She took in her surroundings as she gathered her strength. She was lying in her bed aboard the Queen Anne's Revenge in the captain's cabin. It was the same as it always was—table and chairs, dresser and bookshelf, Edward's clothes hanging on a rack on the wall. The only new thing was two crutches near the foot of the bed, and some of Alexandre's medical supplies on a bedside table.
Then Anne remembered why she was there lying in her bed weak from fever for God knows how long. Her leg. She didn't want to look at it, as though the longer she went without seeing it, the less real it was. As though if she never looked down, it had never happened. But real life didn't work that way. Not looking at a problem doesn't make it go away.
Anne pulled her blanket away in one swift motion to get it over with, and there it was. Covered thick with cloth tied tight was a wound just beneath her knee. There was no blood, which was both a good and bad sign. It meant that it had healed enough that it no longer needed frequent changes, but that also meant some time had passed in her delirium.
She knew that someday soon, she would feel hollow without her right foot, but for now it remained a curiosity. A painful, ugly curiosity.
But more than anything, it made her angry. Angry at her momentary lapse that had allowed the injury to happen. Angry at herself for killing Tala, Christina's poor wolf, who hadn't known any better and had died for it. Angry at Silver Eyes and his wicked skill that turned her comrades and friends into enemies. Angry that she'd chosen to stay here out of some foolish sense of duty, and what that foolish sense had brought her.
Anne pulled herself up, her hands shaking to keep her body steady. A painful minute later, and she had her upper body slumped forward. Even with that little movement, she was sweating and felt dizzy. After catching her breath and waiting for the room to stop spinning, she turned her body sideways and placed her left leg on the deck.
The cold of the wood beneath her foot felt pleasant, as her body still felt hot, especially her wound—another reminder of her loss, her weakness, her enemy. More anger arose to fuel her weakened muscles.
With care and a lot of time, Anne pulled herself over to the end of the bed and took the crutches in hand. She had little experience with crutches. She had broken a leg in her earlier years, but she had been forced to be bedridden or into a wheelchair rather than allowed to stalk the halls of the palace in crutches. She had seen them used before, though, and thought it couldn't have been that difficult.
What made it difficult wasn't her lack of knowledge, it was her lack of strength. She was able to get herself balanced, and at rest she could lean on the crutches for support, but her leg wobbled and shook as though it would give out with each step forward.
Then came the door to the cabin. There was simply no crafty way to stand to reach the handle. She planted her foot down and in a swift motion, grabbed the handle and pulled the door ajar. She backed up a bit and used one of the crutches to knock the door open enough for her to walk through.
With one obstacle out of the way, she was able to exit the captain's cabin. She already had sweat soaking her brow and the small breeze coming from the weather deck down to the gun deck was a welcome respite.
Strangely, none of the crew were in the gun deck. She could hear voices coming from the bow, and movement from Alexandre's room, but no sounds were coming from above or below.
Anne swung herself forward to the bow. With each plop of the crutches on the wooden floorboards, she found herself acclimating to her new situation. It felt strange not planting her right foot down with each step forward, strange to not feel the cold of the wood or the air on her toes, but she pushed the feeling aside. She needed to ignore the curiosity for now. Now she needed to know what had happened as she'd slept.
She entered the surgeon's room too quickly and nearly fell over when she tried to stop herself. Nassir was there to catch her.
"Careful, miss," he said.
After righting herself, she tried to thank Nassir, but her throat seized, and she began coughing. The coughing only emphasized how thin and frail and hungry she was. With each cough, her stomach heaved as though it would cave in.
Victoria came up beside her, a cup of water in hand. Anne took the cup and drank it down in great gulps. She coughed one last time, wiped her chin, and thanked both Victoria and Nassir as she handed the cup back with a shaking hand.
"How long was I asleep?" she asked as she made eye contact with Nassir, Victoria, and Alexandre.
Alexandre answered. "Eight days."
She had guessed it to have been some time, but the news floored her still. She rebalanced herself in her crutches as she absorbed Alexandre's words.
"Silver Eyes?"
"He still lives," Alexandre said. "We have been starving him and his men, as per your orders. William held back from attacking through the tunnel until you awoke. The men are eager to see this ended, but he held them back."
Anne's anger bubbled forward. "Good, I want to see him die for myself," she spat.
Her tone must have alarmed her companions, as they all became silent. She tried to soften her tone. "Worry not, Alexandre, I recall our promise. You will have the honours of the final blow; I simply wish to see it happen."
Alexandre nodded. "Merci."
Anne looked down at the table, and she understood why Nassir was here in the surgeon's room. On
