Page 16 of The Demons in the Deep: Extended Edition
6
The man leaning in the doorway of the Magnate’s shipping office was the tallest Kestra had ever seen—taller than Jazadri, and likely as tall as Rake in human form.
The stranger wore a pair of black pants cinched with a dozen straps and buckles up each leg, while more belts hung at his hips. His long black coat gaped open, showing a broad bronzed chest. A luxurious feathery ruff lined the upright collar of the coat, and a jumble of black netting, silver chains, and bird skulls hung between his giant pectorals and brushed against the rows of his stomach muscles. His tricorn black hat dripped more feathers, and beneath it swept a waist-length mane of black hair, tied halfway down by a twist of leather. He wore a pair of fingerless leather gloves, reinforced with bronze discs at the knuckles.
He’d called the MagnateFather, which meant that he was Feral, Flay’s older brother, a captain known for finding and catching rare types of slaves. Whatever Kestra had expected him to look like, it wasn’tthis. Flay was beautiful like laughter, like blue sky on a sunny day at sea—but this man was handsome like the night sky, glimpsed between ragged storm clouds. His skin was tanned a deep copper, and pale scars seamed his left cheekbone, brow, and jawline. Another scar cut through his full lips, giving them a savage twist.
Feral had a forearm braced against the doorway, one hip shifted. In his other hand he spun a short black knife with a gold hilt. “Everyone has a bad run now and then,” he said. “The boy has done well for himself in past years. Shouldn’t that count for something?”
The Magnate released Flay’s throat. “You know I don’t give my captains second chances.”
“I am sorry to have disappointed you, Father,” said Flay hoarsely. “I can make it up to you, I swear.”
“There’s the spirit!” Feral grinned, his scarred lip stretching. His lower eyeteeth were longer than normal, and Kestra shivered at the predatorial look of him. She crossed the room, passing the Magnate with her head high and shoulders stiff, and she curled her arm through Flay’s. Under his sleeve she could feel the tension of his muscles.
Feral pushed himself away from the doorframe. “Got yourself a woman, eh, little brother?”
“A stray he picked up from a wreck,” growled the Magnate. “She’s nothing.”
“She’s not nothing.” Flay’s voice held more steel than Kestra had ever heard from him. “She’s everything. And you’ve given her a poor welcome, Father.”
The Magnate’s heavy face reddened, and his meaty hands twitched as if he’d like to get them around Flay’s neck again. Kestra noticed the physik Graves backing delicately away, retreating to a corner.
“Let’s talk business first, then pleasure, shall we?” Feral inserted himself between his brother and his father, facing the Magnate. “The Meridian Games will begin soon. You and I both know that my dear brother tries to avoid them every year—he takes great pains to be elsewhere while they’re occurring. But by luck and labor, he’s here now, just in time.”
He turned and clapped Flay on the shoulder, grinning at him. “Why don’t you let Flay enter the competition, Father? He could keep his ship, his crew, and his share of the last voyage’s haul until the end of the contest. If he wins, he gets to keep theWind’s Favorand his men—and his woman.” Feral’s eyes cut over to Kestra and held her gaze. “If he loses, he forfeits it all.”
The Magnate hesitated, stroking his jaw. Then he huffed a laugh. “I like it. I like this plan.”
“You know I don’t back down from a challenge,” Flay said. “But placingfirst? Out of all the other captains? That’s nigh impossible for a ship like mine. And you know I don’t have a champion.”
“What about that big fellow, your first mate?” asked Feral.
“Jazadri? He was injured on this trip. Lost two fingers. I won’t ask him to fight.”
“Lost two fingers, eh?” Feral smirked. “Looks like he came out ahead ofyou, though, didn’t he, brother?” He took Flay’s forearm and lifted it, inspecting the bandaged residual limb. “You’re a real captain now, eh? Let’s hope you don’t lose your ship.”
“What if I place in the top three?” Flay said. “Top three, and I forfeit my share of the profits on my next run.”
“Bargaining now?” Feral snorted. “Bold of you.”
But his father’s eyes sparked with interest. “You forfeit your profit share from the next two runs, and you place in the top three.”
“Done.” Flay stepped forward, flashing a grin, and held out his hand. “The bargain is struck. You are witness, Feral.”
“Of course,” Feral said absently, walking to the desk and swirling a finger through the discarded pile of jewels. “Where did all this come from?”
“A shipwreck,” Flay said. Kestra admired the casual way he said it—careless, as if the jewels’ provenance did not matter in the least.
“A shipwreck,” repeated Feral softly. He looked up at Kestra again, and she had to fight not to cringe from the incisive stare. His eyes were like blades, trying to carve the truth from her mind. “What shipwreck? Where? What type of ship?”
“None of your business,” Flay said.
“Is that so, little brother? You only say that when you have something to hide.” Feral stalked toward Kestra. “You’ll tell me, won’t you, lass?”
“I’m no lass,” Kestra retorted.
“What’s your name, then?”
