He did not know how long they fought, but sweat was glistening at his brow when Fynn finally sent Riel crashing to the planks. She gaped at him as she gasped for air, her eyes wide and chest heaving for breath.
Fynn hovered the tip of his sword above her throat. “I win.”
Riel pounded her fists against the deck. “That was a cheap shot!” She cried. “You can’t just sweep my feet out from under me.”
The Captain grinned. “I sweep plenty of people off their feet.” Fynn moved his sword and offered Riel his hand. “Good fight, but a deal’s a deal.”
Riel gripped his fingers and let Fynn pull her to her feet. She clapped him on the shoulder and took his sword when he extended it to her. “She can stay,” Riel conceded. “But this doesn’t mean that I like her. She’s still a threat to this ship.”
Fynn pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I know.”
Riel scowled and wiped off her face. She spun on her heels and left Fynn standing near the mizzenmast, Gracia jogging to join her as she retreated to the quarterdeck. She looped her arm through Riel’s elbow, rising onto her toes to kiss her chin. Riel allowed the affection.
“See, I told you. Rule number one on this ship: never underestimate the Captain.”
Fynn raised an eyebrow as he turned to look at Amael. His thickly muscled arm was slung over Sol’s shoulder, but the Princess was not looking at him. Her head was tilted curiously to one side, and she was staring at the Captain like he was a tome in need of being studied, a map she could not navigate, but wanted to.
“You were betting on me?” Fynn asked. He did not like the way she looked at him.
“You’ve had formal training.”
Fynn lifted his chin, his fingers curling reflexively at his sides. “What makes you say that?”
Sol wrung her hands together. “My brother,” she told him, the confirmation that Fynn had been waiting for. “Is in the army. I used to sit for hours and watch him train with his men. You fight just like they do.”
He swallowed thickly, the scab from an old wound that would never truly heal peeling away from his heart. He was always left raw and bleeding these days. “The previous Captain of this ship was an ex-General from Jadoa. He taught me how to use a sword.” Fynn cleared his throat as his sorrow began to get the better of him. He would not dishonor Vasil’s memory by falling into a pit of despair. He had already disgraced him enough. “Did your brother ever teach you to wield a weapon?”
The Princess shook her head. “No,” she said. “He never had the time.”
Fynn frowned. “Not even a knife?”
“No.”
“A bow?”
“No.”
“A spear? Anything?”
Sol wrapped her arms around herself. “No. Nothing. He did not have the time.”
The Captain heard the truth that lie unspoken in her words: she had not been allowed to train despite any desire she might have had. As a Princess of Sonamire, an empire that prided itself on tradition, it would have been far too unladylike, too improper, for Sol to learn how to fight. King Avedis would have sooner hung himself in the town square than let his daughter traipse through their infamous sparring pits with a weapon.
Taking a breath, he prayed that he did not regret this.
“Riel,” he called across the deck.
His Quartermaster leaned over the banister. “What do you want, pretty boy?”
“Bring me back those swords.”
Sol caught him off guard when she gripped his arm and tugged him around to face her. “I’m sorry,” she said. Her hazel eyes were as round as the golden coins that jangled in the Captain’s pockets. “Perhaps you misunderstood me. My brother didn’t have the time to train me, but he’d have found the time had I asked him to. I don’t want to—”
“If you hope to survive in Nedros, self-defense is a necessary skill to have.” Fynn gently pulled himself free. “I won’t take you there unless you learn to defend yourself.”
Her cheeks flushed pink with shame. “You’ll only be wasting your time.”
“I’ll say.” Riel thudded over the planks with a sword grasped tightly in each hand. “Trying to train you is as useless as—”
“Riel, darling, remember our deal.”
Riel gave Sol a saccharine smile. “Sorry,” she said. “You’ll do great.”
Sol looked as if she might vomit again.
Fynn snatched both swords from Riel before she could speak another word. He kept the flimsier weapon for himself, the thin silver blade scratched and chipped from several years of sparring, and handed the sturdier sword to Sol. She nearly dropped it, either from inexperience or utter repulsion, Fynn couldn’t be certain.
“Hold it with both hands,” he instructed. “Like this.”
He gripped the pommel of his sword, one broad hand above the other, his thumbs pressing tightly into the metal. Fynn angled his body to show her. Sol swallowed noisily as she observed, as she moved her hands to grasp the sword as he did.
“Good,” Fynn praised. “Now shift your feet apart.”
The heels of Sol’s leather boots scraped over the deck as she shuffled her feet apart.
“A little further,” Amael offered. “And don’t stand so stiffly. Bend your knees a bit.”
“This is silly,” Sol lamented. She bent her knees. “I’m not a fighter.”
“Not yet,” Fynn agreed. “But you will be. Lift your sword up higher.”
The Princess did as she was told, her face beginning to turn green.
Riel cackled a cruel laugh that Fynn wanted to slap her for. She moved to stand near Amael, her tattooed arm slinging around his waist as if she hadn’t just hit him with a sword. “This should be good.”
Amael elbowed her in the ribs. “Don’t be a bitch, Ri. Fynn kicked your ass, too.”
Laughter erupted from the Captain as he nudged Sol’s sword with his own, forcing her to lift the blade higher. Even with the space between them, he could tell her hands were shaking. “He has a point,” Fynn said to Riel. “Now hush if you’re not going to be helpful.”
“Three weeks on this ship, and suddenly she’s everyone’s favorite.”
“Maybe if you weren’t so rude,” Sol suggested glumly. “People would like you, too.”
Riel’s mouth dropped open, and that was fury simmering in her eyes. She stepped towards Sol as if to strike her, her fingers curling into a fist, but Amael gripped the back of her shirt. His laughter sent the seagulls perched on the ship’s sails scattering. “So little Red does have a backbone.” He grinned. “Fynn, I vote that we keep her.”
The corners of Fynn’s mouth twitched, and even Sol seemed to brighten at his words. “She has my vote as well. Should we take a tally amongst the crew? I hear Luca is fond of her, too.”
“Funny,” Riel snarled. “Because last I checked, a ship was no place for a—”
Fynn silenced her with a hooded glare, his eyes as sharp as the blade he gripped in his hand. “Finish that sentence, Riel, and it’s you that I’ll leave in the next port.”
She scoffed and crossed her arms. “Like Hell you would, little brother.”