Niya adjusted the collar of her new tunic. The white top was snug but far cleaner than her soiled dress. The brown trousers fit her eerily well, and while the boots were too big, given she wasn’t wearing any socks, she supposed they were better than remaining barefoot.
She peered at the small pouch in her hand, brushing a thumb over where she could feel the bump of the seed scoopling inside. It was astonishing this had survived her journey here, hidden inside the pocket of her ruined skirts. More astonishing yet was how that day in Jabari now felt like a lifetime ago. But this little trinket had made it, a strange anchor home that placed a reassuring hope in Niya’s chest.
Pocketing the item within her new trousers, Niya studied the discarded rags by her feet. Her once-beautiful gown, hand-sewn by Jabari’s top seamstress, reduced to shreds. She sighed, a tiredness gripping her. In fact, in the aftermath of all her rage, Niya felt rather run down. She was exhausted and, despite her now somewhat-clean clothes, desperately wanted a bath.
And after, she wanted to change into one of her soft silk robes. And Charlotte to hum a reassuring melody as she brushed her hair into soft waves. And she wanted food. By the lost gods, she wanted heaps of food. Niya wanted eclairs from Milezi, Jabari’s best pastry maker, and two-day-soaked brisket from Palmex de V piled onto freshly baked honey rolls.
But she wasn’t going to get any of those things.
At least, not anytime soon.
Weariness gripped Niya once more as she rubbed at the marking of her binding bet. The dim lantern light flickered across the black lines wrapping her pale wrist.
As the days progressed, the band would slowly fill in, counting down the days left for her sisters to show. If they did not . . . well, Niya could not think of that.
They will find me. They will. And then this whole mess will be over.
Suddenly desperate for fresh air, Niya swung open the door. She was only slightly surprised it hadn’t been locked, not that a lock could stop her, but she supposed Alōs found no need to try to cage her when their binding bet was a shackle enough. For her win to count, she had to remain aboard the ship.
As she stepped into the hall, Niya was met with the woman she had felt waiting on the other side for some time now. “If you insist on remaining outside my room,” she began, “I guess you might as well give me this grand tour you speak of.”
The woman cut her a dry grin, displaying checkered gold-capped teeth before she led the way down the tight corridor. As they walked, Niya took in her guide more properly. She was tall, with sinewy muscles along her exposed arms, where a ring of five welted burns sat like ornamentation on each bicep. A long dagger was strapped to her thigh, and with her shaved head and more than a dozen gold loops piercing the rim of her right ear, she had the look of those who hailed from Shanjaree in the far west of Aadilor.
While Shanjaree was known to have pockets of magic, Niya could sense no gifts stirring in this woman. There was no metallic sting to the air or trail of colored smoke one could pick up with the Sight.
Climbing upstairs, they entered into the light of early morning.
Niya squinted against the harshness of it, though she greedily breathed in the salty air that pushed refreshingly across her skin, whipping her already-disheveled hair around her shoulders.
“Welcome to the Crying Queen,” said her guide.
As her eyes adjusted to the bright day, she was able to take in the massive gleaming ship stretching out before them. Black-and-gold detailing edged banisters, railings, and masts, above which puffed white sails like giant clouds.
Men and women scurried like rodents this way and that, climbing to reach crow’s nests, tie ropes, and adjust sails.
Niya had been aboard the Crying Queen before but had never given it much attention. Her mind had been focused on a different task then, a journey she had been on with her sisters.
At the thought of Larkyra and Arabessa, a bloom of pain and longing expanded in her chest.
What were they doing now? Had they even noticed she was gone? Were they scared she might be dead?
Niya rubbed at her sternum, as if that could rid her of the horrid feeling of guilt.
“This is the foredeck,” said the woman as they walked. “Gun deck is a floor below us. Stern of the ship is behind us, and forecastle deck and bow is at the front.”
Niya barely listened, instead studying the crew, who seemed to crawl out of every crack to study her. They were made up of every age, licking blistered lips as she passed, forty pairs of hungry eyes gleaming, no doubt seeing her as she had been presented—their meal ticket to their freedom from the Thief King. Pillaging and commandeering vessels were not the only ways pirates made a silver. Blackmail was a familiar pastime for rodents such as these. And while Niya was used to being ogled, usually enjoyed it, today she desperately wanted to be invisible, overlooked, and safely alone with her thoughts and feelings.
But she couldn’t let these pirates know that. Here she had no flexibility to be vulnerable. So Niya smiled a sharp smile to each and every person they passed, flames erupting to her fingertips as she gave a few a little wave.
Their gazes clung to her displayed gifts, some stepping back, others returning her bravado with their own cruel grins, colorful curls of their magic seeping from their forms.
Interesting, thought Niya.
“What are you mutts standing around for?” barked her guide to the gathering group. “It’s not as if we have never had a prisoner on board. Back to work!”
Hearing how the woman spoke each syllable with purpose and clarity, Niya’s attention swung back to her, reassessing. More curiosities, thought Niya. While her guide might have had the look of a pirate, Niya knew then she had not been born into squalor.
“But she holds the gifts,” said a small girl, clear fascination in her tone.
“And? So do our captain and Saffi and Mika and half of Aadilor. Ain’t nothing special about this one, Bree; now back to the ropes with you.”
In a blink the girl scampered up a mast, no ladder or rope needed, before she was a small dot standing in a crow’s nest.
“Best not to flash those gifts of yours so openly,” said the woman to Niya. “There are still a few here that are looking to get revenge for the burns you gave them earlier.”
“How serendipitous, for I’m still looking to get revenge on those who dragged me here.”
Her guide tipped her head back and laughed, drawing Niya’s eyes to her bruised nose and the matching discoloration under her eyes.
“The handiwork of your foot,” explained the woman as she caught her gaze. “So no revenge needed with me.”
Niya set her shoulders. “I do not think your injury is at all equal to what I have suffered being brought here.”
“We’ve all got sob stories, and I can guarantee those aboard have worse ones than yours, so don’t be looking for any sympathetic ears here.”
Niya’s annoyance prickled along with her magic. “You know nothing of me or my life.”
“No,” agreed the woman. “But I don’t need to. If what the captain says is true and you’re worth so much as to help us get our bounty dropped with the Thief King, you’re more than expensive—you’re connected. Or at least your family is,” she added, assessing. “And most of our prisoners, like you, have lived cushy.”
“I can guarantee you,” began Niya coolly, “none of your prisoners have ever been like me.”
“I suppose none of them have been as troublesome to get on board, but you all end up hog-tied and captured in the end.”
Niya’s temper flared, her magic spinning around in her gut to show this woman just how troublesome she could be. But she gritted her teeth against the urge. Suspicions were apparently already overflowing on this ship regarding her connections. No use in fanning the flames.
“Thank you for your lovely tour,” said Niya through clenched teeth. “But I am no longer in the mood for company.”