Page 33 of The Demons in the Deep: Extended Edition
“How did Flay lose his hand?” Feral asked.
A horrified chill burst over Mai’s body. For a splintered second, she couldn’t remember the lie they’d settled on—an accident aboard ship? Was that it? How much detail had Flay already given to Feral and his father?
“An unfortunate accident,” she said.
“Yes, but what kind of accident?”
During the salvage of the treasure—that was it. That was the lie she was supposed to tell.
“He and some of the others were diving to salvage treasure from a shipwreck,” Mai said. “And his hand got caught.”
“Caught?” Feral’s scar-laced brow hooked questioningly.
“Yes, caught. He lost the hand—it couldn’t be prevented. It was awful—blood all over the deck. I nearly vomited at the sight.”
“Interesting.”
Mai saw the glint in Feral’s eye and she knew, with horrible certainty, that she had made some mistake.
“I sayinteresting,” he continued, “because your cousin told me the two of you weren’t rescued and brought aboard theWind’s Favoruntilafterthe salvage of the treasure.”
Mai nearly choked on her own saliva. “Oh—well, that’s true. When I came aboard for the first time with Kestra, I saw the stain on the deck and I was nearly sick, especially after I heard the tale from the crew.”
“Indeed. What a delicate stomach you have, that a days’ old bloodstain should provoke such a strong reaction. And how did Flay and Kestra become so intimately acquainted if he was still suffering the immediate effects of such a traumatic wound?” Feral nodded at Flay and Kestra, who were dancing some distance across the ballroom.
Flay had laid his bandaged arm along Kestra’s waist and he was helping her through the steps, or trying to—he was grinning, eyes bright with repressed laughter, while Kestra giggled so hard she could barely follow his lead. Whatever he’d said to Kestra had melted every bit of her anxiety and reserve. Mai found herself smiling at the sight of them.
“One would almost think they’d known each other a long time,” Feral suggested quietly.
“Not long at all,” Mai replied. “I suppose some connections can happen quickly. Unexpectedly.”
“Hm.” Feral took her cup, his calloused fingers brushing over her knuckles briefly. “Another dance?”
Mai could see Jazadri working his way toward her. Doubtless he planned to rescue her from Feral. Besides Kestra, Flay, and herself, he was the only other member of the crew at the party. The other sailors were considered too common for such high company, and Rake was waiting somewhere out of sight, ready to participate in the champions’ procession.
As much as she liked Jazadri, Mai didn’t want to be saved from Feral. She’d wriggled her way out of the clumsy lie—or so she hoped—and though Feral’s presence was unsettling, the scientific side of her was curious enough to stay. She wanted to gather data on this new phenomenon in her body. How would prolonged exposure to this stimulus affect her? Would new symptoms develop? Maybe, if she danced with him and spoke with him long enough, she could figure out what it was about him that appealed to her—what made him different from most men.
“Another dance,” she agreed. She nodded reassuringly to Jazadri as Feral moved her among the dancers again.
Jazadri didn’t look reassured. In fact, he looked downright alarmed. Mai wanted to yell to him that she knew how to take care of herself. Gaudy and glittery this ball might be, overwhelming in its scope and importance, but it was only a party, after all. If she could make enough powerful connections in this city, she might be able to stay longer. Flay and Kestra could leave her here for a few months while they voyaged, and then pick her up on the way back.
And Rake… what would he do? She tried to ignore the tug in her heart at the thought.
“You’ve participated in many of these games, haven’t you?” she asked Feral.
“I have. Would you like to hear about them?”
Time drained away as they danced, as they swirled and stepped and froze, swayed and slithered and froze again. All the dances followed the same general pattern, and once Mai had that pattern in her mind, she could let her body move through it while she listened raptly to Feral’s tales of past races. They discussed the form and mechanics of small, swift ships compared to big sailing vessels, and several times her comments on prow shape and wind flow seemed to favorably surprise him.
Mai had sketched designs for many ships, trying to craft a plan for escape from Kiken Island. She’d drawn designs for weapons, too—none of which she’d been able to build herself, and she’d always been too shy to ask the town council for funds and materials, because what if the weapons didn’t work? Besides which, none of her theoretical weapons had been powerful or wide-ranging enough to rid the coastal waters of the mermaid swarms.
But perhaps some of her designs could be repurposed for a new goal—the creation of a fast ship that could strike targets and defend itself against unknown obstacles and dangers. If only she could discover something about the route and its challenges.
“Do you know anything about this year’s games? About the route and obstacles for the race?” she asked.
Feral chuckled. “If I did, why would I tell you? What would you give me in return?”
“I don’t know.” Mai frowned. “I don’t suppose I have anything you would want.”
