Page 43 of The Worst of Them

“No talent goes unused on this ship,” Copson said, and it sounded more threatening than complimentary. “So until we reach Tortuga, you’ll train the less competent crew with Jack.”

“Train them?” Cecily peered at Jack, who regarded Copson with a raised brow. “Will I be allowed a sword?”

“I hardly think it’d be prudent to spar Jack with a stick,” Copson said dryly. “Jack, find her a sword, but only while you train. I stand by my order—she’s not to keep any weapons.”

Jack’s dagger was warm in her pocket, but the first mate gave no sign that he’d already defied his father’s wishes. It seemed his own loyalty was patchy in some areas, but Cecily couldn’t spare the time to gloat—she was getting a sword, and her heart lifted.

Copson’s eyes landed on the slash through Jack’s cheek. “Careful,” he warned.

Jack watched him go, his expression hard. Cecily noted it, but said nothing—if the truce stood for him, she’d honor it too.

She finished the ashes in almost no time at all and lit the fires. Then Jack nodded to the lower decks.

“Galley till noon,” he said, shucking off his coat and leaving it on a crate. Several sailors had made their way to the main deck to raise the sails. “We’ll meet after.”

Perhaps she’d expected to start right then, but as eager as she was for a sword, there was work to be done.

She must have frowned because Jack added, “I won’t argue about it.”

“I wasn’t going to argue.” Not if it would jeopardize her chance for more freedom on this ship.

He began rolling up his sleeves. “Eat before you come back,” he said boredly. His eyes raked down her body. “Breakfast and lunch.”

Cecily scowled. He’d heard Stede implore her to eat more the other day, and after all he’d deduced about her against her will, she didn’t need him to know this too—and acknowledge it so blatantly. “Dictating my meals now?”

“You’re rather small,” he said without any hint of shame.

Her eyes narrowed. “And you’re rather self-assured.”

“You should at least have the energy to keep up with me.” It wasn’t cutting—merely a challenge she would absolutely rise to meet. He started for the others gathering by the masts. “I’ll see you at noon.”

Cecily trudged to the galley. Small. Of all the impertinent things for a man to say. It was her fourth day on this ship, and while she’d eaten more and better here than she had in prison, her limbs were still skinny, and climbing stairs was enough to get her breathing hard.

Sure, she was small and starved, but that said nothing for her skill, if yesterday was any indication. Besides, she’d managed to best him easily enough when she was in worse condition than she was now.

Nevertheless, as she walked into the galley and greeted Stede, she grabbed a bit of dried meat and sank her teeth into it before the cook could tell her to do just that.

After several hours of vivid stories, she finished her portion of the fish stew she’d helped prepare and made her way to the main deck. A small group had already gathered, mostly women, though there were a few men too.

Jack’s voice came from behind her as he climbed the steps from the lower decks. “Did you eat?”

She folded her arms. “You’re a busybody.”

There was an extra sword in his hand, the scabbard looking brand new. “Did you?”

“Yes,” she answered without taking her eyes off the weapon. “Though I doubt food will make much of a difference in ability, if that’s what concerns you.”

“I’m not concerned about your ability.” Stopping in front of her, he extended the sword.

All thoughts fled her mind as the smooth leather settled in her palms. Try as she might to school her face into indifference, the moment she saw the hilt’s mother-of-pearl inlays and the way the guard was delicately molded to cover her hand, a grin stole over her face. Pulling away the scabbard, she gave a short, incredulous laugh.

It was the most beautiful sword she’d ever seen.

Jack looked at her as though he’d won a game. The edges of his mouth lifted, softening the severity of his features. His eyes wandered between her hands and her face, drinking her in, noting every way her thorny façade crumbled and broke despite how her mind warned her to let nothing show. To not let Jack see.

But the sword was beautiful. Well balanced. The blade sharp and deadly. The hilt glittered like snow and starlight. She couldn’t help her smile, just as she couldn’t the night before.

Briefly, she wondered how he might use this against her before deciding that he couldn’t, because she’d already lost everything, and even this lovely thing was not hers to keep. He’d take it away at the end of the day, and for now it was a pleasure to simply hold it.