Page 79 of Captive of the Pirate King
The town sprawls far inland, past the coastline, where the tall stacks of shops give way to larger homes, as well as massive buildings surrounded by walls and gates and guards—storehouses for the loot the pirates bring back.
“I have secret places for the most valuable items,” Locke says.
A bit farther on he points to distant, rambling structures that issue smoke and steam from their chimney-stacks—factories and engineering facilities, he calls them. Apparently he funds a number of different inventors and their ongoing work.
There’s a library as well, and a school. A vast market teeming with activity and colorful wares. A public garden that occupies several blocks.
“How old are you?” I eye him keenly, trying to guess his age.
“Nearing my twenty-seventh year.”
“You went from sixteen-year-old buccaneer to Pirate King in ten years.” I shake my head. “Impossible.”
“Not if you hire the right people.” He grins. “Much of the infrastructure was already here, but the town had fallen into disrepair before I found it. During my voyages I collected people—architects, city managers, mages to speed the creation of stonework and the construction of new buildings, military experts to help with the defenses. With enough treasure, you can recruit anyone. All of this—” he spreads his hands toward the buildings around us— “is funded by the seven kings. Their inadvertent generosity has made this place possible.”
My gaze travels over a sprawl of well-tended grass where a few women and their children have gathered. “There are more women here than I expected.”
“Some of these families have lived here since before I took over,” Locke says. “And when captains arrive to take my flag and vow their allegiance, women are sometimes aboard their ships. Those women must also be tattooed, and they are given a choice to remain here or be taken to the nearest port where they can fend for themselves.”
“So you don’t imprison them here, or dump them into the Mother Ocean immediately,” I say dryly.
He shoots me a rebuking look. “I’m not a heartless monster, love. I can see reason, and I make exceptions as needed. Truthfully, most of the women decide to stay and live here under my protection while their men are out sailing aboard my ships.”
“What if women want to be pirates too, or captains?” I give his thigh another pinch. “Your laws are antiquated and foolish.”
“Says the woman who was to be married off to a Duke with no say in the matter, who was kept in dark rooms so her skin would be flawless for the husband who would own her, body and soul.” Locke’s eyes pierce mine like shards of ice, like the pain of the truth he speaks. “Our world is not perfect. It is changing, but until some great transformation occurs, I must set the course I believe is right.”
“And that course prevents women from serving under the Crowned Skull.”
“You know my reasons. I won’t belabor the point with you.”
I no longer care if the driver is listening, because this blind spot of Locke’s poses the greatest threat to my happiness with him. I’ve heard his reasoning, and while it makes a kind of sense, I’m not sure I could ever condone his policy.
“Couldn’t you give all your pirates tattoos that prevent them from raping others?” I ask, low. “It could be part of the tattoo that ensures their secrecy and encourages their allegiance.”
“And what’s next? Shall I tattoo each of my pirates with the moral guidelines I believe to be right? Where does that end, Nick? I won’t be god and conscience to everyone.”
“But you tattooed Neelan, Gorm, Tir, and those others—”
“Their tattoos were a punishment for a crime they were intent on committing, whose plotting I witnessed myself. I won’t inscribe preventative moral tattoos on every man who serves beneath my flag.” His cheeks are flaming under his tan, and a muscle along his temple flexes. I’ve worked him into a lather over this.
“You aren’t challenged very often, are you?” I ask quietly.
He huffs out a frustrated breath. “I make the best choices I can, Veronica. I try to do right by my captains and their crews, by the people of Ravensbeck, by all the islanders we interact with. But I’m not perfect. You can’t expect that of me. I told you I’m twisted, bent, dark inside. You have to understand that I won’t always do things the way you believe I should. This web I’ve woven has its black tunnels and sticky parts. It’s messy and tangled. If you can’t live with that, maybe I should drop you off at the nearest port myself. I won’t be a kept man, letting you dictate all my future decisions by your own moral code.”
He’s not exactly shouting, but he’s being very loud, and he doesn’t seem to care if the driver hears him. At least now we’re not surrounded by curious crowds. We’re rolling through some sort of lush garden—probably the grounds of his residence. I was so absorbed in our argument that I missed the moment we passed through the gate.
“You don’t want to be a kept man, yet you expectmeto be your kept woman,” I snap. “And you talk as if you think I’m going to live here in Ravensbeck with you for a long time.”
He stares into my eyes. “Aren’t you, though?”
I suck in a quick breath, my gaze averting from his. “I—you know I have to find my brother.”
“But after that. What will you do? Where will you go?” He shifts in his seat, seeking my gaze again, but I turn my face away.
“Veronica,” he murmurs.
“I don’t know,” I gasp. “Stop. Just stop. You’ve made it clear you can’t offer me anything—what you said earlier about the women in town—you can’t offer me a relationship or a future with you. There’s nothing more to discuss. I won’t stay here and play the whore for you indefinitely.”
