Swashbuckling on the Edge

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Sitting on the deck of the Wraith, shackled to Kent and the foremast, was not ideal.

Neither was the mud caked to my skin and clothes and the scratches and scrapes courtesy of trekking through the jungle for hours. The wound on my cheek throbbed with every pulse of my heart. The sun baked my skin mercilessly without a hat or scarf to cover my head.

At least our journey would soon come to an end. We were nearing the spot I'd identified on the charts. I looked towards Barton on the quarterdeck, his eyes on the horizon. He was anxious to arrive.

"I don't really see how this was the best plan," Kent whispered to me for the hundredth time.

"Yeah?" I hissed back. "Well it's better to be dead later than dead now, the way I see it. I was improvising."

"But this way he'll get the treasure," Kent argued, keeping one eye on our guards. "And be able to accomplish God knows what with it."

"If we're not dead later, we'll find a way to bring down their unholy alliance," I said back.

Kent was right about the plan being horrendous, but there were few options left. As soon as Kent and I had stumbled from the jungle and back into the town proper, Barton's men had been waiting to recapture us. Knowing Barton was likely already trying to pry the information he wanted out of Tallera, I'd seen no other choice than to volunteer the coordinates and hope we could find another way out. Still, the practical side of me harped on the issue, to the point I could do little but sit and stew or imagine increasingly unlikely ways we could save ourselves.

Tallera was back belowdecks, and I tried not to worry too much for her, but it proved impossible. There was no way to know if she was still safe, if she'd been injured. My head throbbed, reminding me of my own wounds, and I grimaced.

"Zaina, look."

Kent nodded at the splash of green looming up ahead. The island was taller than it was large; its single peak stretching upwards, dragging a carpet of greenery with it. The beach was non-existent; the edges bubbled out all around the circumference like a lady's billowing skirt, then blended with the sea.

"I sincerely hope this is a dormant volcano," Kent muttered.

I hummed in agreement, scanning the shore while Barton ordered the helmsman in a tour around the small island, searching for a suitable place to go ashore. At first, there didn't seem to be any chinks in the island's natural armour. The slopes of the mountain were so steep as to be difficult to climb and the thick greenery was an impenetrable screen. But sure enough, Barton soon spied an opening.

We waited on the deck while the crew dropped anchor and readied the boats. There were only two groups going ashore—I suspected because Barton didn't yet trust I'd directed him to the right location. When Tallera was brought up on deck, I wanted to protest but kept my mouth shut.

Plopped into one of the boats opposite her, I winced at the sight of her bruised face.

"It's not as bad as it looks," she tried to reassure me.

I frowned. "It looks awful," I said, then, chagrined, pressed my lips together.

Tallera snorted. "It's fine, Zaina. They didn't do much."

"I'm sorry you've been dragged into this."

She pinned me with a hard stare. "This is not your fault."

Barton descended into the front of our boat, cutting short our conversation. We edged towards the island, rolling on the tide. Up close, I saw the gap between land and sea—a pocket of space formed by an overhang. With the water level so high, we would barely squeeze through. All of us ducked down into the boat, our chests to our knees, as we floated into the sea cave hidden inside.