The Lady Captain Page 23

  “Awww... don't be sad, little lady.” Callum paused in front of her, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand. “I'd never hurt you. At least... I don't think I would.”

  When his thumb brushed across her lips, she started to cry even harder.

  “Hey, I said no crying.” Callum pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his ebony coat and attempted to swab her sodden cheeks. “Today's a good day, sweetheart. We're overthrowing the empire! It's a brand new day for the people of Columbigo! You should be excited. I know I'm excited!”

  “I'm so excited, my cock won't sit still!” cried Jackal, who skipped down the hallway to meet his friend. His hands were behind his back, as if he was hiding something.

  Behind them, a door opened, but barely. Princess Isabella's heart wrenched as she peered into the hallway. She had been listening for some time, but she wanted to see the horrible spectacle for herself. She cracked the door and prayed they wouldn't spot her.

  “You're being inappropriate, Jackal!” Callum chided him. “You shouldn't talk about your scabby little cock in front of this sweet, young lady!” With a gloved hand, he gestured toward the frantic maid.

  Jackal stuck out his lower lip as far as he could. “Oh... sowwy. I didn't mean to be bad.”

  “It's okay, Jackal. I'm only fucking with you!” Callum swatted his companion's arm. “You can say whatever you want! Or did you honestly think I gave a shit?”

  “I don't give a shit if you give a shit!” Jackal snarled at him. “I was pretending to apologize!”

  “Well... fuck you, then!” Callum tried to peek over Jackal's shoulder. “What are you hiding back there, Jack?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I know it's not nothing. Show me.”

  “But I don't want to!”

  “Show me!”

  “Okay!” Jackal was suddenly much more accommodating. “I got revenge for Noah,” he said, revealing the severed head behind his back.

  Isabella couldn't quite see what he was holding, so she cracked the door a bit more. When she saw what dangled from his hand, she nearly gasped. Her hand flew over her mouth, stopping her from making any noise.

  Jackal was holding her father's severed head.

  “You got to kill the old man?” Callum asked.

  “Uh huh.” Jackal, who held Emperor Giorgio's head by the hair, licked his lips as he watched the royal blood paint the marble floor.

  “That isn't fair! It should've been my job!”

  “Here! You can have him if you want.” Jackal suddenly tossed the emperor's head at Callum, who barely caught it. The panicked maid cried louder and harder than ever. “What the hell is wrong with her?”

  “I guess she's scared,” Callum replied. “And I don't want your stupid head!” He tossed it back at Jackal.

  “I don't want the stupid head either!” Jackal tossed it again. “It's old. And ugly!”

  “He looks like he's smiling, though.” Callum raised the emperor's head and pointed at his lips. “At least he died happy!”

  “Tickle tickle, Giorgio!” Jackal laughed, flitting his fingers across the emperor's bulbous nose.

  His friend looked exasperated. “Are you tickling the emperor?”

  “Yeah. Do you think he can feel it?” Jackal giggled as he poked the emperor's eye. “Do you think he can feel that?”

  “No, you idiot. Now take your stupid head and let's go!” Callum tossed the severed head into Jackal's arms and continued down the hall.

  Seeing her father's head tossed around like a toy was devastating, but Isabella couldn't let herself break. Not yet. She donned a cloak, pulled up the hood, and waited for Eversio's soldiers to pass. As soon as they were further down the hall, she ducked out of her room and charged in the opposite direction. She needed to get to her brother, and they needed to escape as soon as possible.

  Isabella's mind was swimming with horrible questions. What if they got to Nico before she did? What if he already suffered the same fate as her father? She could barely stomach the thought.

  Behind her, Jackal punched Callum's arm. As soon as he had his friend's attention, he thrust a thumb over his shoulder. “The princess...” Jackal whispered. “I think that was the princess back there.”

  Isabella, who had no idea they spotted her, kept her head down and hurried to her brother's room. Nico's bedchamber wasn't far from hers, but there were murderers roaming the halls. The walk to Nico's quarters felt longer than ever.

  Isabella tried the doorknob, praying it wouldn't be locked. It wasn't. “Please be alright, Nico,” she whispered to herself. “Please, please.”

  As soon as she entered, Isabella saw Thomas Harriot thrusting his sword deep into her brother's chest. He even gave the blade a little twist to ensure the death was dealt.

  “Sorry, Gemellus,” Harriot whispered to the corpse. His hand carefully cradled the false Nico's head as he lowered the body. It was a necessary death, but he took no pleasure in it. Harriot closed his eyes, observing a moment of silence for his fallen friend.

  And then the silence was broken.

  “Tom?” Isabella's voice was tremulous as she dropped to her knees. The scene in front of her was far worse than anything her mind had conjured. “Why?”

  “Your Highness.” When Harriot turned to face her, his eyes were cold. “You weren't supposed to see this.”

  “Why?” she shrieked again. “Why, Tom? Why why why? Why my brother? Why would you do that to him? Why would you do this to me? I thought you cared!”

  “Oh, I care about a lot,” Tom assured her. “I just don't care about the royal family of Columbigo. All of you have to die. All of you deserve to die.”

  “WHY?” Isabella covered her face and screamed into her palms. She was so horrified by Tom's betrayal that she nearly retched into her hands.

  When the door opened again, Jackal leapt inside. “Hello hello hello!” he exclaimed. “Is the princess in here? Ah, there she is!” He pointed his sword at the back of her neck.

  As Callum stepped in after him, he said with a sigh, “Damn, I thought she'd be prettier than this!”

  When Jackal's eyes landed on Harriot, he waved merrily. “Oh, hey Tom!”

  “You should call him Sir Harriot, you jackanapes!” Callum exclaimed, swatting his partner's head. “He's the president's son! Show him some respect!”

  “Jackal the jackanapes!” As he arrived at his new nickname, Jackal yowled with laughter.

  Harriot's gaze shifted from Isabella to Callum to Jackal—and back to Isabella. He knew what his father's thugs were capable of, and he wondered if he would be able to stop them. “Leave her with me,” he attempted to give them a command. “Let me finish her off.”

  “Sir Harriot wants to have a bit of fun with her!” Jackal yelped. “I can't say I blame him.”

  “Really?” Callum lightly kicked the princess with the side of his boot. “I wouldn't. She's homely.”

  “She only looks ugly because she's crying!” Jackal defended her. “Nobody looks pretty when they cry! Not even you with your curly black hair and your charming smile, Callum!”

  When Jackal tried to touch his hair, Callum slapped his hand away. “Are you sure we can't have a bit of fun with her ourselves?” Callum gathered Isabella's hair into his hand, forming a ponytail in his fist. Then he yanked her hair and dragged her onto her back. “At least let me cut off her hands! I think she'd look lovelier with a nice pair of stumps!”

  “No,” Tom shook his head at the sadist's suggestion. “I won't allow it.”

  “Well then... maybe...” Jackal's fingers walked onto Isabella's breast. “Maybe you could let us have a different kind of fun with her? But you could go first, Sir Harriot. Of course you could!”

  “No!” Tom roared. He charged at Jackal, clutched his wrist, and pulled his hand away from Isabella. He twisted Jackal's fingers and pulled back on them as hard as he could. As soon as he felt them snap, Jackal howled with pain, like an animal caught in a trap. “If you touch her again, I'll
break the rest of them. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, sir!” Jackal whimpered, cradling his hurt hand as he backed away, chastised.

  “I need you both to leave. Now,” Harriot demanded. “I outrank you. My father wouldn't appreciate insubordination, would he?”

  “No, sir!” Callum shouted, and with a subservient nod to the son of his master, he slipped from the room. A whimpering Jackal followed him out.

  When both of them were gone, Tom leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. Isabella was still on her back. She hadn't moved since Jackal touched her, and she couldn't stop crying. Tom kept quiet, letting her sob in silence.

  Several minutes later, Isabella finally found the strength to pick herself off the ground. She couldn't bring herself to look at Harriot, and she certainly didn't care to see her brother's corpse. Sighing, she closed her eyes and awaited death.

  “Do it,” Isabella said. “You've already killed the rest of my family. I might as well join them.”

  Harriot walked toward her, never uttering a word, not even a single consoling whisper. He stood in front of her, wishing she would look at him, but she never did. There was so much he wanted to say to her. So much.

  Isabella raised her chin. She was humiliated, but if these were her final moments, she wanted to look as proud as possible. She felt like a fool. She had fallen for the man who killed her family. It was too embarrassing, she didn't want to live with the shame.

  “Kill me,” Isabella said, as placidly as possible. “Go ahead. I know you're meant to, so... I'm ready.”

  “Brave girl,” Tom commended her. “You're braver than I would be.”

  “I don't need your praise, Tom.” Isabella closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. When she realized it would be one of the final breaths to fill her lungs, she shuddered. “Just get it over with.”

  “For what it's worth, Isabella...” he hesitated a moment, forcing the words from his mouth. “I am sorry. I wish I didn't have to hurt you.”

  And with that, Tom Harriot slowly raised his sword.

  Thirty Five

  When Julian woke the next morning, he was on his stomach, half-naked, with his face squashed against the floor. A spider was crawling across his cheek, so he sat up, whimpered, and swatted it away. He had no recollection of the previous night, but he had apparently stripped down to his skivvies at some point. The rest of his clothes were scattered haphazardly around him.

  Mae was sitting on his bed, quietly reading a book. It took Julian a moment to remember her name, and even when he did remember it, he wasn't sure he had it right.

  “Mae?” Julian tested his knowledge. If she responded—good. If she didn't, or if she looked confused, he would have to start talking about the calendar month of the same name. It seemed like a solid plan.

  She glanced up from the book. “Ah. You're awake now, I see. I was starting to think you were dead.”

  “I feel dead.” With a groan, Julian laid back down on the floor. “Did we have sex?”

  “Does it look like we had sex, or does it look like you were lying face-down on the floor?”

  “I thought we might've had sex before I ended up on the floor,” Julian answered with a yawn. “So... what happened, exactly?”

  “Do you want the long version or the short one?”

  “I want the in-between version,” Julian requested. “I want the version that's not too bogged down by details, with just the right amount of shocking.”

  “Okaaaay.” Mae set her book aside and scooted to the edge of the bed so she could see him better. She didn't want to miss his reaction. “When we got back to your airship, you were very drunk. You started climbing one of the masts, and when I tried to pull you down, you kicked me on the nose.” Mae pointed at her face, directing his attention to the large, blue-black bruise below the bridge of her nose.

  “Oh dear.” Julian winced. “I'm terribly sorry about that.”

  “A big guy had to come over and pull you off the mast,” Mae continued her story. “I think his name was Jolly, but he looked like one of the most frightening people I've ever seen in my life.”

  “That would be Jolly.”

  “Anyway, I knew the whole kicking thing was an accident, so I didn't hold it against you. We went back to your room, and we danced for a little while. You opened a bottle of rum...” Mae pointed at the table, where the bottle stood as a testament of shame. “I tried to tell you it was a bad idea, because you were already drunk, but you kept drinking it anyway. I guess you started removing your clothes... I barely remember that myself, because it happened so fast. Before I knew it, you were face-down on the floor.”

  “And now I'm awake again,” Julian said with a grunt. “Would you be a dear and go fetch me a pair of breeches from the wardrobe?”

  Mae slid from the bed, selected a pair of brown breeches from Julian's wardrobe, and tossed them at him. “Are those good?”

  “Perfect.” Julian meant to put them on, but he barely had one leg in before he clutched his head and whined, “Ugh... my head feels like it's bursting!”

  “I'm not surprised.” Mae stood over him and crossed her arms. “Anyway, now that you're awake, I should probably get off the airship. I was supposed to meet someone in the capital. Nico.”

  Julian wanted to tell her he knew a Nico, but at that moment, his mouth didn't feel like having a conversation. Moaning incessantly, he thrust his legs into his breeches and sat up.

  Mae pointed at the wardrobe. “Do you need me to get you a shirt?”

  “Nooo... I don't feel like it!” He rolled onto his knees and slowly dragged himself to his feet, using the bed as a crutch.

  “You don't seem like you're handling your pain very well, Julian,” Mae observed. “Maybe you should lie down?”

  “Well, uh...” Ignoring her recommendation, Julian opened the door and slid one foot into the hallway. “It was lovely to meet you, Mae, but I really must be going now. It was a pleasure to know you. Sorry about your nose. Don't worry, you still look beautiful.”

  Julian slipped into the hall and searched for Wiggly Joe, his go-to man for getting unwanted women off the airship. Instead, he bumped into Jolly, who looked even more stern than usual. “Jolly!” he exclaimed. “There's a woman in my room, and she has business in the capital. Would you be so kind as to escort her back to--”

  “Can't,” Jolly interrupted. “We're already airborne. We're miles away from the capital by now.”

  “What? Airborne? Why?” Julian gasped. “But I didn't authorize a take-off!”

  Jolly, who was sharpening a knife on a small whetstone, explained, “There was some kind of chaos at the palace. I didn't want to bother you, since you were with a lady, so I made a decision on my own.”

  As Julian headed toward the deck, he motioned for Jolly to follow. “When you say there was chaos... what does that entail, exactly?”

  “I'm not sure, but I think something happened at the palace. Wiggly was sayin' there was anarchy in the streets. People were taking advantage of the chaos and robbing general stores and whatnot.”

  “Well, I trust that you made the right decision. You are my first mate, after all.” When Julian reached the deck, he stopped to study a cloud. They were definitely airborne.

  “Julian! There you are!”

  When he heard Lettie's voice, the captain groaned. He enjoyed her company, and he even enjoyed bantering with her, but at the moment, Lettie was the last thing his headache needed. “Yes, Captain Jordan?”

  “You're supposed to give me back my airship, and we're supposed to be heading for Baltmoor! You haven't forgotten, have you?”

  “No, no. I haven't forgotten.”

  Another woman's voice suddenly shrilled, “We're in the air?” When he saw Mae charging toward him, Julian closed his eyes, bracing himself for the inevitable lecture. “Julian, why are we in the air? Where are we going? I need to be at the capital right now!”

  “Yeah... sorry, Mae, but it sounds like we won't be returning
to the capital anytime soon.” Julian winced as he delivered the news.

  “What? Why? I told you I need to meet someone!” Though she complained, Mae couldn't stop glancing around at her surroundings. They were in the sky! If she wanted to, she could reach out and touch the clouds. It was hard to be angry when she was enraptured by the beautiful world.

  “Who's Mae?” A tiny sneer marred Lettie's nose as she asked the question.

  “I'm Mary Melissa Mae, Julian's would-be lover.” Mae had no shame. She thrust a hand at Lettie, but the girl didn't shake it. “Or... maybe the correct term is would've-been lover.”

  “I'm... Letitia,” the other girl cautiously introduced herself. “I'm Julian's captive.”

  “Captive?” Julian chuckled at the word. “I wouldn't say captive, really. At this point, you're more like a perpetually disgruntled guest, dear.”

  “I'm a perpetually disgruntled guest who needs her airship!” Lettie squealed. “And are you going to take me back to Baltmoor or what?”

  “Soon, dear, soon.”

  Mae's question followed. “And are you going to take me back to the capital? I was supposed to meet my friend at a pub. If he doesn't see me there, he's going to worry.”

  “Haven't you heard, Mary Melissa?” Julian rolled his eyes at her. “The capital's off the table. It's dangerous there!”

  As Lettie and Mae simultaneously railed at him, Julian closed his eyes and tried to block it out. He felt like he was being clucked at by angry hens. To make matters worse, his head was throbbing like the devil. He was in no mood to listen to their complaints.

  Suddenly they started railing at each other.

  “Sorry, sweetie, but I'm supposed to meet the prince,” Mae claimed. “I don't mean to be rude, but I'm sure that's more important than whatever you've got going on!”

  “The prince? Ha!” Lettie threw back her head and cackled loudly. “Do you really expect me to believe that? Why would the prince be meeting with someone like you?”

  “Someone like me?” Mae's hands flew to her hips. “What's that supposed to mean, exactly?”