Page 73 of Captive of the Pirate King
I can’t watch.
I race to the window, bend over the sill, and vomit onto the earth outside.
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The Pirate King and I barely trade words after the incident with Neelan. In the morning, Locke apologizes to the islanders for the body in the bedroom, and they assure him that they’ll dispose of it—all but the head, which he keeps in hand. The stump of Neelan’s neck drips scarlet onto the chalky road as we leave the shanty town.
I couldn’t eat anything the islanders offered, not after what happened, and my stomach gurgles as I try to smile and say my goodbyes to the children.
Finally I’m in the skiff with Locke and the other pirates. And Neelan’s head.
“The children made me promise to come back sometime,” I tell Locke in an undertone.
“Did they?” he says blandly. “And what makes you think you’ll be sailing back this way?”
“I don’t know.” I look down at my hands, cupped in the lap of my tattered skirt. “I suppose I never will.”
I don’t look at him, but out of the corner of my eye I see his face turn toward me. After a moment he shifts on the wooden seat of the skiff, blowing out a restless sigh. His hip bumps mine. But he doesn’t say anything comforting.
He hasn’t thanked me for saving him. Maybe he resents the use of my bloody, disgusting brand of magic.Blood mage, Neelan called me, so there must be others like me somewhere. I know next to nothing about my cursed ability, since I’ve kept it hidden all these years. Perhaps I should learn more about it. Living out here on the Shorn Seas, I’ve already been forced to use it more than I’d like. After Mordan left, I hoped I’d never have to use it again. In fact, I vowed to Nehalennia that I never would. I hope the goddess is forgiving to oath-breakers.
When we reach theArdent, Locke hangs Captain Neelan’s severed head from the prow of the ship. TheArdenthas no figurehead, only a bit of decorative ebony carving—and it looks grim indeed with its new embellishment.
Locke’s full explanation of what happened seems to satisfy the men. They all knew Neelan—some sailed with him before this voyage—and they understand the kind of man he was. None of them seem to doubt that he would try to murder the Pirate King. The few remaining crew of theWending Willowhad the easiest time switching their shaky allegiance from Neelan to Locke, and by this point they seem to practically worship him. An awed reverence glows in their eyes when he gives them orders.
It’s a somber day at sea, but at the end of it Locke surprises everyone by opening a barrel of sweets from the hold and bringing out more rum. The men clamor for a song, and he obliges them, standing with his feet braced on two barrels while everyone stamps a rowdy rhythm.
I sit with Dez in the shadows a little way from the merriment. The cabin boy is sniffing quietly, saddened by the loss of his cousin.
“He wasn’t a good man, I know it,” he mutters to me, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “But he was the only family I had left. What will become of me now? I’m lazy and useless. They’re going to give this ship to someone else, and the new captain probably won’t want to bother with me.”
“Nonsense.” I rub his shoulder. “You’ve been working so hard lately! I’ve noticed.”
“You’ll put in a good word for me?” Dez looks up hopefully. His nose is red and running, and tears shine on his round cheeks.
“I don’t know how much pull I have with the Pirate King,” I say. “But I’ll try.”
“The Pirate King really likes you.” Dez nudges me. “I mean, I know he beds you, and I’m sure he likes that part, but—helikesyou.”
“What do you know about it?” I shove him back. “You’re fourteen.”
“He watches you when you’re not looking. All the time. And he gets this look—like he’d jump overboard if you asked him to.”
I splutter into my mug of tea. “Yes, he probably would.” But only if I bit him and tasted his blood first.
At that moment Locke’s eyes latch with mine across the shadowed span of the deck. He’s still standing on the barrels in his fine boots, uplit by the dancing light of the fire in the sand barrel. His black crown is cocked rakishly across his brow. A single gold chain bounces against his bare chest as he moves to the music. On his finger glitters my family ring. He still hasn’t given it back to me.
Holding my gaze, Locke tips up the thick brown bottle in his hand and chugs more rum. When he finishes the entire bottle, he lifts it high and roars in triumph, lips wet and shining. The men roar with him.
He leaps down from the barrels, plants himself atop one of them with his legs braced apart, and beckons to me.
I sigh, getting to my feet and handing my tea to Dez. “Here, someone should enjoy it. And you shouldn’t be drinking that.” I jerk my head toward the keg of ale from which the pirates are filling great foamy mugs.
“I’m nearly grown,” he protests.
I stoop to kiss his forehead, and he flushes beneath the tearstains.
Straightening, I walk as gracefully as I can toward Locke. The sea is calm tonight, and I’m confident in my sea-legs, so I put a little extra sway into my hips. The men whistle and cheer, clearing my path to the Pirate King.
