Married To Darkness-Chapter 396: The Devon

"With who’s?"

Laughter rolled off the pirates mouth as they looked down at the group.

"Stop playing and let them up, we might become friends!" A voice yelled from up there but it gave Jess the chills that sounded sinister.

Jean was already halfway up the ladder before anyone could stop her, calling over her shoulder, "If they stab me, avenge me stylishly."

Jess clutched the edge of the boat, pale as the mist. "This was a bad idea," she whispered.

Alaric smirked and climbed the rope ladder next, fearless. "Relax, Jess. Pirates are just warriors with worse hygiene."

"Encouraging," she muttered, holding back a gag as she looked up at the ship’s greasy underbelly.

Once aboard, the deck was chaos in motion—ropes swinging, men shouting, crates being moved, and someone playing a fiddle like the world was ending.

They were immediately surrounded.

Weapons were drawn—not raised, but close enough. The crew circled them like sharks sniffing blood, curious and cruel.

Then a voice cut through the noise.

"Stand down."

A figure emerged from the shadows of the captain’s quarters like a tale stepping out of a tavern story—shirt open, sea-tanned chest inked with swirling tattoos that slithered like sea serpents, maps, and old runes that made no sense and yet felt full of meaning.

His boots were loud against the wooden floorboards, and his eyes were the color of storm clouds. The man smirked with all the charm of a dagger’s edge.

"I’m Captain Brinson," he announced, throwing his arms wide. "And this here’s my ship... and my crew!"

His voice boomed like a cannon, followed by a sudden uproarious laughter from the pirates around them—gruff, hoarse, cackling in sync like a pack of drunken hyenas.

Jess jumped at the sound and clutched Jean’s arm.

"Why are they laughing?" Jean whispered.

"Because he didn’t say a joke," Jess muttered, "and that’s exactly why it’s terrifying."

The laughter died down in fragments, like the last drips of rum from a barrel.

Alaric remained steady, unflinching. "Thank you, Captain," he said calmly, voice polite but firm. "We’d appreciate a seat. We’ve traveled far."

Captain Brinson looked the group over—his eyes lingered on Salviana a beat too long, flicked over Lucius with faint unease, and finally settled back on Alaric.

"You speak fancy for a man with dirt on his boots," he muttered, but then nodded. "Follow me then. Just the three of you."

He gestured toward a wooden seating area beneath a canopy of patched sails and lanterns swaying from the beams.

"But the rest of ’em stay," he added, jerking a thumb toward Jess, Jean, and Lucius.

Jess blinked. "Wait, what?"

"You’ll be fine," Lucius said, standing still, expression unreadable beneath his umbrella. "Just don’t speak unless spoken to. Or if you’re about to be stabbed—then scream."

Jean grinned. "Oh, I like this already."

Salviana gave Jess a reassuring squeeze of her arm before following her husband and Lucius toward the pirate’s makeshift war room. freewebnøvel.com

They sat on uneven crates and rum barrels around a roughly carved table stained with ink, wine, and probably blood.

Captain Brinson leaned back on a creaking chair like a king on his sea throne, legs wide, arms draped over the sides.

"So," he said, lifting a chipped mug to his lips. "You come here askin’ to meet Devon. What makes you think I ain’t him?"

Lucius’ eyes narrowed slightly. "Because you’re too loud."

A pirate nearby froze mid-step and looked over. Captain Brinson’s lips twitched.

"Fair. But flattery won’t get you very far unless it comes with gold. Or secrets."

"We’re here for both," Alaric said coolly. "We heard Devon trades in more than rum and stolen cargo."

"Devon trades in anything he can’t bury," Brinson replied. "He also doesn’t meet just anyone. So what exactly are you offering in return?"

Salviana leaned forward. "Information. Power. Possibly something even he hasn’t seen."

Alaric resisted glancing at his amazing wife.

Brinson raised an eyebrow. "Now that’s the kind of talk that gets the sea singing."

He gestured to a pirate nearby, who set down a dark leather ledger—cracked, worn, and chained shut with a brass lock.

The kind of thing you’d find under a floorboard and regret opening.

"Tell me what you’re looking for," Brinson said, voice low now, like thunder beneath calm waves. "And tell me what you’re willing to give. Or else..."

He leaned in close, smile sharp. "You might not leave this ship with more than your bones."

The wind whipped through the sails, carrying the scent of salt and danger.

Salviana’s heart thudded, but she smiled.

This was it.

The real pirate games had begun.

"We want to see Devon," Lucius insisted.

Captain Brinson studied them for a long moment, then gave a slow nod to the man at his side—a wiry pirate with one eye and too many knives.

"Bring Devon," he said.

A hush passed over the deck like a sudden shift in the wind. Even the crew that had been laughing earlier quieted, exchanging looks. Devon, it seemed, wasn’t a man easily summoned.

Several tense minutes passed before heavy boots sounded against the deck once more.

A tall figure appeared, broad-shouldered and cloaked in a long coat the color of rusted anchors.

His face was angular, partially shadowed beneath a weather-beaten tricorne hat, and a silver hoop glinted in his left ear.

His eyes—sharp and suspicious—swept the group with caution and interest.

"This them?" he asked, voice rough like sand against steel.

"Aye," Brinson said, stepping aside. "The lot asking for you."

Devon looked at the group—Alaric, Salviana, and Lucius—then flicked his gaze to Jess, who stood a little behind, fidgeting.

"You?" he asked, his tone less accusing and more surprised. "You brought them here?"

Jess nodded. "They needed help. I thought you might know something about the mirror."

At the word "mirror," something in Devon’s face changed. His casual posture stiffened ever so slightly, and his fingers twitched where they rested on his belt.

"Mirror?" he repeated slowly. "Describe it."