it tumble down her back, turning back to face Reaver as she grabbed the boots and shoved them on her feet. Surprisingly, these fit her. "Much better!" Reaver said, clapping his hands together, "Now come sit and drink some wine."
Nausea rose in her belly as she shook her head, "I think I'm hungover." She responded, putting her hand on the top of her head, closing her eyes, wondering if this was all just some sort of fever dream she was trapped in.
"Hair of the dog, then." He poured two goblets and offered her one. She took it and swirled it in her glass. Darker than the night and smelling sweeter than sin, she brought the drink up to her lips and swallowed. The taste of berries and pear touched her tongue as she drained the glass. Her headache dulled as she put her cup down and looked at the pirate.
"Who are you?" She asked finally.
Reaver sipped at this goblet, "I could ask you the same thing. Having women on ships brings bad luck to a crew and my men almost had my head for even suggesting to gather you from the sea."
A knot formed in her stomach, "I already told you, I don't remember."
He chuckled and drank again, "My dear, women don't just appear in the ocean. You have to have come from somewhere."
She shook her head, "Truthfully if I knew, I would share all that knowledge with you. I'm no witch or siren though. That much I know."
Reaver nodded slowly and for the first time since their meeting, she watched as his hand dropped to his belt, his fingers toying with the large gun that hung lazily from his belt, "Truthfully, I would love to believe you, but alas, my dealing with the fairer sex has taught me that you will do whatever it is that will keep you safe, and that includes lying. We can't be too sure now, can we?"
The barrel of the gun was on her forehead before she could react. "Now, again, who are you?"
Delilah couldn't move. She was a deer in the headlights, not even able to breathe. Closing her eyes, she did not speak, but instead focused on the creak of the ship and the rush of the waves beneath her. The silence between them resonated through the cabin as the pirate hummed in annoyance.
"You don't remember," He said finally, dropping the gun to his side, "You're not one of Lucien's men at least."
She didn't bother asking who Lucien was as he holstered the weapon and crossed the cabin silently, wrenching the door open. "Get me Mr. Wynne. He'll know what to do with this sea rat."
Within 30 seconds, another voice could be heard. Delilah couldn't hear the conversation, her blood still racing in her ears. A hand was placed upon her shoulder and she nearly leaped out of her skin. Turning to look at the owner, she saw it was attached to an older man, looking down at her with suspicion.
"Come with me, girl." His deep, guttural voice, was unexpected from his willowy demeanor. Wordlessly, still numbed by the fact she had a gun in her face, followed wordlessly, the cabin door slamming behind them. Delilah found herself back on the deck of the ship, blinking in the setting sun. She looked back at the man who had fetched her from Reaver's quarters and found him watching her carefully. Unlike the pirate, his gaze was warmer, more kindly than what had just been offered to her.
"Got a name?" He asked gruffly as Delilah blinked.
"Del. You can call me Del." She said finally, "I'm sorry, is nobody going to talk about the gun that was just held against my head?"
The older man merely smiled and shook his head, "That's Captain Reaver for you. Not a man to shy away from threats."
"He's absolutely batshit!" She rebutted, "No person in a right state of mind would ever…"
"Again, it's Reaver." He said, turning his attention to the ocean, "We're supposed to dock in Bloodstone tomorrow. Did he say he would help you?"
"He doesn't seem like the type to help me."
"Aye, he rarely helps people from the goodness of his heart, if ever. Be wary, young Del. You are treading in dangerous waters."
A shiver ran up her spine with these words. In her gut, she knew Reaver wasn't a good man, the fact that he had held a gun up to her head proved that. She swore silently she would watch herself around the pirate.
"Where are we even going?" Delilah asked as he ushered her across the deck, completely aware of the dirty looks being thrown her way, the whispers of "a bad omen, she is" following her across the ship.
"Bloodstone, my girl. The worst hive of scum and villainy you will find in Albion, but it's home nonetheless."
"You don't seem like the type to resort to robbing and plundering," She said, following closely behind him as he descended the steps that led into the belly of the ship.
"Aye, that I am not. My wife, Sera, was pregnant with our second and I couldn't afford to raise her, not with being a dock worker. I was trying to take things that did not belong to me from Reaver. He gave me two choices: death or indentured servitude. I chose the latter and here I am. I make enough to send home to the family, but never enough to leave."
"I'm sorry," Delilah said quietly as he waved her off.
"Don't be sorry. I made the choices and now have to live with the consequences." Mr. Wynne grew quiet and ushered her into a small room that was dimly lit, the smell of greasy food made her belly growl loudly. Men of all sizes hunched over plates of grey meat, biscuits that resembled hockey pucks decorating the plates. More dirty looks were thrown her way as Delilah crossed the threshold and she did her best to ignore them. Mr. Wynne drew her a little closer to his body as he steered her between tables towards the back of the room, a gangly older man manning the plates of food watched them approach.
"No food for the sea rat," He snapped as Mr. Wynne approached.
"Mr. Woods, this is a guest and we shall treat her as such." Mr. Wynne said tightly as the cook's mouth turned up in a sneer. He had more gaps in his smile than teeth and looked Delilah up and down, "Give her a plate of food or I'll let Captain Reaver know that you declined to offer her something. We all know how that will go, don't we, Mr. Woods?"
His sneer turned into a scowl as he slapped two bare plates on the counter in front of them, filling them with the meat and a biscuit. "Eat up, Rat. While you still can."
She took the plate wordlessly and stood awkwardly as Mr. Wynne collected his own plate, "Follow me, girl."
Silently, they walked from the galley and back up the stairs. The sun sat on the line of the horizon, reflecting across the sea. "I prefer to eat away from the rest of the common rabble." He explained as Delilah followed her towards the railing. "There's wine if you want it. 'Fraid our water supply ran out yesterday."
She shook her head, "No, thank you. I'll wait till we've reached the shore. I want to know what I can about this…Albion. Reaver mentioned a Lucien, but…"
"It's hard to speak when you're looking down the barrel of a barrel." He confirmed, taking a bite of his meat. He winced, chewed, and then swallowed, silent again.
Finally, he spoke, "The green flash carries people from this world into the next. Or so I believe. If you watch the sun as it dips over the horizon, sometimes you can see it. I saw it when my daughter died."
"I'm…sorry for your loss," Delilah said, not quite sure how to comfort the stoic man. She looked down at her plate and chose the biscuit over the meat, nibbling on it slowly so as to not break her teeth.
"Albion is home. It's the land my mother and father died on and that's the land that I will someday be buried in. The Kings of Old have long since died and we are worse off for it." He shook his head and then turned his attention back to Del, "I wish I could tell you what you want to know, but something tells me if that nothing will make sense to you. Maybe you should just see it for yourself."
Delilah nodded slowly and took a bite of her biscuit. "Guess we'll just see."
"I guess we shall." A silence fell between them as she watched the sun dip below the horizon. She watched it intently, waiting for the flash, but saw nothing. Frowning, she glanced back at her now cold plate.
"I think I'm done," She said finally, "I'll wait till we land tomorrow for something a little less…greasy."
"The ship's life isn't for many," Mr. Wynne said, "However, it is for some. There are small joys in this world. Listen."
He cupped his hands around his mouth and sang out over the deck, "Ring down below!"
Another voice echoed across the deck, "Oh ring down, ring down everybody!"
The call and response medley echoed across the silent sea, bouncing off the ship's sails as the shanty continued. It made the hairs on the back of Delilah's neck stand up on end and she shivered. The call and response went on for several minutes as lanterns were lit across the deck, their flames dancing in the wind.
Men began to set up musical instruments on the deck as Delilah looked back at Mr. Wynne, "What are they doing?"
"It's a homecoming, Delilah. We celebrate the return to land and the plunder ahead. They dance to warm up their legs for the lasses at home. It has been some time since we have seen our families." Mr. Wynne's eyes became hazy and distant, "My wife lives in Bowerstone now with what few children we have left. I haven't seen them in years."
Delilah's eyes widened, "How long have you been out at sea?"
"Too long, girl. Captain Reaver returns to land nary once a year and even then, the trips are short. He's…running from something." The words seemed to sour in his mouth, "Pay me no mind. My time upon this ship has come to an end and this will be my final voyage. My bones grow weary and my eyesight grows dim. Reaver has no use for someone like me."
"And he just lets you walk?" She questioned, leaning against the railing, "Just like that?"
"Nay, he will always have our contract in his back pocket and when he calls, we must answer it or face a consequence paid with by blood." He smirked shook his head, "Damn life we live."
"Damn life indeed," Delilah repeated, thinking about Reaver's promise to help her find her family. Would he honor the commitment that he had secured with her? She now knew more about the man that had scooped her from the sea, making her wonder if she hadn't passed through the gates of hell when she fell off the cliff. She tried to pry down the doors that had seemed to bar her from accessing the corners of her mind, but found the memories there to be greyed out and hazy. Towering trees above her head. The sound of rocks on the cliffside. A feminine laugh. The smell of coffee.
The small tidbits floated around her like ribbons of smoke, unwilling and impossible to be caught. "You alright?"
The voice made her jump and she found herself on the ground, her back to the railing, the cold deck beneath her. Mr. Wynne was crouched down next to her, had his hand on her shoulder, and was shaking her slightly. She shook her head and pulled her knees up towards her chest, resting her head on her hand. "I'm not sure what just happened." She admitted as she pulled herself to her feet. Delilah had drawn herself to her full heart before another rush of dizziness overtook and she felt her knees buckle beneath her.
With a gust of wind, an arm had wrapped itself around her waist and she found herself up against someone's chest. The scent of sea salt and blood was overwhelming, making her slightly nauseous. Looking up, Delilah saw the face of Reaver over her, looking at her intensely. She found the deck beneath her feet once more and pushed herself away from the pirate lord.
"I'm fine," She sputtered, taking a step back, giving herself more distance between them. "I don't need help."
The pirate arched an eyebrow and took a step forward, now looming over her, "You believe yourself above my help, Delilah? Remember that I pulled you from the jaws of certain death. You would be a bloated corpse within days if I hadn't dragged you up." The briefest cloud passed over his face before his demeanor shifted, turning his back on her. "Now, listen all you crusty bastards, we make landfall tomorrow…" A cheer erupted from several hands who had stopped to listen, more garnering in the wake of their leader making a speech, "And with this momentous occasion, I have chosen to hold a party. Not that any of you will be invited, but the pay is double for anyone who delivers supplies from the dock to my mansion. Now, carry on. Enjoy your little dance. Who knows? I may even get the sea rat to join in." He threw a look over his shoulder and Delilah narrowed her eyes, frowning at the man. He laughed sharply and then bowed slightly, taking a step aside as a ragtag band began to play, the men helping themselves to tankards full of dark, red wine and a strong-smelling spirit.
"Oh, Santiana gained the day,
Away Santiana!
Now pull up the yan up the best say,
Along the planes of Samarkand!"
The lively jig echoed through the lines and sails, bouncing off into the waves as more voices joined in. Mr. Wynne kept a careful watch of Delilah, but the moment he had her out of his sight, a younger man idled forward with two cups in his hand.
"Thought you looked thirsty, Miss." He handed her a tankard. The scent made her head spin, but she took a sip, the fiery whisky burning her throat as she swallowed. The drink feigned off her thirst if only for a moment and she drank again, what little she remembered began to fade away. The knot in her stomach lessened and she stood up, looking for Mr. Wynne. She saw him standing at one of the casks, pouring himself a drink. He turned around and nodded at her, moving across the makeshift dance floor to speak.
"It's good!" She yelled over the music. "The music and…whatever this is." She pointed down at her flagon and began to tap her foot to the music. All thoughts of the previous hours faded from her mind as her cheeks grew flushed she drained her drink. Almost instantly, another was in her hands, this a thick, heady wine. Throwing caution to the wind, she drank that as well, her head feeling warm as her hips joined her toes in their movement.
"Come now, let's dance!" A hand grabbed her own and dragged her out forward, grabbing her hips as she was spun through the dance floor, struggling to keep her balance in the heavy boots. The song transitioned into a melody that sounded vaguely familiar to her ears and she slowed only for a moment as the lyrics swirled around her.
"What do we do with a drunken sailor?
What do we do with a drunken sailor?
What do we do with a drunken sailor?
Ear-lye in the morning!"
The chorus began and she found her footing once more and she started to dance, not caring who took her as their dance partner. The song ended and one more drink was placed in her hands. The skin bulged slightly at the seams and she brought it to her lips, surprised to be drinking water. She dropped the vessel and looked at the person who had offered it to her.
"In any other circumstance, this would be more alcohol," Reaver said only loud enough for her to hear, "But I don't need a drunk woman sending my crew into a rampage. Come with me." He offered his hand to her and without hesitation, she took it. He dragged her forward, moving through the pirates with ease, dragging Delilah behind him. He opened the door to his cabin and pulled her through the door, shutting it behind them. The muffled shouting and music could still be heard, but in the sudden onset of silence, her ears rang.
"I don't understand," Delilah was ashamed that her words came out slightly slurred, the world hazy before her. Reaver turned to face her, a wry smile on his thin lips.
"With being so close to shore, the men tend to get rowdy. I mean this with the utmost respect but I prefer you not to get preyed upon by a hungry group of wolves."
Delilah understood the comparison and nodded, sitting down on the foot of the bed, the ship rocking precariously. "Mr. Wynne said I was swimming in dangerous waters when it comes to you."
Reaver pretended to be offended, dramatically placing his hand against his brow, "Oh dear! What will become of my shining reputation?" His demeanor changed slightly as he straightened, walking over to the small fireplace to restoke the fire. "You don't know anything, Delilah. About me or about this…" He gestured vaguely, "As far as I can tell, you're a foreign in this land and that's a dangerous game in a world full of monsters that want to harm you."
She was quiet for a moment, looking down at her boots in silence. "What do you want from me?"
"Me? Nothing, yet. That's subject to change, though."
She chose not to raise her head, instead trying to stave off the feeling of drunkenness. The music outside the cabin grew louder. "When will they stop?"
"The men? When they're good and ready. You're about to fall off that chair. Come here."
Like a marionette on a string, she stood and shuffled to Reaver. Regardless of her prior feelings swayed by the words of Mr. Wynne, she knew he was the only lifeline she had. And she was rapidly sinking. "You may be a sea rat, but even the vermin in the bilge need their sleep." He took her forearm and led her to the bed. "Sleep."
"But what about you?" She asked, the bed already beckoning to her.
A wicked twinkle flashed across his eyes, "No need to worry, pet. I have some…business to attend to before we reach land tomorrow. Speaking of which, I expect you to come to the party tomorrow as my guest of honor."
"I need information, Reaver. How am I supposed to find out anything about myself if I'm at some stupid party?"
A wry smile appeared on the pirate's face, "You never know what help comes in mysterious ways." His smile grew more paternal and he reached into the desk, pulling something from its confines. "Here, a token of good fortune." He handed her a small chain with a trinket hanging from the necklace. The pendant was intricately crafted into what looked like a seal, the dark onyx rock giving way to rubies. It made Delilah feel uncomfortable.
"I couldn't possibly accept that." She said, raising her hands in refusal. "It looks like it costs a lot."
"It did, more than you know." Reaver paused for a moment then stepped forward, "Here, let me."
Before she could refuse, his fingertips on the back of her neck, brushing the hair off her skin. Delilah shivered when the chain was placed around her neck and clasped. "Perfect. Like it was meant for you."
She touched it delicately, brows furrowed in confusion. The pendant was cold to the touch, her fingertips tingling when she drew them away, "Is there…magic here?" She felt foolish even uttering the words. He sat down next to her and looked up at the ceiling.
"Yes and no." He said finally, "In the last 200 years, magic, or what is called Will has faded into the very outskirts of polite society. Of course, there are a few outliers, but for the most part, magic no longer exists."
"Ah," Delilah's eyelids grew heavy from the intoxication. "I'm ready to sleep." She said finally, watching the pirate lord carefully, "You promise you won't shoot me?"
Reaver raised his right hand, "Pirate's honor."
"That's not much to go on." She responded, laying back on the bed. To her surprise, it was extremely comfortable, "Goodnight."
"And a pleasant evening to you, sea rat."
She almost smiled as she drifted off to sleep, lulled by the sound of the ocean waves lapping at the hull of the ship.
The Bound by The Rising Tides playlist is available on my profile.