Fynn stuffed his hands into the pockets of his pants and quickly swaggered over the walkway. Sol was still flushed and gasping for air when the Captain jumped down in front of her, his mouth twisted with a grin as he playfully tugged on her braid. “We’ll work on it.”
“How do you do that?” Sol wheezed. “That was terrifying.”
He laughed and touched her shoulder. “Practice.”
“We’re headed below deck,” Riel called over. She was already lumbering for the stairs, her footsteps purposefully heavy to warn whoever might be hidden below. “I assume you’ll take the Captain’s quarters?”
“He might have hidden something useful there.”
Riel rolled her eyes. “If you hear screaming, I suppose that means we need you.”
Fynn snorted and waved at her in dismissal.
The Quartermaster and her fellow crewmates disappeared down the darkened stairwell, their boots scuffing noisily against the rotting planks. Fynn waited until Riel was out of sight, her hair blending into the darkness of the corridor, then looped his arm through Sol’s. “Stay close to me.”
Not that he was giving her much of a choice.
Her swallow was audible. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“This is an older ship,” Fynn explained when the planks creaked beneath their feet and Sol clutched his arm. “And it’s seen combat. Bounty hunters don’t care about maintenance; so long as their ship stays afloat, that’s good enough. They don’t scrub the salt from the deck or bother to patch up holes if the ship isn’t at risk of sinking.”
“How do you know it’s seen combat?”
Fynn pointed at the deep, wicked scorch marks blackening the ship’s hull. “See those? They’re probably from Fire-Wielders. There weren’t any when they boarded my ship, so they likely encountered them during a raid.”
“Oh.”
He slid Sol behind him as they reached the cabin. Fynn fiddled with the serpentine handle, the silver twining like a coiled snake poised to strike at them. He used his Magic to blow open the door. Instinctually, he reached for his sword, the movement engrained into every part of who he was. The Princess held him tightly as she peered around his shoulder into the room, and even Fynn held his breath as his eyes swept over the cabin.
There was no one inside, no one hiding in the shadows who could hurt them. Who could slaughter Fynn for the carnage he’d unleashed on the Refuge.
Relief coiled in Fynn’s chest. “All clear.”
“What is that smell?”
Fynn blanched as he sniffed at the air. “Bounty hunters are a filthy lot. It’s exactly what you think it is.” He pulled up the collar of his tunic and covered his mouth and nose. “Hold your breath.”
“Says the Wind-Wielder.”
Fynn snorted despite the foul-smelling waste permeating from the room. “Have it your way,” he said, his voice muffled by his shirt. “But if you need help breathing, let me know. I’ve been told I’m good at mouth to mouth.”
“You really are ridiculous.”
“Something tells me you enjoy it.”
Sol dug her elbow between his ribs and glared at him. “What are we looking for?”
Fynn stepped into the cabin, a smaller room and far more cluttered than his quarters on the Refuge. He drifted to the crumbling bookshelf that lined the wall adjacent to the door, fingering over the books that lay stacked there. He traced over spines that appeared to have never been cracked. “Nothing in particular,” he told Sol. Fynn pulled out a book and blew away the dust from the cover. “Toss anything useful onto the bed. I’ll pick through it when we’re done.”
Grumbling, Sol circled the cabin.
They lapsed into shuffling silence as Fynn rifled through the Captain’s books, through the waterlogged maps scattered carelessly across the cabin floor. He was wringing one out when Sol tapped him on the shoulder. “What about this?”
Bent onto his haunches, Fynn snatched the chunk of amethyst from her. “Where’d you find this?”
A faint smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “On the desk,” she said. “Being used as a paperweight.”
Fynn shook his head and turned the sparkling purple geode between his fingers. “I’m keeping it.”
Sol’s laughter drew his eyes from the stone. “I assumed.”
Rising to his feet, Fynn shoved the amethyst into his pocket. He would clean and polish it later. “Thank you,” he said. “For even thinking to grab it. Riel would have chucked it out the window and told me to swim for it if I wanted it.”
“Rocks—crystals,” Sol amended quickly. “Seem to make you happy. I have no need to deprive you of that, especially on a day like today.”
Fynn winced. A day like today, indeed.
He could not stop himself from studying her, this girl who should be his enemy, but wasn’t. Her delicate features were drawn with a welcoming kindness that Fynn had not encountered—truly encountered—for years. Sol did not care if he liked rocks or swords or knives, if he were a guard or the Captain of a pirate ship. She did not care if he’d murdered those hunters in her name, if it were his fault that Arden lay dying below deck.
She did not look at him with judgement, only gentle compassion that someone in Sonamire had discarded.
Whoever had caused her to flee, be it the King or her Fire-Wielding brother, was a fool.
Fynn blinked out of his stupor and raked his fingers through his hair. “Thank you,” he repeated.
“You saved my life in Valestorm,” she reminded him. “And you wouldn’t let me pay you when you agreed to take me to Nedros. At the very least, I owed you something you’d enjoy.” She smiled a bit sheepishly. “And it was useless as a paperweight. I knew you’d take much better care of it.”
Fynn’s booming laughter bounced off the planked walls of the cabin. “I certainly will.”
“When we return to your ship, will you tell me why that type of stone seems to be your favorite? You have lots of it back in your cabin.”
He considered this, considered her curious expression. “I’ll tell you whatever you want.”
“So if I spend hours inquiring about every stone in your collection, you’ll tell me?”
“Inquire about the stones in my collection, Sol, and I might very well ask you to marry me.”
The smile fell from Sol’s face. “Don’t say that.”
Fynn tilted his head as the Princess took several hasty, stumbling steps away from him, her arms wrapping around her middle. Her eyes darkened with fear, but Fynn did not dare let himself reach for her. No matter how badly he ached to take her hand, to fight away that fear so he never had to see it again, Fynn simply stood and stared at her.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured instead. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I know.” Sol’s voice was tight with panic. “I know.”
Fynn’s Magic flared, but he choked off his wind before it could tear through the cabin. “Let’s go back to the ship,” he offered. “There’s nothing here that we need.”
“What about the others?”
“Riel is more than capable of pillaging this ship and making it back on her own. She and the others don’t need me.” Fynn motioned to the door with a broad sweep of his hand. “After you, milady.”