Page 86 of A Reckless Indulgence

“Wait! Cav!” Briar leans back in her chair to shout after him. “What does it say? Where are you going?”

But Cav is already gone.

THIRTY-SIX

Cav

Cav shoves through the marketplace. People grunt and shout, but he finally breaks through the crowd and takes off toward the north of the island. A worn path meanders through sand dunes, dotted with stragglers wandering the outskirts of the port.

The further he goes, the more everything dwindles. Twilight has fully settled. The path fades into rough terrain, covered in beachgrass and rocks that Cav’s feet catch on. Crickets chirp near his ankles, no longer dampened by the throng of people. For a while, there’s nothing but insects and frogs until the sound of waves returns.

He’s getting closer. Wind ruffles the grass, but he pushes through it to find the abandoned boathouse on the shoreline. It’s a dark blot against the horizon with no torches in the broken, rotted windows. Nothing stirs inside.

Cav’s pace slows. He tries to take a full breath, but standing in the dark so far from everyone else makes his chest tight. Maybe he should have thought this through. He could have told Briar and Lace what was happening, or at least warned them to come after him. What if this is a setup? What if Lyx isn’t here at all?

Foolish pirate.

Her voice stirs in his head. That’s the only thing that gives him hope. She has to be here. She has to be alive. If there’s even a chance she’s in trouble, he’s going after her.

Clenching his jaw, Cav slinks toward the boathouse. It’s a strange sensation to be cautious and feel that inkling of uncertainty. His scales prickle as his gaze darts around the structure. Something moves in the window – or is it just the shadows playing tricks on him? He freezes. Is someone watching him from inside?

He forces himself to keep moving. For once, he hates the glow his body gives off, a muted beacon through his clothing. He grips his collar to keep it closed, wincing when the weathered stairs creak beneath him. There is no hiding his arrival. Whomever is waiting for him knows he’s here.

The boathouse door hangs off its hinges and blocks the entrance. Beyond it, there is nothing but darkness and the skitter of dead leaves across the floor.

If love is real, then I have to keep going.

Teeth bared, he lowers his shoulder to the door and breaks his way inside. It scrapes the floor, leaving a gap barely big enough to squeeze through. Cav tilts his ear toward the opening and strains to hear. Besides the low thrum of waves, there are no other sounds. He tries to wedge past the door, but his shirt catches on a rusty nail, ripping a strip of fabric off the bottom. He curses, heart pounding before he tears himself free and squeezes inside.

Stars blink through the holes of the dilapidated roof. The floor is rough with sand and salt, and the ember inside him sheds light on moldy ropes and water-logged buckets. A few feet in front of him is an open boat bay where the ocean sloshes against its walls.

But no sign of Lyx.

“I was beginning to think you didn’t care for her after all.”

Cav tenses for an attack. To his right, a match strikes against the wall and catches on the tip of a cigar. It glows red on the face of a man behind it.

There’s no telling what type of creature he is. His face is crusted with barnacles and anemones, gray skin pulled brittle and taut over his bones. Every movement he makes looks like a struggle. His chest rises shallowly, crushed beneath the small crustaceans embedded there. Tiny organisms cling to his body, twitching and stretching and draining the very life from him.

This must be the man who left the note, but seeing him doesn’t help Cav understand. Who is he? What does he want? “Where’s Lyx?”

The man takes a slow drag before he points his cigar at Cav. “Cavalier. That’s what your name is.” Smoke slips between his lips when he coughs. “You’d think I would have remembered something that fucking stupid, but you’ll forgive me. It’s been years.”

Cav’s brows knit. What does he mean? Cav doesn’t know that face. He can hardly make it out, but then the man presses his cigar to the wick of a candle until it shines on his malicious smile.

An eerie familiarity skitters up Cav’s spine. He knows that smile. He saw it the last day on the convoy. “Prodeus?”

Ash falls from the cigar while the man hacks and spits on the floor. “That name’s so tired. ‘Tidus’ has more of a Captain ring to it, don’t you think?” He grins. “I have you to thank for that.”

He reaches into his coat and pulls out a frayed roll of parchment. When he opens it to the light, Cav sees it’s covered in jotted images and scribbled notes.

Cav’s notes.

His heart lurches. Those are all his references, his shoddy illustrations, his damning circle around Lyx’s grotto. A sickly feeling swirls in his stomach. “How did you get that?”

“Once you washed back up, you kept saying a siren saved you. I never believed you. No one did…but I kept an eye on you.” Prodeus — Tidus takes another puff of his cigar and waves the map between his fingers. “Plucked it right out of your pocket that last day. You never even noticed.”

Shame burns through Cav. He remembers Prodeus’s hand on his back as he sent him off the ship. It was all a distraction. Cav spent two years regretting his carelessness, but he never lost the map in port. He never lost the map at all.