The Nightingale

Chapter Twenty-Four

That night, as Jack fell asleep while the sun was going down, exhausted from a game he invented that had them jumping and running across the small cell for hours, Natasha sat in the opposite corner from the boy, tracing circles in the dust that gathered on the worn wooden floors. For what felt the hundredth time since they had been taken from The Nightingale, Natasha found herself thinking of John. Their last encounter played in her head over and over again in any moments of quiet that she had, from the way he wouldn't even meet her gaze when she asked him for the truth, to the way he pulled her back when she tried to walk away, his eyes heavy with emotions.

For most of her imprisonment, she had been furious at him, overwhelmed with the idea that he had been so willing to deliver her to the men who had slaughtered her village, kidnapped her family, and sent soldiers out to find her. The knowledge that he had made that deal to trade her life for immunity to sail the seas as a pirate left her nearly shaking with anger and filled with hurt so intense she felt the ache deep into her chest, but the longer she had to sit with what he had done, the more her anger faded. The hurt was still there, but she had also begun to reach a level of understanding, knowing that, for whatever reason, he had made that deal with Easton the first night that they met, when she was nothing more than a stranger running to him on the beach for help, before they even knew each other's names. Even more so, he had gone back on his agreement with Easton within days, after their first conversation and he offered to help her, seeming genuine despite what she knew about him now.

The anger she felt towards him had faded away the most she thought of him, the hurt she had felt had even begun to disappear as she tried to convince herself that John had only offered Easton that deal because they were strangers to each other, as she told herself repeatedly that he had tried to keep her safe over the last couple weeks. Now, thinking of John, she mostly felt overwhelming sadness, as the idea that she might never see him again brought forth a sort of pain and anxiousness that she hadn't anticipated feeling. Thinking of Alexander in those quiet moments too, she felt the same way, although she was not surprised as the sadness she felt over possibly losing him. Alexander had easily become a companion to her, a confidant in her voyage away from home to save her family, and she missed the safety she felt when she was standing with him.

Both men were at the forefront of her mind as she sat in the dark, her fingers creating random patterns across the dirty floor, when the door to below deck opened and a warm glow from a lantern cast light upon her pictures and the dark space around them. Natasha stood as the sailor descended the stairs and approached her cell, finding a familiar face from a sailor who had brought them dinner the previous night. As he came to stand by the cell door, Natasha crossed the space towards him, glancing back over her shoulder once to ensure that Jack was still sleeping.

"Captain Easton has requested your presence," the sailor said, unlocking the cell door. Natasha instinctively stepped away, crossing her arms protectively over her chest, looking down at the sailor's hands for any signs of the cuffs that had been used on her the last time Easton summoned her. Thankfully, she saw none in his hands as they pulled open the cell door.

"You can tell Easton I'm not interested in dining with him again," she responded evenly, forcing herself to keep her voice low, hoping she wouldn't wake Jack. He had managed to laugh and smile, genuinely, for the first time since they were kidnapped as she indulged in the game he had invented earlier, and she didn't want to dampen that lightness in overwhelming darkness by having him wake up to another sailor taking her away.

"He instructed me to inform you that either you join him this evening, or the boy dies." Natasha watched as the sailor's hand navigated towards his sword, and she instinctively stepped so she was between the door, her body tensing with anger, her fingers clenching at her side as she wished for her own sword to be hanging from her belt.