Chapter Text
Laurent braced both hands on the splintered railing of the bow as the ship rocked violently from the impact of the third cannonball. There wasn’t much time to refind his footing, not when a sword was coming down for his vulnerable outstretched arms, not when he couldn’t see if the person behind him was a friend or foe. Instead he did what he had been taught to do; to duck, to make himself small, to go with the momentum. The ship was turning, the loose materials rolling eastward, and Laurent went with them, brushing legs and ammunition as he slid through blood and seawater. He was inconspicuous for just a moment. He was inconspicuous long enough for the ringing in his ears to stop.
When it was gone, it was replaced by screams.
He could hear the pained yells all around him, their sources unimportant at the moment, their suffering real. Captain Enguerran called out a vengeful “Fire!” and Laurent couldn’t care about it, not when he could see him.
Seven months at sea and six years of festering rage had been leading to this moment.
The ship rocked with the power from the blasts of the six cannons below deck. Laurent held tight to the railing once more, now just feet away from the foremast. His ears were ringing again. Quickly, he hauled himself up the foremast, using the loosened ropes and his own sword as leverage. He wasn’t quite certain what he was going to do once he reached the top. All he knew was that once he got there, he would be able to see Captain Damianos with clear eyes.
Hands swept at his legs and he kicked them away, hearing and not seeing the body they belonged to fall into the swarm of pirates below. He didn’t matter. None of them mattered. Laurent climbed and climbed until he could balance himself on the horizontal beam holding the front sail. A gust of wind rushed his hair around his face and, for a moment, everything stilled.
It was so different up here. He could still hear the screams, the yells, the lingering ringing from cannons, but they seemed so distant, almost as if from another life. The flag of the Bella Orcus was still flying high, the whale of its insignia a bright yellow spot in a sea of blue. It contrasted greatly with the Prince Killer’s plain and blood-red flag.
No mercy.
Across the way, Captain Damianos was fighting valiantly. It made Laurent’s stomach turn. He took in the build of the pirate, took in his dark, violent eyes, his unbridled rage held in sun-darkened muscles, his bared teeth. He looked every part the beast Laurent had always thought him to be, had been told he was. He looked every part the beast that would kill Auguste.
A series of loud screams, these unlike any others Laurent had heard since the battle began, sounded out at the bow. Laurent twisted, watched as his captain was slaughtered by another beast of a man, watched as the beast dragged the blood-stained end of his sword across his captain’s throat. Captain Enguerran’s body shuddered and fell unceremoniously.
There were only two ways for this to go now, Laurent thought, his eyes rapidly splaying over the scene; either the pirates of the Bella Orcus would be spurned by their captain’s death and would double in strength, in survival, or they would fall just like him. Laurent knew only one thing in that moment and that was that he had to get to Captain Damianos before this was over.
It was suicide, walking along the beam of the foremast unsupported and unspotted. But Laurent did it, his boots pigeon-toed and his eyes focused, brimming with tears at the wind hitting his face. It was an easy jump to the beam just across, this one belonging to the mainmast where their flag continued to fly, for now anyway. Laurent still didn’t look up, but kept going with determination.
The mizzenmast was just above where Captain Damianos was still fighting. Once safely perched on its beam, Laurent chanced looking up, chanced fueling his grief with the sight of the man he most detested. But what he saw was not what he expected.
He expected that same savage look in Captain Damianos’ eyes he had seen glimpses of in the moments since he had launched the attack on the Bella Orcus. He expected that same savage look Auguste must have seen before he fell beneath the murky waters alongside his ship and most of his men. But Laurent didn’t see that kind of look. He saw those eyes, beneath the brim of a wide hat, beneath furrowed brows, searching. He saw them in panic.
A man behind Captain Damianos protected his exposed left flank from a wide open attack by Hendric, and the same man shot his captain a look of concern that was unmet.
There was a rope loose from the mizzenmast, the sail it once held anchored flapping wildly in the wind. With nimble fingers, Laurent grabbed at it, held on to it tightly, and used it to start shimmying down the mast. Captain Damianos was in a cleared path. It would take four, maybe five large steps to get to him, but Laurent knew he could do it. He could get his sword there for at least one blow. But then he heard the captain speak, his voice carrying across ship, its power resonated by the splash of the waves below.
“I surrender!” Captain Damianos yelled, his sword clattering at his feet. “I surrender.”
It took a moment for the words to be processed. Laurent, still hanging onto the loosened rope, his feet planted in the middle of the mast, twisted to look, to watch as the ruthless captain was quickly stripped of his effects, of his hat and his armband signifying his rank.
The men of the Bell Orcus looked confused as they did this, shared glances that spoke of traitorism and disbelief, but Jord, their quartermaster, took control of the situation, pushing the captain to his knees on the bloodied deck.
“Spare my men. You have me, that is all you need. Give my men jobs, send them off at the nearest port, but spare them. Those are my only terms.”
“I don’t believe you’re in any position to be telling us about your terms,” Jord said. He held the captain’s gun belt tightly in his hands. Then, with as much flourish as Jord could ever possess, he turned to face the surviving men of the Bella Orcus, turned to face Laurent. “Board what remains of the Prince Killer and lower its flag. The day is ours.”
There were screams; cheers.
The rest of the crew of the Prince Killer fell to their knees in likeness to their captain. Laurent took in their numbers as he lowered himself down. The need for two brigs was imminent.
OOOOO
It took hours to figure out what to do. The first matter needed attended to was that of the Prince Killer’s crew. Laurent watched from the sidelines as Jord split the men into two groups, watched as one half was walked across a plank to their old ship that now flew the flag of the Bella Orcus, watched as they were led below deck to the cells awaiting them. He watched as the other half was shoved into the cells of the Bella Orcus, their heads low, their faces solemn. Captain Damianos was put in a room of his own, the infirmary typically left for the physician, Paschal, to occupy alone until one of the men needed attended to.
“He won’t be in there for long,” Jord had said when one of the Bella Orcus crew raised concern. “There’s an island to leave him upon not but a four day sail from here.”
The second matter needed attended was that of a new captain. The answer was obvious, Jord having been quartermaster of this ship for the last half decade, but it still needed a public vote, still needed announced. Within minutes it was and Orlant, their Master Gunner, slapped Jord — Captain Jord — roughly on the shoulder in good-natured congratulations.
The third matter needed attended was that of celebration. It wasn’t everyday that one brought down an entire rival pirate crew, let alone a crew as infamous as that of the Prince Killer, as that of the crew of Captain Damianos. Their rum was supplied from the remains of the Prince Killer’s stock and it flowed abundantly, making everyone louder and louder as the moon progressively rose higher into the night.
Laurent wasn’t joining in the festivities. He was waiting to get Jord alone, waiting to talk, waiting like he had for the last six years. Captain Damianos was below deck. He was hearing their cacophony of footsteps and music and cheers and Laurent was simmering with an ever-growing need to speak to him, to ridicule him, to drown him in the Ellosean Sea the same way he had drowned Auguste.
It took ages to spot Jord in the rowdy crowd. He was smiling, but it was strained at the edges, though Laurent wasn’t certain if it was because of the sudden responsibility on his shoulders, the brutal death of his longtime captain, or the way Aimeric’s eyes wouldn’t leave him no matter where he went. It was perhaps a combination of the three.
When he at long last laid eyes on Laurent, he went ashen. It took a moment, a brief and pregnant moment of silence, before he got out one word, its exit from his throat just as strained as his pressured smile. “No.”
“Jord —”
“That’s Captain Jord to you,” Lazar slurred across the way.
Laurent didn’t have time for this. He led Jord down the closest set of stairs that went below deck, expertly stepping in the dark, before shutting the lowered entrance to the slot where the cannons stood. Laurent could still smell their gun powder.
“You have to let me in there,” Laurent told him.
“No, Laurent.”
“Allow me to rephrase then. You will let me in there.”
“This is not up for debate,” Jord said, his teeth clenched. “He will die like a captain surrendered should. He will die by his own bullet or by starvation, but he will have that choice. We are lucky to even have him at our mercy. I won’t break code.”
“Yes, we’re too lucky. Captain Damianos is infamous for a reason, Jord. An infamous man doesn’t simply surrender. There is a game he is playing and I want to know what it is.”
“What makes you say he is playing a game?” Jord asked, and they paused as voices sounded out too close to them.
“Are you not listening? Because of what I said. Captain Damianos is infamous. He has sunk countless vessels. He has never been captured. He murdered our captain and let his body fall to our very deck like a child’s ragdoll.” Laurent moved in closer, feeling almost crazed with it all. “We were outnumbered. We were outplayed. And then he surrenders and begs for mercy for his crew. He is playing a game and I fear if we do not get ahead of him, it will lead to our doom.”
They were both quiet. The music had somehow gotten louder, more raucous, and it pounded at Laurent’s head. The smell of gunpowder, sea spray, and rum made him dizzy too.
“I will not die like my brother did. I will not let that barbarian bury me into the sea. Not unless he comes with me.”
Jord was worrying his hands around his new captain’s badge. There was still blood of Enguerran’s on it. It seemed like ages before he spoke again.
“I’m assigning four different men to rotate watch of the captain. I don’t want it to be a set routine, but you will be third. Get whatever you can out of him before we get to Franrich Cay. I can delay us an extra day to stop back in Port Varenne. But that is all I can do, Laurent. Despite everything, this is no longer a private revenge mission. He attacked us all. The crew will never forgive me if I take that lightly.”
“No one is asking for mercy, Jord. But give me time. You owe that much to Auguste. As do I. If you do so, I will make it count.” He started for the deck again, his right foot braced on the first step, his blue eyes darkened in the night. “Captain Damianos will know who was his end.”
OOOOO
Laurent couldn’t sleep. Guymar would be coming any minute to tell him it was his time to keep an eye on Captain Damianos. The idea made Laurent’s stomach roll like the waves of the ocean. It was all happening so fast.
Yesterday happened so fast.
There had been no signs of the Prince Killer and her crew since Laurent voyaged out on the sea seven months earlier. There had hardly even been any whispers. It was infuriating to Laurent, the quiet, but he was a master at biding his time and this was part of that process. He was closer here on the sea than he ever had been, stuck inside the walls of Arles, stuck under the thumb of his uncle. He kept reminding himself of that much.
When they had first heard about the Prince Killer, they had been three hundred miles west of where the ship had last been seen, and Laurent cursed his luck. Then there was nothing. There was nothing for three months.
Then yesterday happened, the suddenness of it still making Laurent’s head spin. They — the crew of the Bella Orcus — had been on their way to Port Alier to restock on food, to stretch their legs, to allow the men that deemed it necessary to blow off some steam with the local whores to do so. The port had been in sight when they first spotted it, a ship in the distance, its flag a daunting blood red, its crew jumping at the bit to attack. It had been the Prince Killer.
They had tried to outrun the ship, tried to make it to port where an attack would result in hanging, something no pirate would risk, but the Prince Killer’s speed was legendary and true and the crew of the Bella Orcus found themselves stumbling as the first cannonball hit the right part of their bow. Then it had been chaos, nothing but pure chaos.
The only vivid part of yesterday —minus the surrendering of course — was the first sight of Captain Damianos.
Laurent had been dreaming of this moment since he was but barely exiting his adolescence, but had never had a face to put to the dream. Now he could. He had taken in the sight of the captain and his face and his stature and his arrogance. He had taken in the glint of his brown eyes as they searched for their next victim, had taken in the glint of his brown eyes as he searched and searched. He had taken in the sweat-drenched curls of his hair and the flexing of his muscles underneath poor excuses for clothing; indecent pirate. He had taken in the blood on the end of the captain’s sword and the blood splattered elsewhere, on his face, on his hands, his chest. He had taken in the scar underneath the shoddy excuse for a collar on a shirt.
When it had ended, its end abrupt and off-balance, Laurent had watched as Captain Damianos was stripped of his effects, as he was shoved down the staircase that led to the infirmary’s brig. It should have been gratifying. It should have been exhilarating. But something was off, as Laurent had told Jord, something was horribly off. Before he could bask in the glory of yesterday he had to know what made the captain surrender. He had to know why this didn’t play out like it had six years earlier.
“Your go,” Guymar interrupted his wild thoughts. Laurent hadn’t heard him maneuver through the hammocks, hadn’t heard anything at all since he first tried to lay down, but within seconds he was up and standing, ready to face Captain Damianos face to face.
The brig was on the other side of the ship and, oddly enough, the fastest way to it was first going back up to the deck and descending the staircase in that direction.
The night air was refreshing on his face. Long gone were the bloodied stains on the deck’s surface. It looked almost as if nothing had happened, minus the missing railing on the ship’s left side. It made Laurent’s already off-kilter feelings even more pronounced, and it was in his distracted observation that Jord snuck up on him.
“Laurent,” he began, his voice quiet not to startle. Laurent turned from where the moon had been hitting his hair in perfect balance, making it white-gold in its appearance, making him colder than he had ever been before. “Laurent, promise me you won’t do anything rash.”
It was as close as Laurent had ever seen Jord to begging, even closer than when Laurent had proposed this entire scheme of him becoming a cabin boy to get out on the sea.
“When have I ever been rash, Jord?” and Laurent meant it.
“When has anything regarding Auguste not overrun all your rational thought?” Jord asked back, and he meant it too.
“If you can’t trust me with this, why did you ever allow me to come aboard?” Laurent asked. He was getting impatient.
“Because if I didn’t, you would have gone somewhere else. You’re nothing but determined, Laurent. It can be a fault.”
“Do you mind not trying to be a poor excuse of a person trying to stand in Auguste’s shoes for me? The captain has been down there alone for at least ten minutes, I would hate for something to have happened in that time,” Laurent said.
Jord was looking at him, his eyes pleading where his voice wouldn’t. He stepped to the side. Laurent walked. At the staircase he stopped one last time to look up at the moon. A gust of air made him take a deep breath. In the distance, he could hear the crashing of waves on a surface. It made him feel like he was drowning.
There wasn’t time to think once he took his first step. It wasn’t a long staircase, and the brig was just to the left, its bars a darkened metal, its floors dusty and unkempt. And inside was Captain Damianos sitting on a bench, looking more a man than the beast Laurent had seen on the deck not even a day ago.
Captain Damianos didn’t bother to look up as Laurent entered. Hidden in the shadows, Laurent couldn’t even tell if the captain’s eyes were open or closed. There was a desk and chair, both rickety, over in the back corner for Laurent to sit at during his watch. It looked so far away from where Captain Damianos was at though and there were parts of Laurent straining to be closer. He took the seat anyway.
It was impossible to take his eyes off of where Captain Damianos sat, one knee pulled up and his foot on the bench, the other outstretched in front of him. His head was still down, his face behind the shadows and the fall of his now-dry curls, but Laurent could see the muscle of his jaw twitching in the filtering moonlight, could see it tick.
Laurent wanted to say something. He wanted to begin his interrogation, wanted to ask all the whys and hows and whens to a litany of questions pertaining to the Veretian Navy, to the pirates at sea, to the captain’s own life, to the Bella Orcus, to the Golden Prince, to Auguste. But there was so much to say, so much to ask, and every time Laurent went to open his mouth to speak, to ask the questions he’d needed answers to for years, nothing came out. The only sound was that of the sea outside the musky brig and the distant footsteps of pirates from the Bella Orcus, wandering their ship without a care, wandering like a pirate.
For the entirety of Laurent’s watch, the two sat like statues. Captain Damianos didn’t look up once and Laurent never even thought about looking away.
It was Jord who came to relieve him of his duties, his approach hesitant and intrusive, his eyes searching for signs of something. Laurent said nothing to him as he left, his eyes finally leaving the opposing captain for the first time in hours.
His ascent back up the stairs felt like breaking free of water after being below too long, after drowning in its consumption, after succumbing to its power. Laurent breathed in the air, already warming from the awakened sun, and with a sudden rage, punched the mast with all his might, bloodying his knuckles horrendously.
He wanted to scream.
Bypassing the larger brig where more of the Prince Killer’s crew was being held, Laurent finally collapsed into his own hammock, curling his injured hand to his chest.
Tomorrow. He would wait until tomorrow.
OOOOO
Like the day before, Laurent was fetched by Guymar for his duty. There was no Jord to interrogate him on his way, the newly appointed captain of the Bella Orcus long occupied with new tasks. Going down the staircase felt so much like yesterday, like drowning in inescapable water. As he did all things, however, Laurent went about it stoically, his eyes cold, his jaw set, and his mind set on one singular task.
The captain looked much as he had yesterday as well. In fact, if Laurent didn’t know the needs of the human body better, he would have said that the captain hadn’t moved in the last thirty hours.
The seat from the desk had been moved closer to the cell, but still a distance from the captain’s form. Laurent couldn’t help but think how easy it would be to go into the cell, to kill Captain Damianos right there. Sure, Jord would have him killed or, worse, marooned, but it would be worth it. He could meet Auguste with no regrets.
Instead Laurent sat down and waited.
For several hours the only interruption of the tense silence was that of Aimeric bringing down a meal for the captain and for Laurent. Both left it untouched, though the captain did take to large drinks out of his cup of rum.
Laurent was just shoving his own bowl across the paper-scattered desk when the captain said, “Are my men safe?”
It was startling, his voice. He was speaking in quiet Veretian. He was speaking it almost hesitantly. Laurent controlled himself to not react, controlled every muscle held tight in his body. He turned with a coldness.
“We would not go back on our word.” The words left his throat roughly, like the burn of alcohol going down. The captain’s voice was deep, bassy, like the sound heard when one’s head was underwater, surrounded by pressure and the licking of waves.
Laurent watched the captain nod once, taking what Laurent said without question. But then he spoke yet again.
“Are you planning on keeping them aboard the ship or are they to be taken to port?”
He spoke far more eloquently than Laurent assumed he would have. In the shadows of the cell, Laurent couldn’t make out his lips moving but he could see the deep brown of his eyes staring right back at him.
“You’re talkative, for a prisoner,” Laurent chose to say instead. Each word was enunciated.
“I’m merely asking about my men. You can go back to your brooding if you’d like.”
Laurent thought he should be hit for that. It was a shame the cell was intended for more than a single person.
“The men will have a choice,” Laurent said. “They can join or they can be dropped at Port Alier when we arrive. After that, it is no matter of our own what happens to them.”
Unsure of what to expect next, Laurent braced himself for more questions from the captain. He, however, seemed to have other plans in mind, and he settled more fully against the splintered wood of the cell wall, his eyes on the barest glimmer of outside he could see this far below deck.
When it was time to rotate, Jord having knocked twice on the door, Laurent stood and felt the ache in his legs from sitting for too long. He was just out the door when the captain said, “You don’t speak like a pirate.”
OOOOO
Laurent wasn’t brooding. That was something he told himself as he sat on the deck, in the sunshine, contemplating the man below.
“He say anything to you?” Jord asked.
Captaincy looked good on Jord, but he didn’t breathe it like Captain Damianos did. Still, it brought a change about the way he held himself, about the way he was carried. It definitely brought a change in Aimeric’s already focused attentions. Laurent sat back, his palms on the sun-warmed wood.
“He’s only asked about his men. Other than that, he’s silent like the night. He’s dangerous.”
Jord hummed in response and said nothing for a moment. Instead he stared out at the vastness of the sea. Once, not that long ago, Jord had told Laurent, in a somewhat drunken stupor, that Laurent and Auguste both had eyes from the sea waters. But they were from different parts, mind you; Jord had been very adamant about that. Auguste’s eyes, he had said, were the blue of the deepest parts. They were dark and stormy and were the only part of the man that was capable of hiding his nature, a nature of honor, a nature that saw good in all. Laurent’s eyes, he had drawled after that confession, were the blue of the southern waters, of the waters nearest to Patras and Akielos. Laurent had bristled at that, but Jord had continued on, unperturbed. Laurent’s eyes, he had said, were bright and were the only part of himself that gave away what he was feeling, that gave away what lies in his heart.
“Damianos hasn’t done anything to break the peace since he surrendered,” Jord said. “My gut tells me that if he had a plan, he would have executed it by now.”
“Unless he’s waiting for us to get closer to Port Alier. It would be the only way he would have guaranteed survival, after all. To abandon ship here would be to subject himself to the elements. He’s smarter than that, Jord. He’ll wait.”
“If that’s the case, try to find out beforehand. I’d hate for him to get us with another sneak attack.”
“Oh, believe me,” Laurent said, pushing himself up to his feet. “I’ll find out.”
Guymar came for him earlier than before. Laurent was aware of the time, intimately aware of each passing second, aware that he only had two days to understand what was occuring in the rogue captain’s mind.
His descent into this solitude felt different than it had the last two nights; he had rehearsed in his head what to say, how to talk, how to get out information. Should Captain Damianos resist, Laurent had other means in mind. Auguste’s dagger was a physical reminder at his hip.
Expectedly, Captain Damianos was in the same place in his cell. It was lighter than normal, due to Guymar’s earlier leave, and Laurent could truly see the Akielon features prominently facing him.
The captain was growing a fuller beard having been without means to shave it for a few days. It made him look more mature. It made him look more dangerous.
Laurent knew the captain was assuming Laurent would do what he had done the last two evenings so when the legs of the chair scraped loudly against the floor as Laurent dragged it closer to the cell gates, Laurent was able to see the first physical reaction out of the captain since he had been taken.
“I’m going to say this only once,” Laurent started, his ankles crossing as he settled into his seat. “I’m going to ask you questions, you’re going to answer with every excruciating detail you know, and you will not speak until I am done addressing you. Understood?”
Though there was more light, Captain Damianos was still shrouded in shadow. Laurent waited for a beat, waited for confirmation, and when he received none, he spoke once more.
“I’m terribly sorry,” he said, feeling anything but, “you must not speak Veretian that well. Allow me to rephrase then.”
Laurent was thinking of the Akielon words for what he needed to say when Captain Damianos leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. There was a challenge in his deep brown eyes. “Don’t hurt yourself. I speak Veretian just fine,” he said in perfect accentless Veretian.
The dagger at Laurent’s side felt heavy.
“Very well.” Laurent moved the chair up just an inch closer. “What is this game you are playing at?”
Still in the light, Laurent was able to make out the raising of one of the captain’s eyebrows. The action made his jaw relax, smoothed his face out. He looked younger. Laurent stared.
“Well?”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand your question,” the captain said.
“Allow me to ask it again then.” Laurent kept his voice clipped.
“You can ask it all you want, it still won’t make any sense.”
“You’re Captain Damianos,” Laurent started, his voice the same. His fingers were digging into the wood of the chair. “You’ve sunk countless vessels, you’ve captured hundreds of men, stolen from ships under the highest protection. In all the years you’ve roamed the seas, you have never been bettered.”
Realization was dawning on Captain Damianos’ face. He was trying to close himself off, trying to reel it in, but he was awful at it. Laurent wondered how he hadn’t been found out in some way with such an awful face for deception. He would have been eaten alive on the land, in Arles.
“You had the element of surprise when you attacked this ship. You had this crew outnumbered, outplayed. You slaughtered Captain Enguerran with a clean cut to his throat. And yet,” Laurent paused, “you surrendered.”
“I did,” the captain said, his voice low and questioning.
“What part of that doesn’t look suspicious, Captain?” Laurent wasn’t looking for an answer here. “So I will ask my question again: what is this game you’re playing at?”
The captain’s face did that thing again, only it went back to its tensity, went back to making the captain look more worn. His foot, booted and strong, was tapping incessantly on the wooden floor. Laurent wasn’t certain if its rhythm matched his own heartbeat or the captain’s.
“There’s no game,” Captain Damianos said slowly, as though every word was thoroughly thought out, as though he couldn’t reveal the words he truly wanted to say. “I did what was necessary. I did what was right.”
“I’m not certain if it’s your Akielon sensibilities or your pirate ones that make you awful at speaking in riddles, but neither are doing you any favors at the moment. Speak clearly, Captain.”
“I’m aware I am prisoner here, but it seems horribly unfair. Your terms, I mean. And since you’re wanting information from me, I think I should have some of my own stipulations.”
“I grow weary of your games,” Laurent said, and the dagger was in his hand. Its handle, gold and jeweled with blue, glittered in the light still streaming in the cell. The captain eyed it, but not with intimidation as Laurent had hoped, but with curiosity.
“That’s not any blade,” Captain Damianos said, another kind of realization dawning on him this time. “That’s a Veretian Royal Navy dagger made for a captain.”
Laurent was on his feet, was at the door, and the dagger was still in his grip, defensive and ready for use. The door slammed behind him, but even its crash wasn’t enough to deafen the captain calling after him.
“I’ve seen that dagger before. I knew you didn’t speak like a pirate.”