CHAPTER 20: THE GOVERNOR'S DAUGHTER
The morning came with hangover and heat.
I woke with sand in uncomfortable places and a headache that felt like someone had taken a hammer to my skull. Jack was already awake, somehow—staring at the horizon with an intensity that suggested calculation rather than despair.
"Expecting something?"
"Always." He didn't look away from the sea. "Barbossa will have reached Isla de Muerta by now. The ritual will proceed at sunset."
"Will's blood."
"Will's blood. Poor boy." Jack's voice held something that might have been genuine sympathy. "Didn't ask for his father's sins. Now he'll pay for them anyway."
I found the water keg and drank deeply, trying to wash away the taste of too much rum. My wrists still burned from the rope, and my tongue had finally stopped bleeding, but the bruises from our escape attempt had bloomed into impressive purple and yellow patterns across my ribs.
"There has to be something we can do."
"From here?" Jack gestured at the empty ocean. "Unless you can walk on water—"
Movement caught my eye. A shape on the horizon. Not a ship—too small for that. A boat. A single rowboat, working its way toward our island against the current.
"Jack."
He turned. His eyes went wide.
"That's—"
We scrambled to our feet as the boat drew closer. A single figure rowed with desperate determination, white dress stained with seawater and something darker. Blood, maybe. Certainly dirt.
Elizabeth Swann.
She beached the boat with a grace that spoke of adrenaline overcoming exhaustion. The moment she stood on sand, she swayed—nearly fell—then steadied herself through pure willpower.
"Miss Swann." Jack's theatrical bow was only slightly undermined by his hangover pallor. "What an unexpected pleasure."
"Save it." Elizabeth's voice was raw. "We need to rescue Will."
"How did you escape?" I asked, stepping forward to offer her an arm. She accepted it gratefully, leaning against me as her legs threatened to give out.
"Barbossa's crew celebrated. They thought the curse was about to break." She took a shaking breath. "I found a knife. Cut my ropes. Stole a boat while they were drunk on anticipation."
"Clever woman." Jack studied her with new respect. "But we're on an island in the middle of nowhere. Even if we wanted to stage a rescue—"
"Commodore Norrington." Elizabeth straightened, finding steel somewhere inside her exhaustion. "He was pursuing us. Following the Pearl's course. If we can signal him—"
"How? Wave our arms and hope he has a spyglass pointed in exactly the right direction?"
"Fire." Elizabeth looked toward the palm trees. "A massive fire. Smoke visible for miles."
Jack's expression shifted. "There's nothing on this island to burn except—"
Understanding dawned. Horror followed.
"No. Absolutely not. I refuse."
"The rum." Elizabeth met his gaze squarely. "We burn the rum. All of it."
"That is—that is the worst idea I have ever heard, and I once tried to sail a dinghy through a hurricane." Jack clutched at his chest as if wounded. "The rum is innocent! The rum has done nothing wrong!"
"The rum is flammable," I said quietly. "And there's enough of it to create a signal visible from the next island over."
Jack turned his betrayed gaze on me. "Et tu?"
"Will's life is at stake. Elizabeth's freedom. Our only chance at getting off this island in time to make a difference." I spread my hands. "It's rum, Jack. We can always get more rum."
"The profound disrespect you are both showing to perfectly good alcohol—"
"Help us or get out of the way."
Elizabeth's voice cut through his protest like a blade. The softness of Port Royal society was gone; in its place stood something harder, more dangerous. I glimpsed, for a moment, the woman she would become—the Pirate King who would unite the Brethren Court.
Jack must have seen it too. His protests died.
"Fine," he muttered. "Fine. Burn the rum. Burn everything. See if I care."
He stalked off to sulk under a palm tree, leaving Elizabeth and me to work.
We dug out the entire cache, bottle by bottle. The rum runners had stored more than I'd realized—easily fifty bottles, plus the food and water supplies.
"Keep the food and water," Elizabeth decided. "Everything else burns."
We worked in silence for a while, stacking bottles on the highest point of the island. My bruised ribs protested every movement, but the work felt good—purposeful, productive, leading toward something.
"You're calm," Elizabeth said eventually. "About all of this."
"Years of practice at hiding panic."
"That's not panic hidden. That's..." She studied me, the way Jack had studied me in the brig. "You've seen worse, haven't you? Whatever happened before you joined Jack's crew—you've been through something."
The directness surprised me. In the films, Elizabeth had always seemed sharp, but this was sharper still.
"Everyone's been through something."
"Most people show it more than you do." She set down another bottle and stretched her back. "I won't ask what happened. We all have secrets. But I notice things, Mr...."
"Balmond. Micke Balmond."
"Mr. Balmond." She nodded. "I notice that you think before you speak. That you watch Jack like you're expecting something specific from him. That you weren't surprised when I arrived—not really."
Careful, I thought. She's smarter than Jack. Different kind of smart.
"I've learned to expect the unexpected."
"Have you?" Her eyes didn't leave my face. "Or do you just know more than you're saying?"
"Everyone knows more than they're saying. That's the human condition."
A ghost of a smile crossed her face. "True enough." She picked up another bottle. "Keep your secrets, Mr. Balmond. Just know that I'm watching too."
We finished stacking the rum as the sun began its descent toward the horizon. Jack had stopped sulking, rejoining us to "supervise" the arrangement with many pained sighs and theatrical suffering.
"Last chance," I said to him. "Any bottles you want to save?"
Jack looked at the pile. At the sunset. At Elizabeth's determined face.
"Just do it," he said quietly. "Before I change my mind."
Elizabeth struck the flint. The first spark caught. The rum cache went up like a funeral pyre for joy itself.
The pillar of smoke rose into the evening sky, black against orange, visible for miles.
Now we just had to wait.
Author's Note / Promotion:
Your Reviews and Power Stones are the best way to show support. They help me know what you're enjoying and bring in new readers!
You don't have to. Get instant access to more content by supporting me on Patreon. I have three options so you can pick how far ahead you want to be:
🪙 Silver Tier ($6): Read 10 chapters ahead of the public site.
👑 Gold Tier ($9): Get 15-20 chapters ahead of the public site.
💎 Platinum Tier ($15): The ultimate experience. Get new chapters the second I finish them . No waiting for weekly drops, just pure, instant access.
Your support helps me write more .
👉 Find it all at patreon.com/fanficwriter1