Oathbound Read online

  Books by Victoria McCombs

  The Storyteller’s Series

  The Storyteller’s Daughter

  Woods of Silver and Light

  The Winter Charlatan

  Heir of Roses

  The Royal Rose Chronicles

  Oathbound

  Oathbound

  Copyright © 2022 by Victoria McCombs

  Published by Enclave Publishing, an imprint of Third Day Books, LLC

  Phoenix, Arizona, USA.

  www.enclavepublishing.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, digitally stored, or transmitted in any form without written permission from Third Day Books, LLC.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-1-62184-218-7 (hardback)

  ISBN: 978-1-62184-220-0 (printed softcover)

  ISBN: 978-1-62184-219-4 (ebook)

  Cover design by Emilie Haney, www.EAHCreative.com

  Typesetting by Jamie Foley, www.JamieFoley.com

  Printed in the United States of America.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Cover

  Half-Title

  Books by Victoria McCombs

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1: Emme

  Chapter 2: Arn

  Chapter 3: Emme

  Chapter 4: Arn

  Chapter 5: Emme

  Chapter 6: Emme

  Chapter 7: Arn

  Chapter 8: Emme

  Chapter 9: Arn

  Chapter 10: Arn

  Chapter 11: Emme

  Chapter 12: Arn

  Chapter 13: Emme

  Chapter 14: Arn

  Chapter 15: Emme

  Chapter 16: Arn

  Chapter 17: Emme

  Chapter 18: Arn

  Chapter 19: Emme

  Chapter 20: Arn

  Chapter 21: Emme

  Chapter 22: Arn

  Chapter 23: Emme

  Chapter 24: Arn

  Chapter 25: Emme

  Chapter 26: Arn

  Chapter 27: Emme

  Chapter 28: Arn

  Chapter 29: Emme

  Chapter 30: Arn

  Chapter 31: Emme

  Chapter 32: Arn

  Chapter 33: Emme

  Chapter 34: Arn

  Chapter 35: Emme

  Chapter 36: Arn

  Chapter 37: Emme

  Chapter 38: Arn

  Chapter 39: Arn

  Chapter 40: Emme

  Chapter 41: Arn

  Chapter 42: Emme

  Chapter 43: Arn

  Chapter 44: Emme

  Chapter 45: Arn

  Chapter 46: Emme

  Chapter 47: Emric

  Chapter 48: Ontario

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  To August,

  Mommy finally wrote you a pirate story.

  The creaky door of the Banished Gentlemen tavern swung wide as a young man with a cutlass strapped to his side sauntered in with his fists raised in triumph. He hadn’t bothered to lace the front strings of his shirt, showing the curls of his tattoo underneath. Golden waves for the ocean he loved so dearly.

  He practically sang as he declared loudly enough for the room to hear, “He’s dead! Finally.”

  From my seat in the back, I cursed. Further news of death was not welcome here. This week had brought enough of that.

  Whosever death this was, Arn danced in the face of it. He paused to shake a few hands and tip his head in greeting. To a few he even bowed. Bowed. As if he’d waltzed into a fancy establishment among fine nobles instead of a seaside tavern with the smell of fish and saltwater filling the stale morning air.

  Pirates. Always so dramatic.

  As if he could read my thoughts, Arn threw his head back and bellowed, “It’s a great day, indeed.” His voice reached the dusty rafters above and settled over the tavern like a promise—a vow that today would be the start of something wonderful.

  To reinforce his point, he raised an imaginary tankard, then scanned the heads of our few customers.

  With a strained smile I raised my hand in greeting.

  Arn sighted me.

  He bounded across the floor and pulled out the seat opposite from mine. “Emme, did you hear? He’s dead.” Though less than a meter away, his slurred voice paid no regard to volume as he spread out his arms and grinned.

  “There you are. My closest friend and the fairest maiden in all the land. The wise, the majestic Emme. Truly, there is no one like you across all the seas.”

  From behind the bar, Bart and I exchanged glances.

  Had I not confessed yesterday how I longed for my friend’s ship to come into port? And now the Fates, who had been cruel this week, sent him the very next morning. Drunk.

  In the rare times Arn chose to get soused, trouble always followed—and when trouble came after him, it often brought difficulty to me. “Arn, I’m not helping you hide the body this time. That turned into a huge mess.”

  He wagged his head. “I’d always hide the body for you.” When my brow raised, he laughed. “No need, I didn’t kill him this time. The old pirate is dead of his own accord.” Arn crossed his fingers and twirled them in the air as a promise. He removed his pistol belt and laid it on the table, then leaned forward and whispered, “It’s old Barnacles.”

  “Bernabe De?”

  Arn hushed me and motioned to lower my voice but nodded. He had some nerve to hush me after his grand entrance. They could probably hear him from the docks.

  Wild glee frolicked in Arn’s eyes. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

  He’d never looked so disappointed in me as when I shook my head. He leaned forward even more. “The treasure?” He slapped the table, and my plate clattered. “This is it, Emme. This money will get you out of here.”

  When my eagerness didn’t follow, Arn slumped against his chair, crossed his arms, and looked at me. “What?”

  Over our four years of friendship, Arn had rambled about so many treasures that I’d lost count. For all his talk, he’d never acquired a decent loot—most of his wealth came from plundering small merchant vessels, then bringing the silk or spices back to this cloudy seaside town to trade. I expected this trip to end no differently than his others. “Remember a few years ago when you went after Winfred Varlow’s hoard and you got so lost that you couldn’t find your way out of those seas for weeks? Or the next year when you sought the perfumes from the ship that went down on the cliffs, and you wrecked your own vessel? Or four months ago when you chased the ruby ship and got struck by the poisonous sea creature? You and your whole crew almost died.”

  His grin widened with each recount, and he leaned back and folded his hands behind his head. “Where’s your sense of adventure? All a part of the pirate life. Besides, I have a better feeling about this one. My plan is failsafe.”

  “Almost died, Arn.”

  Before I could challenge Arn further, a voice as deep as the ocean rumbled over us, and Bart lumbered up to the table, floorboards creaking under his weight. He had wide shoulders made more intimidating by the grand size of his arms but eyes so kind that it was impossible to fear him. Those eyes locked on me, and I silently begged him. Please don’t say anything. I’m not ready.

  He nodded, ever so slightly, and I loved him for it. Bart was the closest thing I had to a father since mine died, and he’d given me a home here at the tavern along with a job. There weren’t many things I loved about this town with the smell of fish stained into the air and the questionable folks coming in off
the seas—even the king of Julinbor seemed to have forgotten about us here—but Bart made it bearable.

  He dried his large hands on a rag. “Arn, haven’t seen you in a few months. Recovered from that poison yet?”

  I smirked, but Arn ignored me. “Quite recovered, thank you.”

  Bart peered closer. “What’s this? You’ve got nine . . . ten hairs on that little chin of yours. Why, ten’s nothing to laugh at.”

  I suppressed a snort.

  Arn huffed. His honey-colored hair on his head grew in thick little waves, and he had handsome almond-shaped blue eyes and a strong, square jaw, but at almost twenty-two, Arn’s skin was as smooth as the sails on his ship, and he feared he’d never grow a proper beard. “It’s a sign that I can be trusted. Honest men don’t hide their faces behind beards.” He stroked his skin. “People trust me because of this face.”

  Bart nodded knowingly, but the humor in his eyes lingered. “And what’s these plans I hear about? Still trying to take my Emme out to sea? I’m surprised you haven’t kidnapped her by now.”

  “She might kill me if I tried that.” His wary eyes found mine, and I bared my teeth. Then I grinned, and he grinned back before glancing over his shoulder to the other tables where the fishermen weren’t giving us any attention. His low voice dripped in anticipation and adventure as he told us, “It’s Bernabe De’s treasure, but don’t go telling nobody. And yes, I’m hoping Emme joins my crew for this one. She’d make a fine pirate if she got over her peculiar distaste for the water.”

  Many seafarers who sailed through trusted Bart with their stories, so if there was anything to know about the treasure, he’d hear it first. From our seaside town at the southern tip of Julinbor, we saw many pirates stumble through our doors with tales of the beautiful mermaids of the north or fabled items claiming to hold powerful magic within them, and they shared such tales with us as their blood turned to alcohol. We’d make a game of guessing who told the truth and who didn’t.

  At this story, Bart’s mouth tipped open before he snapped it shut. “I won’t say a word, but that bit of gossip has already graced my ears. In fact, I heard it’s guarded by his ghost.”

  When my eyes widened, Arn chuckled. “Ghost. As if. Say, could you get me some grog?” Bart was never one to deny a man his grog, no matter the hour, so he turned for the bar.

  “Water,” I called after Bart. “He doesn’t need grog, he needs water. Really Arn, you’re swaying.”

  For a man who usually avoided the bottle, he chose the worst week to show up drunk. I couldn’t tell him like this. At least the rum prohibited him from sensing that I hid anything, and my ugly secret could remain hidden until I found the courage to share it with him. I might need rum of my own to accomplish such a thing.

  Bart returned and set a glass of water in front of Arn, who refrained from complaining. He raised the glass to me. “My lady.” Then he gulped.

  A nod of approval came from Bart. “There’s a good lad. Word of advice? Watch your step going after this dead pirate’s treasure. It’s a far cry from the easy robbing of merchant ships.”

  Arn spat out the water. “Easy? Easy? I’ll have you know, it takes years of experience to pull off robbing merchant vessels.”

  “Just be careful, lad.”

  As Bart left, I threw a rag to Arn and pointed to the table he’d just spat all over. He diligently wiped as I looked after Bart. With a voice as low as the bottom of the sea I asked, “Do you think there’s a ghost? Why, you’d never get the treasure then.”

  Arn set the rag down with a sly smile. “Don’t let this influence your decision, but here’s the thing . . . there’s a ghost.”

  I stood up. “No. No. I’m not going,” I said. “Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?”

  He looked happy that I asked and pulled his chair over next to mine, grabbing my hand to tug me back into my seat. I tore my hand from his grasp as he spoke. “We all know that old Barnacles scored quite the loot after taking down that merchant vessel in the Borrinswail Strait. Then he found those caves and scored big on gems.”

  I nodded as I recalled. Arn thought this man had more wealth than any other pirate alive. “He was obsessed with his wealth—never spent a penny of those loots.”

  Arn snapped his fingers. “That’s right. Well, he became consumed with the idea that people were coming to take it from him.” I raised my brow, and a devilish gleam entered Arn’s blue eyes. “He may have been right. But it drove him mad. So, he went to the Island of Iilak and vowed to protect it forever. That wish was granted. He gave up his mortality to become a ghost so he could guard his treasure until the end of time. Quite the dramatic fellow, really. Sent his whole crew home on meager rowboats and wrecked his beautiful ship. Now his treasure sits on an island with hardly anything to protect it.”

  “Besides a ghost, you mean.”

  He waved his hand, almost knocking over his glass. “Yes. Besides that. So, what do you say? Will you come to the Island of Iilak with me?”

  An unease stirred within me at the familiarity of that name. I’d heard it this week, though not from Arn’s lips. It took a moment to place where, and once I did, I sucked in my breath. “What is the island called?”

  “Iilak.”

  That was undeniably the same place. In our extensive search for what could keep me alive beyond eighteen, that island had come up. It was rumored to hold something that could cure any illness, though the island itself was hardly more than rumors. Bart and I cast the idea aside as an impossible mission, for I had no ship to get me there and no account that what I sought existed besides rum-stained scribbles in the back of a book.

  But no other answer came.

  Perhaps the Fates weren’t as cruel as I thought them to be. And perhaps I needn’t tell Arn my troublesome news after all. The Elmber Nut could make all my problems vanish if I got to it in time. Six months, maybe a year. That’s all I had.

  The hope of that rare nut and the safety it offered me was worth joining with pirates—just this once.

  I rested my head in my hands as for the first time I debated venturing out with Arn on one of his far-fetched quests; however, he’d need to prepare for this trip with more diligence than usual before I felt comfortable about the decision. He’d often been like this—giddy with glee and ready to chase after a ghost on a distant island that was near impossible to reach.

  But it wasn’t often that he took my hand and begged me.

  “Please, come with me. You keep me sane, and I need your practicality on board. And I happen to know that you need the money. The amount of silver we can get from pawning his treasures will allow you to buy back your childhood home in the valleys.”

  Arn knew me too well. When my father died, I couldn’t afford to keep my childhood home running, though the memories of that place stayed with me like an anchor that tethered me to those hills. Those days in the sun, far from the smell of the ocean, tending our flock, few worries on our mind—those were happy times. After the events of this week, I’d given up ever getting back there.

  Arn leaned closer. “You can buy back your sheep.”

  A smile threatened to crack my cheeks, breaking my reserves.

  “Baaaaa.” Arn’s mimic drew a laugh from me. The bliss sounded foreign upon my lips, as the news of this week provided little opportunity for laughter, but Arn’s smile was so big that it was difficult to resist.

  This was usually when I said no. I’d allow Arn to tell me about his mission, get excited with him, offer some practical advice, then remind him that I preferred the land. But things were different now. I sighed. “Have you made plans?”

  His head rose and eyes perked up. “I’ve mapped out the route we’ll take. My exact plans are on the Royal Rose. Come aboard my ship to inspect them and decide for yourself.” He gestured out the door to the pier.

  The idea of going to his boat on the moving water was enough to make me scrunch my nose, but he grabbed my hands. “Please, Emme. I know how skilled
you are with the blade, and your knowledge of the sea is unsurpassed. I need you.”

  I sighed again. I did know an unfortunate amount about the sea, thanks to my mother.

  “I will look at these plans,” I said. Arn’s jaw dropped, and he bounced in his seat. “But you need to wash out your mouth before breathing that close to me ever again.” I pulled my hands from his and pushed his face away. Delight radiated through his expression, and I tried to smile back.

  “You mean it?” His eyes searched mine, and I nodded.

  “Yes.”

  Arn knocked over the chair as he hopped up and shouted, “She said yes!” That earned loud cheers from the fishermen who knew me well. Arn bowed again on his way back out the tavern, tripping several times while I followed behind.

  As I passed Bart, I whispered, “It’s on the Island of Iilak.”

  It only took a few moments for his brown eyes to widen. “The Elmber Nut.”

  I nodded. “It may be my only chance to survive past the winter.”

  The sadness remained in his eyes, but no argument came. No reminder that this nut might not exist. No reminder that the seas were a dangerous place. He did duck his head and whisper into my ear, “Listen, there’s something about this island you need to know. The rumor of the ghost? I’ve heard it’s a lie set up by the old pirate to lure the sailors who sought his treasure to the island where he can kill them. A ghost is one thing, but you might sail to a very dangerous and very much alive man.”

  All thoughts of my own troubles vanished, and my knees quivered beneath me as unwelcome thoughts of Arn slaughtered on the island came to mind.

  This time, he might be in over his head.

  “I’ve got to warn him.”

  Bart shook his head, glancing to Arn, who stumbled through the doorway. “I doubt he’d listen to you in the state he’s in or remember it when the alcohol is drained from his blood. Besides, you know how rumors are—never know who’s telling you the truth. But it’s something to be wary of. You keep a mind on it and tell Arn when he’s sobered up.” He twisted his hands together and looked toward the docks.