Page 67 of A Prince Among Pirates
Rodriguez holds up seven fingers to a barmaid, then leans back in his seat. “Drinks are on Mr. Kit tonight.”
“How generous of me,” I say as I carefully drape my coat over the back of my chair.
This earns me a laugh from the table, and I find myself smiling as I settle back into my seat—until I spot Renard stepping into the tavern. Our gazes meet, and I raise my brows at him. Fora moment I think he’s going to turn and run, but then Martel calls him over, grabbing a chair from a nearby table.
Renard sits down across from me, and I offer him a tentative smile. He gives a half-hearted nod in return and looks away.
Splendid. This isn’t awkward at all.
I want to say something, as he’s been avoiding me for too long, and it’s becoming clearer every day that he would rather ignore me than apologize—but I can’t say that in front of the crew. “I’m apparently paying for drinks tonight,” is what I come up with.
He turns back to me and scoffs a little. “We should’ve asked fer the good stuff, then.”
Well, it’s something. I’m about to say something else when his attention is pulled away from me. I turn to follow his gaze.
“You lot sailed in with the Union Jack,” says a young man with short dirty-blond hair and deeply tanned skin as he approaches our table. He has dirt smeared on one cheek, and his nail beds are filthy, but his clothes are clean. Not a sailor, perhaps an immigrant farmer. His accent sounds almost cockney—or rather, like it may once have been cockney.
I glance at Renard, but he doesn’t seem concerned about the question. “Aye, we did. Who’s askin’?”
“I’m Bobby,” the young man says. “We ’eard a few weeks ago about the king. Still doesn’t feel real.”
“The king?” I ask, sitting up straight. “What about him? Has something happened?”
The young man looks at me, his brows shooting up. Myaccent has alarmed him, it seems. “A regular dandy,” he observes.
“Quite. What about the king?”
“You ’aven’t ’eard?” he asks.
I’m getting a little annoyed. “Clearly not.”
“?’E up ’n’ died this past June. Prince ’Enry, or I guess it’s King ’Enry now, took the throne with ’is lady wife.”
My heart drops into my stomach. Henry has been made king? I knew it would happen someday, of course, but I’m shaken all the same. I wonder how much my father has benefited from his dear friend taking the throne. I wonder if Kitty has found a new match, or if I ruined her by fleeing. Now that she’s the goddaughter of the king himself, her dowry will likely be far greater than it once was.
“First we’re hearin’ of it,” Renard says, though his gaze is on me. “We’ve had nae news while out ta sea.”
“What does it matter to us?” Martel chimes in. “They’re all the same in the end.”
“Look like you’re gonna be sick,” Bobby says to me, just as the barmaid appears with our ale.
“I’ll be fine,” I manage, reaching for my drink.
“Kenned him well, did ye?” Renard asks. I mislike the way he’s assessing me. I don’t want to talk about this, especially not here and now.
“Not very well, no,” I say.
“Mm-hmm…”
Now everyone is staring at me. I ignore them, bringing my ale to my lips to swallow down a few large gulps.
“Any other news?” Martel asks Bobby, though he’s still staring at me. They all are. I can feel their gazes boring into my face, and I hate it.
“Oh yes,” Bobby says. “The seamen who came with the news brought wanted posters all the way from England.”
“Did they, now?” Renard asks a bit too loudly. All attention shifts to Bobby—thank Christ. “What’s he wanted fer?”
Bobby shrugs. “Wouldn’t say, but ’e’s wanted alive. No reward for ’is death.”
