Chapter 17

Chapter 17
Jax's POV

When I got back to the Sea Breeze Tavern, the coin pouch in my pocket was so heavy it nearly dragged my pants down.

"Marge!" I waved the pouch at the bar. "Get me some rum—no, make it the good stuff! I'm settling all my tabs tonight!"

Heads turned throughout the tavern.

Marge raised an eyebrow, eyeing me with pure skepticism written across her weathered face.

"You? Settling your tabs?" She scoffed, slamming the glass in her hand down hard on the bar. "Has the sun started rising in the west? Or did you rob some poor merchant?"

"Less talk, more pouring!" I dropped into a seat and slapped the coin pouch on the table with a satisfying metallic clink.

Marge muttered something about "ill-gotten gains" but poured the drink anyway. She pulled a bottle labeled "Caribbean Rum" from the shelf with practiced efficiency, yanked the cork, and amber liquid splashed into the glass.

The other patrons whispered among themselves, speculating where my money came from.

I didn't give a damn what they thought.

All I knew was this haul was enough to get Briony and me out of the slums, rent a decent place, and finally stop living hand-to-mouth off petty theft.

A few drinks in, my tongue loosened and my head started floating. The alcohol dragged up everything I should've kept buried.

"You know what?" I announced to a table of rogue wolves nearby, slapping the wood for emphasis. "I know the Wind Goddess!"

They froze, then burst out laughing.

"What?" A bearded brute missing half an ear sneered. "You? Know the goddess? Next month Free Haven's sun'll rise in the west!"

"It's true!" I got more animated, sloshing my drink. "She can hear the wind! Predict storms! She's my friend! I saw her tonight!"

Marge leaned over the bar and rolled her eyes. "Jax, you're drunk. Go home and sleep it off before you embarrass yourself further."

"I'm not drunk!" I banged the table, spilling some of my drink. "We sat on the windowsill together drinking rum and eating fried fish! She said I was her friend! Really! She said it herself!"

The laughter grew louder.

"You? Friends with a goddess?"

"Next you'll say you kissed her?"

"Or that the goddess fell in love with you? Ha ha ha!"

The alcohol had me completely forgetting I should keep my mouth shut. These bottom-feeders couldn't actually cause trouble—they'd just mock me for a bit and move on. Who'd believe a slum thief could have anything to do with the exalted Wind Goddess?

"Don't believe me then!" I downed the last of my drink. "Next time I visit her, I'll bring back proof!"

Just as I was about to brag more, a conversation from the neighboring table drifted into my ears:

"Did you hear? The merchant guild dredged up an old ship at the harbor—the Albatross..."

"That ship? Didn't it sink ten years ago?"

"Who knows. They say the hull's in decent shape. The guild plans to repair and reuse it."

I went rigid.

The glass nearly slipped from my hand and shattered on the floor.

The Albatross—that was the ship my father Gideon Donovan had served on as first mate. After that "storm" ten years ago, my father survived but came back a changed man, like something had hollowed out his soul.

He wouldn't come home, started drinking and gambling, became someone I barely recognized.

Every time I asked what happened on that ship, he'd clam up, just stare into his glass with empty, terrifying eyes.

The last time I saw him was in a rundown dockside tavern. He reeked of alcohol, his beard was scraggly, his whole body wasted away. He pressed these green earrings into my hand, trembling badly, voice hoarse: "Tell Briony I'm dead... don't let her know the truth... keep these earrings, don't sell them... remember, don't sell them..."

That was the last time I saw him.

He vanished without a trace after that.

My boastful mood shattered instantly under the weight of suppressed memories, my throat constricting like something was blocking it. I took a deep breath, trying to force down the sudden nausea, then stood to settle up and leave.

"Marge, the bill." I pulled out several silver coins from the pouch, my fingers trembling slightly.

Marge took the coins and examined them carefully under the lamplight before shaking her head. "These aren't Free Haven local currency. I don't accept them."

"What?" I stared. "This is Silver Moon currency! Any dockside exchange will take it!"

"Exchange rates are games for the upper class," Marge sneered, pushing the coins back. "I only take currency that spends on this street. Either pay with local coins or something of equal value."

I was about to argue when I sensed someone approaching from behind.

A faint fragrance drifted over—not the cheap perfume smell of the slums, but something more refined and restrained.

A young woman in a heavy hooded cloak appeared beside me. She pulled several local gold coins from her sleeve and placed them on the bar.

"His tab—I'll cover it."

Her voice was calm yet carried an undertone that brooked no argument.

Marge glanced at the coins, then at the woman, and finally shrugged and pocketed the money.

I turned, trying to get a good look at my sudden "savior," but her hood was pulled low—I could only make out the line of her jaw.

"Thanks, beautiful." I grinned and held out one of the Silver Moon coins. "Or should I repay you with my body? Guaranteed satisfaction."

The woman took the coin and tilted her head slightly. In the shadow of her hood, I glimpsed a pair of cold, calculating eyes.

"Are you really the goddess's friend?" she asked, her voice still calm. "I want to meet her. Can you introduce us?"

I hesitated. Someone actually believed my drunken boasting?

"Uh... well..." I scratched my head, the alcohol slowing my reactions. "Sure, sure! Leave it to me!"

The woman seemed satisfied and nodded slightly.

The moment she nodded, the edge of her hood slipped, and I saw the skin at the side of her neck.

My blood nearly froze.

Where a wolf's mate mark should have been, there was a vicious scar—not an ordinary wound, but the twisted remnants of flesh that had been carved away with something sharp. The skin was warped and pale, like it had endured excruciating torture.

The alcohol drained from my system instantly. Cold sweat soaked through my back.

Whoever this woman was, anyone who could gouge out their own soul mark was either a fugitive traitor or something I didn't want to imagine.

And why did she want to find Celeste?

This was bad news.

"Later... definitely later..." I mumbled, my voice shaking, then hurried out of the tavern.

Walking through the slum alleys in the darkness, the sea breeze carried the stench of brine and garbage, but my mind was clearer than it had ever been.

I realized my big mouth might have put Celeste in danger.

Damn it. How could I be so stupid?