Wayfarer

“Who the devil is that?” Nicholas asked curiously.

“A pirate unrivaled,” Li Min said. “There is no greater one in all of history.”

“When did he live? Or she?”

She seemed appeased by this, her gaze softening slightly.

“Ching Shih bridged the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. She was born in 1775. Tens of thousands came under her command, and she beat back whole empires.”

That partly explained why he hadn’t recognized her name; that and the biases of the West had likely prevented her legend from spreading past the Pacific. “What became of her?”

“She successfully negotiated her retirement.”

“Impressive,” he said, because it was. More than glory or infamy, successful pirates were those who survived the endeavor and didn’t drown, hang, or rot in prison. He stored the story away, to save for Etta.

“Have you always known you were a traveler?” he asked. “How did you get mixed up in all of this?”

“I have always known. I inherited the skill from my mother, who had once been captive under Ching Shih. When I…when the time came, I sought Ching Shih out to learn from her. To manifest my strength.” Li Min shifted, rising onto her knees and then her feet. “And now I answer only to myself.”

“That’s something,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound as bitter as he feared. “I’ve spent my whole life trying and failing to reach that place.”

For the first time since crossing paths with her, Li Min’s expression softened. “It’s not so easy for some. I should know—I’ve felt the grinding of the world as it has worked against me. The worth is in the fight, not the conquest. Do not give up.”

“I don’t intend to,” he said.

“But something stands in your way…?”

“Things are…rather complicated at the moment.”

“Complicated how?” she asked.

“My life has taken me down a path I did not expect,” he said, dodging the root of her question. “I have come so far. But the path ahead of me, the one I know I should take, is at odds with the one my heart believes is right. What’s the value of my life if I sacrifice my soul?” How much easier it was to admit such things to a stranger, and how well she listened as he continued on, his story flowing from him as simply as if he’d cut a vein and let it bleed out.

Nicholas would carve a path through hell itself to find Etta and finish answering the question of what their life would be together. That was the only certainty on which he could hang his hope. But there were too many factors beyond his control now, and he felt himself drifting further and further from all of those shining possibilities which had been a safe harbor for his heart.

In his life, he had been a slave to man, and now he grew more and more certain that he had allowed himself to become a slave to death. There was no way to break this chain that bound him to the Belladonna without staining his soul; in killing a man, he would murder his own honor and decency.

Li Min considered his story carefully, as if turning over each word to examine it and see what might be hidden beneath it.

“I understand. There is the journey you make through the world—the one that aches and sings. We come together with others to make our way and survive its trials,” she said. “But we are, all of us, also wayfarers on a greater journey, this one without end, each of us searching for the answers to the unspoken questions of our hearts. Take comfort, as I have, in knowing that, while we must travel it alone, this journey rewards goodness, and will prove that the things which are denied to us in life will never create a cage for our souls.”

Nicholas closed his eyes, drawing the damp, cool air into his chest, easing the fire there.

“I will return shortly with food and clothing,” she said. “If you leave this spot, you will be lost forever to the darkness of this place. I will not find you, not even to bury your rotting carcass. Do we have an understanding?”

“We do, ma’am,” he said.

“Keep watch over her,” Li Min said. “Her color is returning, but it will be some time before she regains use of her legs. She will be frightened upon waking.”

“And you think I’m the best one to comfort her?” Nicholas scoffed. Sophia would rather accept the tender ministrations of a rabid dog over him.

Li Min seemed genuinely confused by this. “But…you don’t care for her? Why, then, did you fight so hard to save her?”

Is that what he had done—fight for her? Nicholas had felt himself stumbling again and again. Half of his rage had been aimed at Remus Jacaranda; the other half had been reserved for himself. Not just for ignoring his own instincts, but because…because…

I nearly let someone die under my protection.

“I require her assistance,” he said. “She owes a debt to me.”

Sophia made a faint sound, a whistle of a breath between her teeth. Nicholas dragged himself closer, his hand straying down to her wrist to feel for her pulse. It felt steadier than before, and her breathing was no longer labored. The yellow light of the lantern warmed her skin from its former pallid, marblelike state, and he was surprised to find it reassuring.

I’m glad, he thought, the words jolting him to the core. I’m glad she’s not dead.

He’d wished for nothing so much as that in the moments after Etta had disappeared, after Sophia’s betrayal. If she’d been standing before him then, he would have reached out and strangled her.