Pearce knows my secret, now. I never thought that letting someone else know would feel so good.

He doesn’t bring the subject up again, though mentions in passing that Anna was the other person he told. I still can’t quite figure out the nature of their relationship.

I leave my men under the charge of one of my lieutenants, Ferguson. I tell him that I should be back in two days. Then Pearce takes me to his new sailing ship, smiling as he boards.

“I suppose you’ll need me to crew a little,” I say.

“Just a bit. I’ll tell you what to do.”

“Thank you.” I sit back, ducking so that I’ll be out of the way of the boom.

Pearce works nimbly, practically flying back and forth to set everything, a look of intense concentration on his face. He’d immediately dropped the uniform when I said we were going, donning britches and a loose shirt, keeping his hair tied back out of his face.

He reminds me of John. I hate to admit it—but the freedom he has in his movements, the air of carefree confidence and swagger… those were John’s, too.

He gives me a few instructions as he works, but does most of it on his own. In minutes, we’re out of the bay.

I continue to watch him, content under the warm morning sun. He goes to the bow of the ship, leaning on the railing with a soft smile, the wind blowing free a few strands of his blond hair.

I reach out a hand and run it through the water, feeling lighter than I’ve felt in a long time.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it,” Pearce says quietly.

I look up at him and let myself smile.

“Yes, it is.”

“I’ve always loved this.” He closes his eyes, lifting his face to the sun. “My father never let me.”

“Cruel,” I say. “This is what it is to live.”

He looks down at me and smiles wider. Looking up at him, I feel a surge of—desire? Lust, even?

I can see Pearce’s eyes dart over me, and he turns away again, a slight flush in his cheeks.

I sit up straighter and adjust my hat, looking away.

We sail for another few hours before Pearce frowns out at the horizon. “I don’t like the look of those clouds.”

“How far are we from the city?” I ask.

“Maybe another… nine hours?”

I wince. “That squall will hit us, then.”

Pearce hesitates. “It might not. We should continue on—there aren’t many places to dock close by.”

The storm hits us half an hour later. Pearce lets out a cacophony of swears like he’s trying to curse out the storm itself, darting around to keep the boat steady. I try to stay out of his way.

The wind howls around us, rain pelting us relentlessly. Pearce’s face grows more and more panicked.

And then something snaps.

Pearce almost falls overboard, getting hit in the head with a flying piece of the rigging, and drops unconscious.

I panic, but manage to haul him into the center of the boat. But I’m not a good enough sailor to pilot this ship through the storm—so instead, I hunker down next to him and pray.

God, if you care about a sinner like me, then— then please don’t let the boat tip over— for John’s sake, if nothing else, listen to me—

I can hear something roar behind us. When I turn, all I can see is a wall of water poised to crash down on us.

I put my arms around Pearce and scream.

***

The boat is reduced to tattered sails and a broken piece of mast that I cling to. I hold Pearce to it as best I can. He slips down a few times, but I manage to hold him on.

After a few hours, the clouds clear to reveal a night sky. The wind dies down to practically nothing. I let out a sob of relief.

But we’re not saved yet.

Pearce lets out a little moan, but doesn’t wake.

Around dawn, I spot a dark shape on the horizon. I start kicking towards it as fast as my battered legs can. It ends up being closer than I thought, and within the hour, we wash up on the beach.

I cling to him. Our clothes are soaked and torn, and the night air is chill. I can see a large gash on Pearce’s forehead, and the blood that had before been washed away by the sea now starts to dry onto his face.

I haul him up the beach, but collapse at the high tide line. I can’t go any further. It’s just too much.

I curl up beside him and fall unconscious.

The sun is high in the sky when I wake. I groan, but I know that if we’re going to survive, I have to be quick on my wits. So I push myself up and examine Pearce. The cut on his head has scabbed over. He has a few other nicks and bruises on his body, and his shirt is barely held together, but he doesn’t look too bad, all things considered.

I take the remnants of the shirt off of him and make a makeshift bandage for his head, just in case it reopens. As I’m tying it off, he starts to cough a little, and then his eyes open just a crack.

“Pearce,” I say in relief.

He frowns just slightly, reaching a trembling hand up to touch my face. I take his hand and squeeze it.

“The storm wrecked the boat and blew us here,” I say.

“Oh…” He closes his eyes another moment, then opens them again. “Where’s here?”

“I have no idea.”

He tries to push himself upright, but his face goes pale and he has to lie down again. “Ow…”

“Careful,” I say.

“Mm…”

My own head starts to spin, and I lie down beside him.

Footsteps sound on the sand coming near us. Startled, I look up to see a young woman in a gossamer green dress staring down at us with large eyes.

“Good day,” I manage to splutter. “Who are you?”

She frowns, then turns and dashes away into the thick trees off the beach.

I lie back on the sand, too confused and dizzy to know what to do.

A few minutes later, the girl returns with a pair of young men and what looks like some kind of stretcher. They gently lift Pearce and me onto it.

“Who are you?” I manage to get out.

“We’re going to help you,” the girl says softly.

I lose consciousness again as they carry us into the forest.

When I wake up again, the girl is gently feeding me some cool, sweet liquid. I splutter and try to sit up. She puts a hand on my chest.

“You’re hurt. Lie down.”

I swallow and do so.

“Where’s Pearce?” I ask.

She motions to a bed at the other side of the room. Pearce is lying there unconscious, but the makeshift bandage is gone, replaced with clean bindings.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“New Valataur.” She holds up the spoon again. “You need to drink this.”

I obey weakly. She spoon feeds me for a few minutes, the liquid setting like a warmth in my stomach. My vision grows clearer, my pains diminishing as my head starts to grow foggy.

“Thank you,” I slur. “And thank you for taking care of Pearce…”

“People don’t often wash up here. You must be special.” She leans down and kisses my forehead.

I giggle. “Yes, we’re special. So special. Burning sinners, we are. What a pair we are.”

“Shh…” She gently wipes my mouth with a soft cloth.

My brain doesn’t want to shhh.

“You’re pretty,” I mumble. “I don’t like women, but maybe Pearce would like you…”

“Get some sleep, little one,” she murmurs.

“Pearce does both,” I babble. “So you should kiss Pearce’s forehead.”

She places a cool cloth on my forehead, gently adjusting the blanket over me.

My brain grows even foggier, and I drift back into sleep.