On Sinister Shores Read online

  Contents

  Newsletter

  The Map of Omna

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Review

  Your next binge read

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Books by Jennifer Ellision

  Newsletter

  Sign up for Jennifer Ellision’s newsletter at www.jenniferellision.com to be notified about new releases, as well as receive exclusive content and behind-the-scenes news. You’ll get a free story just for signing up!

  On Sinister Shores

  Lady Pirates Book 3

  Jennifer Ellision

  The Map of Omna

  Chapter One

  We burst onto the shores of La Isla de Oro like the hounds of hell, unleashed.

  I bare my teeth in a feral grin, nose scrunched in a snarl. In one hand is my pistol. It has but one shot left in its chamber and the bullet inside thirsts for blood, as hungry for it as if it can sense that its intended target is near. My other fist raises into the air as my feet plunge into golden sands, covering the beach quickly in their haste to reach their destination.

  Beside me, my crew shouts oaths of vengeance, their shouts and spits of disgust filling the air. Ilene’s sword is at the ready. My captain’s eyes glimmer with the promise of death by her blade. Behind her, Lila’s tied a piece of cloth around her head to secure her hair and fires a warning shot into the air. Maude grins—a smile that’s missing a few teeth. Sam twirls a knife around in her fingers and gives me a quick nod; she’s ready.

  The crew of the Broken Serpent clashes against us like two opposing tidal waves, but I barely notice as I spot my target.

  Captain Whighorn.

  The murderer of my crew.

  My jaw tightens as I remember finding the Lady Luck aflame and crawling with Mordgris. Whighorn and his crew had been responsible for that. They’d found the Luck and laid siege to her, stealing our prized treasure of the magical Map of Omna.

  His greed had kept his destination the same as theirs had been, but he hadn’t known anyone would come after him.

  I always love a good surprise.

  My grip spasms on my gun. The bastard has the gratifying decency to widen his eyes when he sees me coming. The chest of gold he holds drops to the shore as he attempts to flee.

  I toss the pistol aside and flex my black-taloned fingers. Only mortals have a use for crutches like these. I’ll tear into Whighorn myself.

  I lunge—

  —And wake in my cabin on the Commandant, panting. The great naval vessel creaks; a soft lullaby that tries to play me back to sleep, but with my heart attempting to beat its way out of my chest, there’s not a chance in hell of that. Sweat coats my forehead, but I don’t feel warm. The opposite, in fact. My skin is clammy and cool.

  My blankets are a prison, trapping me inside their confines. Hurriedly, I scramble out of them, breathing a sigh of relief when I am free.

  The pale light of the moon leaks inside the cabin I share with Sam as the ship gently rolls over the sea’s waves. The cabin is dim, but it’s just bright enough to see my fingernails.

  And they are as black as the death I’d dreamt of. As dark as the creatures they sprang from.

  There’s movement above me and Sam’s head swings down.

  I jolt in surprise. I’d thought her asleep. My crewmate and best friend narrows her eyes at me as she dangles her head from the top bunk.

  I rush to hide my hands beneath the thin blanket I’d so hastily discarded.

  “Lots of noise down there this evening, Miss Porter,” she drawls, eyes lazily surveying the bed and me, sitting in it with eyes wide. Her gaze lands back on me and she quirks an eyebrow. “Have you snuck our young Lord Wesson in this evening?”

  I flush. Lord Leonardo Wesson is likely still asleep in the room he now shares with the Commandant’s Lieutenant Marbury, none the wiser to my hopes for death and murder.

  “No,” I reply. “I’m getting up to trouble all on my own.”

  “And you didn’t think to invite moi?” Her tone is offended. She grins cheekily as her cheeks redden.

  I roll my eyes. “I think all the blood’s gone to your head,” I inform her. I stretch, toes brushing the end of my bunk. My fingertips edge beneath my pillow to brush the pages of my pilfered copy of The Gray Death. It’s the only information about the Mordgris I’ve been able to find—and my only hope to find a clue about what’s happening to me.

  Sam knows about the book—but not about the more recent developments. How I’ve twice now survived encounters in the sea with the Mordgris; worse, that the Mordgris have been the ones who have saved me. My fingers curl around the book’s spine, hoping that I’ll glean answers from it soon. But that time isn’t now, with Sam watching. I release it, leaving it safe in its hiding spot for now.

  “How awake are you up there?” I wonder.

  She puts a hand to her upside-down chin as she ponders my question. “Somewhere between being certain this conversation is a dream and knowing that if it was, my mind would have conjured up something a little more interesting… like a crocodile in our cabin. Why?”

  “You up for visiting hours?”

  Her answer is her feet swinging on the floor beside my bed.

  “Gladly.”

  In the dark, with most of the crew asleep, the Commandant and the Lady Luck aren’t so different. Dark, sturdy wood keeps us afloat while an on-duty crew dots the deck.

  Sam and I use a lantern to light our way as we leave our cabin and move through the bowels of the ship. Deeper and deeper still. For a minute, I can let myself pretend that I’m on board the Lady Luck. But it’s a flimsy illusion. I’d grown up on the pirate ship, been her quartermaster and first mate. I know her curves like a lover knows the bends and arcs of a companion’s form.

  The specter of the Lady Luck is strong with me tonight, though.

  The women who made up the ship’s crew had become my family—until I committed a crime against that family and paid the price. Precious few of them are left now. And had I not betrayed them all, who knows? I may have been able to change things.

  But I can’t move forward if I remain mired in the past. I can only use it to spur me on now.

  So I force myself to note the differences between the Tigrid naval vessel, the Commandant, and the Lady Luck. The Luck is gone, burnt to ash and scattered upon the waves. What was left of her sank somewhere into the fathoms below. Most of my family is dead and gone, but I still have Sam, ever-present at my right hand when I need her.

  The woman responsible for the rest is in this ship’s brig.

  Plink. Plink. Plink.

  The rhythmic sound of metal against metal is the first sound to greet me after the sailor outside the brig’s door swings it open.

  Sam jerks her head inside. “You go ahead.” She spits on the ground as her expression twists. “I can barely stand the sight of her. I’m certainly not going to do it on an empty stomach.”

  Celia’s blue eyes catch the light from my lantern as I descend the steps of the ship’s prison and holding cells. Celia’s lucky, in a way. A naval vessel, the Commandant boasts a far bigger brig than we’d had on the Luck.

  The traitor sits on the floor, re
clined against the bars of her cell in the brig, posture relaxed. One leg slung over the other and a wrist relaxed on her knees, while the other taps out a beat with the tin cup in her hand.

  Plink. Plink. Plink.

  “Miss Porter,” she greets. Very civil-like. “Come to tell me the news of the day?”

  I’m surprised to find her awake, but I don’t let it show. I can play this game too. “Of course,” I agree congenially. “It’s a warm evening. Winds to the west. I saw a couple of gulls fly by before I retired to bed. Let’s see… what else?” I snap my fingers. “Oh! And there are two traitors in the brig.”

  Her eyes lose their nonchalant sheen and narrow in resentment as I swagger forward to blow her a kiss between the bars.

  “Miss me?”

  “Like a heart attack.” She mutters.

  “Time’s ticking away, Celia. I’ve persuaded the crew to be lenient with you this long. But their generosity won’t last forever. And I’m running out of patience. Where is Whighorn?”

  She snorts. “Who do you think you’re fooling? The second I tell you, I’m dead as a doornail.”

  I tap my boots impatiently against the bars of her cell. “Anything to add, Bonnie?”

  Celia cuts a glare to the woman in the other cell. Bonnie had been a part of Celia’s betrayal of the Luck and their imprisonment has been especially unkind to her. Ordinarily a pretty little thing with no shortage of confidence, she’s cowed by such close proximity with Celia and confined to the brig where she can’t take the usual care of herself. Her hair is stringy; her skin, sallow. Her eyes are bruised from lack of sleep. But I can’t say I have any pity for her.

  There were nearly fifty women on board the Lady Luck when Whighorn and his crew descended upon them and attacked.

  Now, because of Celia and Bonnie, less than ten members of the Luck’s crew are left alive.

  Bonnie’s lips part, and her tongue nervously flicks out to wet her parched mouth. Her gaze flits to Celia, who is watching her with the steely-eyed gaze of a hawk.

  “Not a damned word, Bonnie,” Celia warns.

  Bonnie shrinks away.

  Forget Bonnie. Celia’s the one with the majority of the knowledge, anyway.

  “Whighorn.” I prompt again. “Where is he going?”

  Celia tuts. “Is the spoiled pirate princess getting frustrated?”

  I am getting frustrated and she damn well knows it. My hand spasms into a fist at my side. It isn’t worth the risk that she’d escape, but once…. just once, I’d love to be inside those bars and beat some sense into her. To ask her what Whighorn offered that was enough for her to betray her crew so utterly. I’ve committed my own crimes against the Luck, but still there’s a line I never would have crossed.

  I never would have knowingly led them to death.

  I try a different tactic; one that would have worked on me had I been in her shoes. “The others tell me that Whighorn pushed you off when you tried to board his longboats to be taken back to his ship,” I say casually. “That must eat away at you. That you lost everything while he gained so much.”

  She spits at my feet and glares as I meet her eyes.

  “Try all you like, Miss Porter. Whighorn’s a bastard and I knew that going in. But I’d much rather see your downfall alongside mine than lead you to victory. I’ll never tell you where he’s going.”

  “Oh, Celia…” I laugh and lean closer to the bars.

  “I just wanted to see exactly how far out of reach you were.” Grinning, I withdraw a piece of parchment from inside my shirt and unroll it before her eyes. Celia’s eyes zip to it; her jaw drops.

  She recognizes it as easily as I’d intended. The Map of Omna, safe and secure in my possession. The magical map she’d intended to give to Whighorn. The Map that has revealed Whighorn still sails for La Isla de Oro and that the Commandant’s course need not falter.

  “The only reason I’ve left you alive this long is so I have a believable source for Whighorn’s route besides the map. I already know where Whighorn is. But I can’t have every Tom, Dick, and Harry on board this ship knowing about the map. We saw what good that did. It’s not a song and dance that I care to repeat.”

  “And you had better believe that once I find him, you’ll have outlived your usefulness. I never needed anything from you.”

  “I’ll tell the guards you have it,” she croaks.

  I’d expected this threat from her. It only makes me laugh harder. “Go ahead. Who do you think will believe you? The pirate that all the rest of the pirates deemed so much worse than all of them that she needed to be quarantined away from their company like a disease capable of spreading? Fat chance.”

  I back away, shaking my head. “You were a fool to believe that you could emerge from this victorious, Celia. But you were right about one thing: When this ends, you’re as dead as a doornail.”

  Chapter Two

  My boots thump aggressively down each stair and I’m unable to dismiss the storm clouds gathering in my mind. The scowl on my face matches how I feel.

  Gods-damned Celia.

  I never liked her. I warned Ilene against trusting her, but she’d always meet any of my accusations with that unflappable manner of hers.

  “Celia is crew. Crew is family. We can trust our family, Gracie.”

  Well, I’d been right all along, hadn’t I?

  But vindication is sour in my mouth. I hold no pleasure in it. I’d rather have been wrong and still know the Luck was out there somewhere, gliding across the sea, her sails unfurled majestically in the wind. I’d rather have the crew teasing each other in the mess, trading good-natured bets for their least favored chores.

  All of that’s gone now.

  Celia had made sure of that.

  The door screeches behind me as I enter my father’s quarters.

  Dispassionately, his gaze flicks up from his desk and he straightens when he realizes it’s me who’s entered, and not one of his men.

  I spare the barest glance for the maps strewn over his desks, my eyes scanning the wooden surface. A piece of parchment curls up near the edge, his handwriting scrawled over the page. A letter to his Queen, no doubt.

  “Only you would have the balls to walk in here without knocking,” he grunts.

  I check between my legs, frowning and tsk as though I’m disappointed in him. “So crude, Captain Porter.”

  He gestures to my outfit. “Breeches. Boots. If you’re going to dress like a man, I might as well address you like one.”

  I’m not sure whether this is an improvement over how treated me when I first climbed on board his ship. Insisting I was a lady, forcing me into skirts, and mandating that I was too delicate for swears and reading. Now, the esteemed Captain Porter appears to have given up on me. I wish that he’d grasp that my proclivities for guns and breeches don’t besmirch my womanhood.

  …But so long as he no longer inhibits me, I’ll take what I can get.

  “Well?” he asks, gesturing to one of the chair in front of his desk in an invitation to sit. “I assume you visited the criminal. You never seem to be able to start the day without looking in on her. Did actually you get anything out of her this time?” He raises a brow, expectant.

  I shake my head as I collapse into the chair. “She’s mad. Only wants to defy me”

  “Not so different from the rest of your lot, then,” he mutters and sniffs, fiddling with a sextant. He clears his throat and speaks louder. “In that case, we’ll keep to the course we’ve already. I’m hopeful that this pirate you call Whighorn has the Map of Omna in his possession—that it didn’t sink to the sea floor along with your ship.”

  At that, my heart skips a beat and I try to keep my expression frozen the way it was when I walked in here: vaguely disturbed. Vaguely irritated. But nothing that would let my father guess the facts I’ve hidden from him. Nothing that would scrawl a clue to the truth across my features. That the Map of Omna survived, but that it’s on this ship.

  That it’s in th
is very room, not an arm’s length away from him.

  That when my heart pounds, it beats against its spelled parchment so fiercely that I fear it my will rustle the paper so loudly that he’ll be able to hear it.

  He cuts me a narrow-eyed look when I don’t offer a response, but I must pass muster because he moves on. “You’re certain Whighorn sails for La Isla de Oro?”

  “As certain as I can be,” I say blandly, not betraying the drumbeat in my chest. “That was the treasure Celia was after, after all,” I remind him.

  And a worthy treasure indeed. La Isla de Oro… The island of gold. I’d be after chasing it myself if revenge hadn’t sat itself at the top of my to do list for nigh on two years now.

  He sighs and tosses the sextant down in disgust. “I suppose we have no other leads. We’ll keep working off of the sketch the way that we have been.” His gaze sharpens. “Anything else to report? What of your Allarian?”

  “Leo is fine, thanks for asking.” I flip him a smile that curls like a cat’s and he blanches uncomfortably.

  “Not quite what I meant… he’s behaving?” he checks. “He had better know the consequences if he steps a toe out of line on my ship.”

  I wave off his concerns with a roll of my eyes. “Please. We both know that Lieutenant Marbury is doing his job in that regard. Leo has been a perfectly pleasant prisoner of war.”

  “Prisoner of war? Please.” He sarcastically echoes me. “That boy might as well be on holiday for the amount of freedom I let him have these days. Besides, that’s… not the only behavior I meant,” he says gruffly.