To answer the question of my most recent reviewer – no, this story is not even close to over yet. I have plenty of ideas for how to keep going, so I'll keep writing as long as there are people still reading. Gaps between updates may be pretty long sometimes, especially over these next few weeks as I have some things going on with the classes I'm taking, but I will keep updating. :)
He cups her cheek again – her skin is pale, but soft – and before he can think about what he's doing his lips are covering hers, and for the first time in what feels a lifetime…the world feels right again.
.
Elizabeth wishes this moment could last forever. Really, she does. She'd love nothing more than to sit here in his arms and pretend that it's always been like this. In fact, she allows herself that for some time; sits in her Will's arms and pretends that everything is just fine. Pretends that her daughter is just nine years old again, pretends that there is no Jade to be dealt with. They can't really stay like this forever, but Will doesn't seem in too much a hurry, so she steals every second she can to just pretend and catch her breath and be Elizabeth Turner again, if only for this short, short moment.
Too short a moment. She can let herself pretend, but not for as long as she'd like. There's just too much. She's not Elizabeth Turner anymore. Nor is she the very corrupted immortal she had been, but there's still something inside her that feels just different. And Emily, well, she most certainly is not nine years old anymore. Goddess, the mouth she had on her… and Jade is a problem. A problem that's been calling herself Missus Turner – unsettling, even if it isn't true. And that problem leads to an even bigger one in the form of a young boy who calls Emily his sister; a young boy that Elizabeth most certainly had no part in bringing into the world.
She sighs heavily. Will tightens his hold on her a bit, presses a kiss into her golden waves. "I know." He says softly, as if he can read her mind. She supposes it's quite possible he's thinking about all the same things. "Where do you want to start?"
She forces herself to pull out of his arms and face him. "The boy." She decides.
"Joshua." He replies, and there's pride in his eyes. "Jade's father's name, I believe it was."
"He really is yours then? It's just, he doesn't look much like you. Certainly not the way Emily did – still does."
Will chuckles a bit. "I know. That's why we didn't name him William." That was first supposed to have been Emily's name, had she been a boy. "It just didn't quite fit. But yes, he's mine, and I'm proud of that if not of anything else."
She won't begrudge him this. From what little Elizabeth has seen, Joshua Turner already has all the makings of what could one day add up to a good man, pirate or otherwise. "His mother." She moves on, and the thought has something stirring within her. A serpents hiss echoes in her ears, and her words grow harsh. "Almost more trouble than she's worth, the little harlot. All spit and fire even after…" She trails off. She was about to say – it's downright cruel, what she'd done to the woman. Was she really about to tell Will that? He's looking at her with a hint of worry scrunching his brows in that way she used to find adorable. She softens in an instant. "Just, she's got some fight in her. Suppose I can see what you saw in her after all." She looks away, but she can tell he saw something, in her eyes maybe? She doesn't know. All she does know is that she still doesn't feel quite herself.
"She can be rather – fiery." Will concedes. "Though, it's quite possible she only acquired that fire trying to put up with the trouble I caused her."
This gives Elizabeth pause. She'd never stopped to think about that. Jade hadn't known Will was married. And if he hadn't married her, and she'd given him a son, well, yes, the poor woman must have been very troubled in many ways, not least of which being the scorn of the others in their town. She'd have been left with little choice but to toughen up and deal with it. This almost earns the woman a measure of respect, but that confuses things a little too much for Elizabeth to wrap her mind around at the moment, so she shoves that away to think on it when she has room to. "She loves you."
"I know."
"I mean – not loved. Loves. She hasn't once shied away from being 'Missus Turner'." A pause. He doesn't seem to know how to respond to that. Elizabeth goes on, and that same dark thing inside her stirs again. "Tell me the absolute truth. Is she? Missus Turner?"
"No." He says, steady and with no hesitation. "I should've given her that. I sometimes wish I had. But I couldn't make myself. You can ask Emily, if you don't believe me."
Elizabeth nods slowly. She doesn't really want to get too deep into this discussion at the moment, so she grasps onto the first other thing that flitters across her mind. "Emily. Goddess, Will, that – that feisty little thing parading around with a sword at her hip and calling herself a captain, is that really our little girl?"
He chuckles again. "Oh, yes. I can hardly believe it either, sometimes." The amusement fades all too quickly, replaced by a hint of something sad and wistful. "I fall asleep some nights wishing to wake up and have all this be a dream, just to have a bouncing little nine year old run up and beg me to take her down to the docks to see the ship coming in. Now she's the one captaining the ship, and it's all I can do to keep myself from losing it when she's off to some tavern with her men as if she's no different than them."
"From what I've seen, she isn't much different at all." Elizabeth scowls. "The fates certainly do have a strange and unusual sense of humor. When I faced her earlier, she sounded for all the world as if she'd been taking lessons directly from Jack Sparrow!"
"You don't yet know the half of it. There's a boy she made friends with not long after she made it back from being locked up on the Revenge. His name is Alex Sparrow, and he can sound every bit his father's son when it suits him, but lately – the way he talks, he's beginning to remind me of myself at his age!" His eyes light up with amusement again. "Do you know, he and Emily had some sort of argument before we left Shipwreck, and I can't imagine what it was about, but it must have been interesting. She left him with the job of making sure we were well stocked with supplies, and by the time she returned, he'd managed to throw every drop of rum in the hold over board!"
Elizabeth can't help it. She tries to hold it back, but this is just priceless. She bursts into giggles. Real, actual, delighted giggles, and it feels wonderful. "Well!" She manages to gasp out in between. "I can't wait to meet him properly… I should think we'll get along swimmingly… once I tell him what happened on this island!" A fresh wave of laughter takes over as she remembers – getting Jack drunk, spending the better part of that night on the fire to signal her rescuers, and the next morning, '…but why is the rum gone?', and how right had she been proven? It takes her several moments to compose herself again, and when she does she finds that Will is just watching her now, his expression unreadable. "I'm – I'm sorry." She gasps out, taking a breath. "I just – oh, it all sounds so small and silly in comparison now, that's all."
"Sorry?" Will sounds incredulous. He reaches out to hook a finger under her chin, pulling it up gently until she meets his eyes. "Elizabeth, that, just now, that might've been the most beautiful thing I've ever heard."
Her laughter? That must be what he means. She blushes. She can feel the heat, knows her cheeks are turning pink. He used to be able to do that to her all the time, so easy. She wonders – wishes – hopes that this Will could maybe be here to stay again.
Hope? When did she even remember what that was? It's too soon for that, she scolds herself. This isn't Port Royal, they're both too old to even be called young anymore, and she's still a dead woman with a job to do. It's all too complicated to get her hopes up so easily. She looks away and silence reigns for a long moment.
"We should…" He hesitates, glancing at the ships in the distance. "Emily will be wondering, worrying…"
"And I'd best get back, see if my men are faring as well as I am now."
"Emily will want to see you."
Elizabeth looks down, shakes her head. "I've no idea what I'll say to her."
"Planning that out would require you to know how she'll react, and that requires one to know how she thinks," Will brings a hand up to rub the back of his neck, "and I'm not sure anyone can get inside that girls head any longer, me included – which is to say, you might be better off just showing up and hoping for the best."
A small sigh escapes Elizabeth's lips as she gets to her feet, brushes sand off her clothes and crosses her arms. "Really is a bit like dealing with Jack, then."
Will grimaces as he gets to his feet as well and turns to head back towards the longboat still planted in the sand up the coast a ways. "Actually, let's not make that comparison out loud again. Ever."
She's already grimacing at her own words, and rather agrees with him.
"Emily." A voice murmurs softly, almost cooing, coaxing her gently back to consciousness.
What's happening? She can't quite... She's sore all over, stiff, like she had been after her angered goddess struck her with lightning. She's laying on something soft, though, is curled up quite warm and so comfortable she almost wants to drift back to slip.
"Emily, my dearest." Is she dreaming? That's her mother's voice. "I know it hurts, but you can't remain asleep forever."
Her mother. Oh. Oh. Emily forces her eyes open. She's in her cabin, laid out in the window seat. There's someone sat next to her, but she doesn't immediately recognize the slight figure with the golden brown hair, braided and resting over one shoulder. "Where – who…" She tries to form a sentence, but her throat is dry and scratchy.
The figure stands and reaches out for a mug sat on the desk, and then brings it to Emily's lips, helping her drink the water. "It's alright, just give it a moment. Calypso did say it might've left you a bit scrambled up here." She taps Emily's forehead.
How easily the goddess' name slips past her lips. There's a familiarity there far more intimate that what Emily or Jo have been privileged with. And just like that it all comes together. Her mother. The pretty, pale, golden haired figure is her mother. Strange. She no longer looks old enough to be Emily's mother; they could be the same age if one were to go simply by appearance. "Please." Emily tries to work her way into a sitting position, feeling a little wary. "Please, tell me this isn't a dream."
A small, sad smile graces her mother's lips. Her face may be young, but her eyes are not. "This is no dream. I can promise you that."
Emily's managed to prop herself up against the window now, but her muscles still protest every movement. "It does hurt. Why does it hurt?"
"These things come with a price." Her mother says, eerily repeating their goddess' words verbatim. "That price, it seems, is greater when ones heart is no longer so pure as it once was."
Emily decides, very deliberately, not to follow the line of thought that starts her on. "Alright." She draws out. "How long…"
Her mother heaves a sigh, as though that wasn't the thing Emily should've answered with and the older woman is gathering patience. "You'll need rest. You're body isn't used to the strains of healing from such things under its own power."
Emily just blinks at her. Trying to gather her thoughts and search them for what her mother could possibly mean, she tears her eyes away to look around. The curtains have been drawn back from the window, and the sun is beginning to set. She's been out for quite a while. And missed a lot in the meantime, it seems, as her mother is – well, her mother again, and somewhere in there her goddess made another appearance. "What happened?" She turns back to her mother. "Where's papa? My goddess said she'd go away for a while, when did you talk to her?"
"Well, let's see. Quite a bit has happened, I'm afraid. You papa is –," she pauses, and her eyes harden in a way that reminds Emily of the hissing gorgon who'd nearly run her through on the beach, "squaring away some things with your step-mother, along with your brother." A short pause as she studies Emily a bit. "I'll be sending her on her way as my first order of business, so if you'd like…"
Emily shakes her head. "She was not, in any way, shape, or form, my mother. I'm – glad she'll be moving on properly now, but I've nothing to say to her."
Her mother softens again. "She did try it seems, from what little I know. Are you certain?"
"Absolutely."
"Very well, then. To answer your third question, I came down to see you as soon as your father and I had – talked some things out. Our goddess paid me a visit shortly after I arrived. You were quite unconscious, so I should think she was safe as far as any promises she made to keep her distance from you a while."
"You and papa – I mean, how did – is everything…" Emily trails off, unsure of exactly what it is she wants to know.
"Alright?" Her mother ventures, snorting. "Nothing between your father and I has been 'alright' for well over ten years, I should think it'll take quite some time before we can make anything 'alright' now. I daresay we'll be lucky to get even halfway there again. But we've come to an understanding, which is a start." She reaches out, slow and a little hesitant, and brushes a strand of Emily's hair behind her ear. "Odd as it may seem, I'm no longer what any one's quite so worried about."
Emily takes her mother's hand and just holds it, looking down at it, trying to align it in her brain with the strange, webbed appendage it had been just that morning. "Mother. I'm missing something. What is it?"
A pause. "You've only just come to. Perhaps you'd best go see that friends of yours first, what was her name? Jo. She was quite a mess with worry over you. The spell exhausted her as well, but not near as much as it did you."
"No." Emily says firmly, starting to remember herself. "No, explain first." She looks up to her mother, who appears a little surprised now, but pleasantly so. "If my goddess has done something more to me, I want to know now."
Her mother hardens again, but not in the way she did earlier. This is the worried, scolding anger of a mother. "You're too quick to blame our goddess. You're problem now is something you've done to yourself."
"Oh, of course it is."
Her mother raises her eyebrows. "Our goddess said explaining what you'd done was your business, not hers, but I gather it has something to do with the boy who was still resting in your bed when I came in."
"Riley." Emily grumbles, letting her mother's hand go in favor of crossing her arms. "Yes, I suppose, it would be him." Her mother stays silent, expectant. Emily huffs. "I did what needed to be done, that's all. It's not my fault it would only work on Riley or Alex, and what was I supposed to do with such a bloody awful choice? It worked out. He got the key, you didn't get the heart, nobody got a sword through the chest. I'm not going to say sorry over nothing."
Her mother only shakes her head. "You don't need to justify yourself to me. I'm hardly in a position to judge. I only know that our goddess isn't happy. She's…decided the consequences of your actions, whatever they are, weren't enough on their own this time." She hesitates. "The reason you're hurting is because she's taken away some of your abilities."
It takes a moment for that to sink in. "Taken away? What – what do you mean, taken away? And what abilities?"
"Not permanently." Her mother stresses. "No one can simply snatch gifts such as yours away, not even a god. It's more like she's – suspended the privilege."
Emily gets to her feet now, too annoyed and anxious to sit still. She paces the length of her cabin, stretching out stiff muscles. Why does she abruptly feel like little more than a disobedient child? "And I suppose I only get it back if I'm a very good girl." She pauses before her mother, who seems unfazed by the tone her daughter is taking. "What is it she's 'suspended' then?"
"Well, the only thing she seemed to think you'd really miss – your ability to heal. You are, for the time being, just as mortal as the men you're sailing with, I'm afraid, dear."
Mortal. That's what she'd been half wishing for, right? To be normal. So why does her heart skip a beat? Why does her stomach begin to tie itself in knots? Why does the thought make her head spin with a mixture of fear and anger? "Blast! Of course she'd…" Emily cuts herself off, closes her eyes, takes several deep breaths. She still has her magic to worry about. She doesn't need an angry explosion after what she's just gone through.
"She says all you need do to earn it back is ask for her help when needed."
"Like hell I will!"
"…and now we know why that's all you need do, I suppose. Feel free to deny me this, but I am rather curious now as to just what it is you've done."
"Oh, it's all so ridiculous!" She comes to sit next to her mother again, not caring who it is she's talking to in her frustration. "It's Riley. The way it was all supposed to happen, you were supposed to try and kill me! I was meant to end up with a sword straight through my heart!" Her mother draws back a bit at this, wincing. Emily softens, just a fraction. "You – weren't you. I'm not angry with you. I'm angry with Her if I'm angry with anyone! There was this spell, you see, and it was, I don't know, not the purest magic or something like that, but it got the job done. The only problem was the victim had to be willing, there had to be a connection there already, and that left me with Riley and Alex. And Riley – he's sweet, but he's just not Alex. So I sent Riley. I suppose I'm being punished simply because I didn't do it exactly as She wished me to."
There's a pause. Her mother studies her in a way that makes Emily feel as though her very soul is being read. Can she do that? There is, actually, quite a bit Emily doesn't know about what her mother is. "You love him." She says after a moment, causing Emily's eyes to widen.
"How did you…" Her mother scrutinizes her a moment longer, almost as if in a shallow trance, and Emily fidgets uncomfortably. "Mother? Is something the matter?"
Finally the older woman blinks, shaking her head. "There are many answers to that question. None of them are matters I'm fit to be lecturing you on. I just know you fancied the boy, and that makes what you did a pretty nasty thing in its way."
Emily shoots to her feet, backing away slowly this time, thoroughly unnerved although she can't quite tell why. "Right. Well. I – I think you were right earlier, I ought to go see Jo, and I suppose I should go find Ri- no! Not Riley. Alex. He'll be worried too, I expect, and our holds a little empty now for my taste so I think I'll have us heading for Tortuga next, I'll just…" She turns around and reaches out for the door with one shaky hand, because she's very, very done with this whole conversation.
"Emily." Her mother says softly, and Emily freezes with her hand on the door handle but refuses to turn around. "Ignoring this isn't going to fix anything in the end."
Emily's caught between annoyance and anger and confusion and an apprehension that was supposed to go away once she'd fixed all this with her mother. She leaves without bothering to formulate a response.
That was, decidedly, not how that was supposed to have gone.
"Oh, thank our goddess." Jo breathes as Emily finally makes an appearance. She's a little paler than is natural for her and far more subdued, but looks to be alright over all.
Alex has been hiding up by the helm along with Jo, too worried to make himself busy with anything useful. He studies Emily as she climbs the steps, and finds nothing that would make him at all relieved. Her mother had been watching over her, refused to leave Emily's side; shouldn't their little captain be a bit more – excited after seeing that everything was alright now?
Emily rolls her eyes. Alex isn't sure why or at what. "You worry too much, Jo."
"With good reason." Jo plants her hands on her hips, indignant. "You've been out for hours!"
Emily only shakes her head and slips past the older woman and over to the rail, staring out to sea. "You know," she says airily, "with all the excitement I nearly forgot about Andrews still rotting down in the brig. I suppose we'd best take care of him first thing. Be nice not to have to worry about him anymore."
Jo pauses as though deliberating, then comes up next to Emily, apparently deciding to allow the subject change. "I'd have thought you'd be more anxious to head for Tortuga." She replies. "What with the hold still being half empty, as it were."
Alex rolls his eyes at this, crossing his arms.
Emily glances at Jo, vague amusement crossing her features and brightening them a touch. "I suppose I wouldn't be the only one wanting to make that our first destination, then."
"No, you wouldn't." Jo gives her a pointed look.
Emily heaves a put-upon sigh, half playful. "Oh, very well, Tortuga it is."
Alex huffs. Why is it he's the only one at all bothered by Emily's – well, constantly not being bothered. "At what point, exactly, were ye plannin to at least ask about Riley? Because I know he must've crossed yer mind, at least once." If not, then Alex might just lose it.
Emily turns to him lazily, leaning back with arms propped up on the rail now behind her. "He wasn't in my cabin anymore, I assumed he was fine. Relatively, anyway. I'm probably the last person he wants to see."
"Actually, 'e asked for ye the moment 'e came to."
Her brows furrow a bit. "Really?"
"Yes, really, and I personally don't see why 'e wouldn't 'ave a thing or two to say to you."
"Full of surprises, that boy. I'll talk to him eventually."
"Peg…"
"Alex." She shoots back, eyes hardening as she sends him a mild glare. "Can you just – do us all a favor and learn when to stow it?"
Her tone is harsh enough to startle him. For a moment he's quite speechless, until the hurt settles in. Before he can manage to make a reply form itself in his mind, a familiar auburn haired blur darts up the steps and right past him.
"Emmy!" Joshy exclaims, throwing his arms around his sister's middle and burying his face in her shirt.
She softens in an instant, returning his embrace, one hand coming up to run through his unruly hair. "Why is it you always seem intent on knocking me right over?" She chuckles.
Alex watches as they go on like this, and Emily doesn't even send another glance in his direction. Feeling dismissed in a way that seems almost cruel somehow, he leaves them there.
There's a plan beginning to form itself in the back of his mind where a little voice is whispering that maybe, just maybe, this is no longer where he belongs. He tries to ignore it, but the idea refuses to leave him, and he starts to wonder. What if…
It's been so long since she's had a vision that didn't involve swords and storms that Emily almost doesn't realize she's having a vision at all. The only thing that does allow her to realize this is that she herself isn't in the dream; she's just watching, tucked into a corner in the pretty front room of someone's home.
"Oh, mother." There are voices coming from a room further into the house. This one sounds exasperated.
"Just humor me, Imogen." The mother replies with patience.
"I am a child no longer, you know. I suspect a woman ought to be able to make ready on her own by –"
"Ah, ah." Her mother scolds gently. "Best not to tempt fate by boasting of your age, now, we are running out of suitors for you as it is."
"Mother, please!"
"Forgive me, darling. I only worry for you."
"Too much, mother dear." The younger woman's tone turns wistful. "I do believe I have found the man for me already."
There's a pause. Some shuffling, the rustling of fabric, and a woman emerges, the eldest. She's a smaller woman with graying, light brown hair. Her dress is just fine enough to suggest a woman with some amount of wealth, but she has the weathered look of someone who's known hardship as well. She turns to the doorway she's just come through, hands planting themselves on her hips. "Come now, Imogene, he'll be here any moment."
Another short pause, and Imogene finally makes her appearance. Like her mother, she too is a tiny slip of a thing, but this only serves to make her beautiful in a way that is delicate and fragile (and utterly foreign to Emily). Her own light brown hair is swept back loose, with several careful curls falling to frame her china-doll face. Large eyes that almost match the sky in color come up to meet her mother's. "You look so fretful, mother. Are you sure I am presentable?" She brushes out the front of her dress, self-conscious.
Off in the corner, Emily's eyebrows raise as she takes in the deep blue and lace of a finely embroidered ball gown.
"Presentable?" Her mother looks almost amused for a moment. "Dearest, I should say you'll turn not a few heads, as you always do."
"There is only one head I wish to turn."
"I know. Perhaps that is what worries me."
"Mother." Imogene's tone is nothing short of exasperated again.
"Oh," her mother brings one hand up to begin worrying at the sleeve of her dress near the neckline, "I am sorry, dear, It is just that he has so little to offer you. With your father gone, I have had a hard enough time trying to keep up our estate here as it is."
"He is a good man, mother, and he works hard."
"I understand that, but even so, he may not be able to care for you so well on a shop boys wages."
"I am not concerned with such things, mother, and have never been." Imogene softens, turning wistful again. "I believe…"
"Go on, then, dearest. I suspect I already know."
"I believe I may be quite in love."
"Yes, and quite right, too. He does treat you well. If you should tell me that is all you need out of it, then I suppose I shall have to settle. It is your happiness I am concerned about, after all."
Here there is a knock at the door. Emily is thoroughly confused by now. She's never seen these two women before in her life, so why is she being shown all of this? Slipping further into the room, as she has been stationed just next to what appears to be the front door, Emily keeps watching with a feeling of foreboding.
A servant comes to open the door, and Imogene's mother stands tall and proud as she lays eyes on the tall young man standing on her snowy doorstep. Those same eyes looks him over, scrutinizing his appearance.
Emily's eyes widen, and she darts closer, looking over the figure standing in the doorway. He looks nothing like himself. He's not dressed as finely as Imogene, but he has obviously done his very best; is wearing cravat, vest, and coat with a hat and all. But that is him, isn't it? No. It can't be.
"Alexander Sparrow." Imogene's mother intones, hands coming up to rest on her hips again. She pauses, perhaps just to watch him squirm; she softens a fraction after a moment. "What a handsome young devil, you make. No wonder my daughter is so taken with you."
"Mother!" Imogene is outright mortified now, one hand coming up to cover her mouth as she blushes.
Alex relaxes a fraction, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips even as his cheeks are reddened as well now. He clears his throat and straightens up to stand at his full height like a gentleman, though his eyes dart over to steal a glance of Imogene. "Pardon me, Missus Ellsworth, but I believe you may be mistaken. It's Imogene who has me quite wrapped 'round her finger, I think."
He doesn't even sound like himself. His accent is softened, as though someone has trained him to speak more like a gentleman. How long would such a thing take? How far into the future is this?
"Good answer." Imogene's mother replies. "Come, come then Imogene."
The same servant from earlier comes forward to drape a heavy shawl over Imogene's shoulders. Emily gives the girl another once over as she follows Alex out. Alex. Emily's Alex. Perhaps it's not very fair of her. In fact, it's downright petty. But Emily decides instantly that she doesn't like this woman, this pretty, delicate little thing who takes Alex's arm and keeps pace with him with such ladylike grace. No, she doesn't like her at all.
Emily wakes in her cabin feeling shaky and on the verge of tears. She can't fathom how all of this will take place, but she does understand one thing perfectly – she's losing Alex, and she has no idea how to go about stopping it.