Page 82 of Captive of the Pirate King
“Why are you tellingme?” Puck says indignantly. “I’m the acting Pirate King when Ruen isn’t here. He wouldn’t trust me with that role if I were as stupid as you seem to think I am.”
“He only trusts you like that because we’re here,” mutters Kardon.
“You have a plan, my Lord?” asks Cyprus, pacing slowly behind Locke.
“Don’t I always?” Locke extends a hand to me, and I take it grudgingly, pulling myself to my feet. “We take a ship to the spot where this storm is circling, and we enter it.”
“So it’s death, then,” says Puck. “The plan is death. What a truly inventive plan, my Lord. You go and get yourself killed, and then I’ll be stuck here playingyouuntil my skin withers and my joints ache. Delightful.”
“We’ll take precautions,” Locke says. “There must be an island at the center of the maelstrom. And the storm cannot be constantly active, or Mordan would run out of energy. Instead of trying to avoid it and being sucked in, unwary, we will circle and observe, and then we’ll go in when it quiets. I saw theRebellionin port—is Vesser still among that crew?”
“Yes,” replies Kardon. “You want to take him along?”
“To counter Mordan’s magic until we can get close enough—yes.”
“Close enough for what?” Puck asks.
“Close enough for me to speak to him.” I meet Locke’s eyes. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? For me to calm him down and distract him so you can kill him?”
“We’re not going to kill your brother, love. But I am going to mark him with a vow.”
64
Madam Thora knocks and enters the study shortly after Locke’s statement. “The lady’s room is ready,” she announces. “I’ll see her there and get her settled, and then I have a few questions for you, my lord, about the gala tomorrow night.”
Quickly I rub my thumbs under my eyes to clear away the tears. It won’t do to walk the Pirate King’s halls looking unhappy. I’m supposed to be the privileged whore—lucky to be spared, luckier to be paid for my services rather than forced to perform them.
Before I leave the room, Locke unlatches the collar around my neck. “It has served its purpose,” is all he says by way of explanation. I suppose he wanted a visual aid for everyone who saw us disembark—a mark of his ownership of me. Demeaning though it was, I couldn’t help feeling slightly titillated when Locke pulled me close with that golden chain.
Shoving the memory aside, I follow Thora into the hallway.
“You’ve met Lord Puckley and the others, I see,” Thora says in her cool, even tones as she leads me upstairs. I’m used to wealth and luxurious surroundings, but after weeks at sea, I’m awed by the lush furnishings of the Pirate King’s mansion. Statues and art from every known kingdom and beyond grace the walls and alcoves—pieces no doubt earmarked for the private collections of earls and dukes and rich merchants. It gives me a perverse pleasure to know that Locke owns and displays them now. Or perhaps I should begin calling him Ruen, both aloud and in my mind. His friends seem to know him as Ruen.
Friends. Strange—he was friendly with everyone aboard theArdent, even before he was revealed as the Pirate King—so it shouldn’t surprise me that he has friends, the tried-and-true kind. But it does surprise me. If I’m honest, I’m a little jealous of them for knowing him so much longer than I have. They have so many memories together—night watches, sea battles, long sunny days of sailing, drinks and games and lewd stories. I crave all of those memories, and more.
“Yes,” I say, conscious that I’ve been walking in silence without answering Thora’s question. “I met them. Tell me, does the Pirate King always sit on that throne?”
“Oh, no, lass,” she says. “He does that for an hour each day, in case anyone needs to speak to him on some matter. Usually he’s out on the island somewhere, or in his study, or in meetings with the captains or the guild leaders. That’s when he’s not sailing his own ship or taking a jaunt aboard some other vessel in disguise.”
“How many people know that he sneaks onto ships in disguise?”
“Close friends, the household servants, and a few others. He always used to sneak back in without a fuss and switch places with Lord Puck quietly—never showed his hand this way before. I suppose this will put an end to his secret voyages. Can’t say I’m sad about it—I always thought it was too risky.” Thora side-eyes me. “Pays you well, does he?”
“Yes.” I don’t offer any further explanation, and she doesn’t pry.
She leads me along a hallway richly carpeted with red and gold. “That’s the master’s door, there. He’ll be busy tonight—lots of paperwork, and the errand to Riddle Street. I wouldn’t disturb him. If he needs tending, he’ll summon you.” She sweeps past an alcove with three arched windows, glassless, un-shuttered, open to the breeze. Salt-fresh air wafts through, stirring the scarlet curtains and their gold tassels, and I fight the urge to curl up on the bench in that alcove and lean out one of those windows. Beyond the sill, palm fronds toss and flutter in the wind, while gulls glide in white flashes across the purple evening sky.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
I glance at Thora, and she’s smiling. Just a bit. Just enough to make me like her.
“It is beautiful.” I smile back.
“This is your room.” She extends a hand toward the door. It’s a well-worn hand, the hand of a woman who works hard, despite the hints of elegant breeding in her posture and speech. And I like her still more because of it.
I open the door she’s indicating. Beyond is a room with more arched windows. These are fitted with leaded glass and hinged so I can open them and enjoy the air. There are blue-patterned curtains, indigo carpets, and touches of vivid emerald-green in the beading of the pillows and in the enameled vases. More enameled artwork decorates the walls—mosaics of green frogs and blue flowers, verdant leaves and azure moths. Lanterns paneled with cerulean glass stand on small tables at either side of the enormous bed.
And thebed—it’s an avalanche of downy pillows and soft blankets. I can’t help an intake of delighted breath when I see it.
