Still, though her skin felt tight, she was thankfully healing, flesh stitching back together to allow her shirt to be easier to wear, her chores not as painful to bear.
Niya had experienced her fair share of bruises and cuts from sparring with her sisters and even the occasional tough beating when their father had joined them in the ring, but she had never experienced such a harsh lashing as this.
It still could have been worse, she thought, gazing out at the churning waves beyond the port side. She could have been whipped and not have shortened her binding bet. At least now she had a fighting chance of returning home sooner. She had made a bargain she finally felt she could win.
Niya’s mood lifted ever so slightly as she scratched gingerly at the new scab forming on her shoulder.
“I’ve got some seaweed oil that can help with that.”
Niya shielded her eyes from the sun as she glanced over to find Saffi approaching. The stocky woman wore her gray braids twisted atop her head today, a thick brown coat around her shoulders. While the day was bright, these western waters clung to a chilly breeze.
“And what must I do in exchange for it?” asked Niya. As this was the first time any of the crew had spoken to her, Niya was more than skeptical. “Sew up all your trouser holes? Clean the stains from your underwear?”
“First, the holes in my trousers are there on purpose,” explained Saffi. “Second, I’m merely trying to be nice. But it seems you’re only in the business of making enemies and keeping them.” She turned to leave.
“Wait,” Niya called. “I’m sorry. Nobody has approached in any friendly capacity since Esrom. I can’t tell when someone is being kind anymore.”
Saffi leaned a hip against the railing beside them. “Then I welcome you to the life of a pirate.”
Niya gave her a small smile. “How do you deal with it?”
“Being a pirate? Or not getting on people’s bad side?”
“Both, I suppose.”
“I try to enjoy this life while also not breaking rules.”
“Sounds easy enough.”
“Yet it appears rather hard for you to do—at least when it comes to the captain.”
Niya’s chest heated with silent contempt at the mention of Alōs, her gaze going to the quarterdeck, where his large presence loomed at the other end of the ship, Boman beside him at the wheel. She had not spoken to Alōs since her lashings. Each of them seemed perfectly fine to keep their distance. They might momentarily be on the same side when it came to finding this Prism Stone, but he was still very much her enemy; her deep-rooted anger toward the man remained strong. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“When I tell you to do things for our team, you always comply, rather happily. But it seems painful for you to follow the captain’s orders.”
Niya shifted her weight with discomfort as she glanced out to the sea rather than meet Saffi’s gaze. She had no desire to explain her history of animosity when it came to Alōs.
“He went easy on you, you know?”
Niya frowned, turning back to Saffi. “Excuse me?”
“The options of your punishment for sneaking onto Esrom and using your gifts on us,” she explained.
“I was whipped, Saffi. And then was given all these chores with hardly any time to heal.”
Despite Niya having accepted her sentencing, her pride still smarted at the memory of kneeling before Alōs and all the crew to take her beating.
“Yet the skull of the last pirate to disobey him in Esrom is decorating his quarters,” Saffi pointed out.
Yes, well, that pirate obviously didn’t have the leverage I have, thought Niya. Plus, she’d like to see Alōs try to take her head. She was quite certain, without the restraint of their binding bet, it would be his severed skull in her hands in the end.
But she didn’t say any of this to Saffi; instead she merely shrugged. “So he’s getting soft in his old age.”
Saffi laughed. “Hardly. It seems he takes different liberties with you. I’m starting to wonder why.”
Niya did not enjoy the master gunner’s scrutinizing gaze. As she brushed back strands of her hair that had escaped her braid in the wind, Niya schooled her growing annoyance that some of the crew seemed to be watching her and Alōs’s interactions more closely than she’d have liked. “I think you’re reading too much into things. I was punished like any of you would have been. Besides, you all voted for me to be lashed.”
“Yes, because of all the punishments the captain put forth, it was the harshest. Death was never on the table.”
Niya snorted at how cavalierly Saffi could talk about wanting Niya to be killed. “How disappointing for you all.”
“It’s just interesting, is all,” she said, her eyes still assessing.
“Yes, well, maybe with Prik and Burlz gone, he couldn’t afford to lose any more of his pirates.”
“Maybe,” mused Saffi, folding her arms. “But the crew are talking.”
Great. Niya rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’m sure they are.”
“Some believe you two share a history. Especially since the Mousai showed up after you were brought aboard.”
By the stars and sea, thought Niya. The last thing I need is the crew poking around in my business or thinking I have some hold over their captain that would afford me special treatment. It would only have them resenting her more.
Alōs had shown her no favors, no charity. Only agreements and wagers. The only language they seemed to agree on. But she couldn’t tell Saffi about that.
“I had a heavy debt to pay,” was Niya’s only explanation.
“Is that what your binding bet is about?”
Niya kept herself from hiding the black marking peeking out of her shirt sleeve. “Do none of you have something tying you to this ship?” she accused, her magic fluttering in her gut along with her irritation. She was quite over this interrogation. “Or did you all walk aboard free men and women, ready to be commanded and ordered around?”
Saffi studied Niya a moment, letting her sharp retort float away in the breeze. “Did you know this isn’t the first pirate ship I’ve sailed with?”
“Uh . . .” Niya blinked, confused by the sudden turn in their conversation.
“I used to sail aboard the Black Spider. Lucia Pallar was her captain.”
“I think I’ve heard of that name,” said Niya. “But . . . didn’t the Crying Queen sink her years ago?”
“With the very cannons we clean every day.”
“I thought pirates kill the crew of other ships they commandeer.”
“Normally they do,” said Saffi, playing with the fine fur lining her coat sleeve. “But Captain Ezra works a bit differently than others, as I’m sure you well know. He’s a dirty pirate. Ruthless, to be sure. He cut down Lucia quick. Didn’t even give her the rights of last words. But he gave those of us that survived the battle the option to leave. He offered a rowboat and a chance to find a new life in Aadilor, maybe even go back to old ones. Or we could serve him on the Crying Queen. But he told us that once we decided to serve and pledged our loyalty to him, the only way out would be through the Fade.”
“And you chose to stay?” asked Niya, pinching her brows together. “After he killed your captain, pillaged your boat before sinking it?”
“Aye.” Saffi nodded. “But he gave me something Pallar never did.”
“A constant headache?”
Saffi grinned at Niya’s dry retort but shook her head. “A choice.”
Niya drank in the word. Choice.
She always believed that choice was a facade. A game of odds. Only a small part of someone’s life could be self-decided; the rest was a product of commands by kings and queens or of chaos, a timeline of uncontrollable outcomes. Choice. It reminded Niya of the thrill she felt when betting—giving in to life’s gamble.
“We all have histories here, Red,” continued Saffi. “People we were or planned to be. I never dreamed of being a pirate, but when Pallar came to my fishing village, it was either follow her or follow the rest of my family to the Fade.”
Niya’s chest tightened. “Pallar killed them?”