“We can have men looking in all directions. Everyone’s backs will be covered,” Tylon says defensively.
I laugh without humor. “You’re being naive. That will cost you lives.” If we’re lucky, his.
“My men will be fine. Don’t presume to captain any crew other than your own.”
“Don’t belittle my crew by insinuating we’re only good for breeding!”
“That was Adderan! You’re—”
“That’s enough.” The pirate king’s voice cuts across the room. Powerful. Final. I take my eyes from Tylon’s enraged face and note that all the captains in the room are staring between the two of us.
“Just get it over with and bed the lass!” Captain Sordil shouts from the back of the room. I slice him in half with my glare. Before I can do more than that, Father continues, commanding everyone’s attention once more.
“Captain Alosa has more than made her point,” he says, “which is why she and the Ava-lee will sail second only to the Dragon’s Skull on the voyage to the Isla de Canta.”
Second?
Because my father’s ship will carry a secret weapon that will control the sirens? Or because he needs to keep his place at the head of his fleet?
Silence hits the room at the pronouncement. Then Adderan speaks up. “Are we sure that’s wise? Surely the Deadman’s Blade would be a better choice to have at your back?” His own ship. “It’s larger and more—”
“Are you questioning my decision?” Father asks, his voice like a whip.
Adderan immediately recants his words. “Wise choice, sire. The Ava-lee should go second.”
Kalligan nods. “Good. You can take the rear, Adderan.” I grin smugly at Adderan as Father launches into the rest of the details of the voyage, then concludes the meeting. “Alosa, Tylon, stay.”
The captains file out of the room, smiling and clapping one another on the backs. It’s finally happening. We’ve waited years to set sail for the unimaginable treasures waiting at the Isla de Canta. Now we can actually count the days.
“This voyage will go smoothly,” Kalligan says when the last man has left and the door falls back into place, “and I will not have some petty adolescent disagreement get in the way of that. Is that understood?”
“Of course,” Tylon says immediately, ever the willing-to-please pawn.
“There is no disagreement,” I say. It’s more of a blatant abhorrence.
“Whatever it is, it stops now. There will be no more belittling the other captains during meetings, Alosa. And Tylon, you would do well to listen to the wisdom Captain Alosa has to offer.”
Tylon nods. I snort and roll my eyes at the whole scene. Tylon’s puppylike obedience is enough to—
Father flies at me, quick as a bolt of lightning. I don’t move, knowing whatever comes will be better if I don’t resist.
In a flash, I’m backed against the wall. A dagger soars toward me, embedding itself in the wood just to the right of my eye.
“You will not be disrespectful in my presence,” Kalligan says. “Else this dagger will move an inch to the left. You don’t need both eyes for your voice to work.”
I stare into those large, fierce eyes. I’ve no doubt he means it. And before he tries to do more than scare me, I have to comply.
“Apologies,” I say.
See, I defy him all the time. I don’t apologize because he controls me. I do it because … because … I can’t finish the thought.
Am I only useful to him so long as I have a voice? Were I mute, would he still love me, still want me to captain a ship in his fleet?
He leaves the dagger in place and exits the room. When I pull away, strands of hair tug from my head, trapped by the dagger, and hang limply against the wall.
Chapter 5
THE DUNGEONS ARE LOCATED deep below the earth. They wind and twist as though formed from the pathway of a monstrous worm. The smell of mold clogs my nostrils, and the dank moisture in the air presses uncomfortably against my skin. Some of the tunnels slide right down into the sea and allow in water. With the tides, some of the cells fill to the brim. An added benefit when it comes to making prisoners talk.
Threck is the keeper of the dungeons. He’s a gaunt fellow who perpetually looks like he’s climbed his way out of a land dweller’s grave. Dirt paints his clothes and skin, and he lets his hair hang about him in matted snarls. But the fact that he’s absolutely terrified of me makes him amusing nonetheless.
Right now, however, there is very little that I find amusing.
I pound on the entrance to the dungeons, a large wooden door with a barred window.
“Threck!” I call out. “The king’s sent me to question the new prisoner.”
A lie.
I sent myself.
The dungeons are massive, but my shout carries in a much-too-loud echo from one tunnel to the next. After the sound dies down, silence is the only thing that bounces back up to me for several moments, and I wonder if he will pretend he didn’t hear me. But he’s too smart for that. The last thing you want to do is irritate someone who frightens you.
A slow shuffling sound makes its way toward me, growing louder and louder until I can tell the footsteps are just on the other side of the door. The barred window allows me to see to the other side, but Threck must be ducking because I can’t see his head.
A key slides under the door, and footsteps retreat in a hurry.
It’s difficult to say whether I’m more proud or offended by his reaction to me.
I grab a torch from its sconce on the wall and light it. There is a darkness unlike any other in the keep’s dungeon. No natural light can squeeze its way so far below ground. It sucks all the hope from the prisoners trapped in here. I should know—I’ve been one many times.
Threck doesn’t seem to mind it, however. He knows the dungeons so well he traverses them without any light at all.
I slide past row upon row of empty cells. They’re never occupied for long. When I reach one of the few cells in use, I pause.
“Draxen.”
Jeskor’s elder son doesn’t move at the sound of his own name. He sits on the stone floor and stares at the wall opposite the cell’s entrance. Like his brother, Draxen has changed some. Only his changes are for the worse. His black hair hangs past his shoulders in ratted curls. His shirt is too big for him. It hangs off his bony shoulders and pools on the floor behind him. That’ll be from the prisoner diet of cold gruel. But sometimes, if you’re lucky, a rat will wander into your cell.
“Princess,” he says and spits off into the corner. I can see now he has a rock in his hand that he’s throwing up in the air and catching. You’ve got to pass the time somehow. I would button and unbutton my coat. When my hands weren’t shackled above my head, that is.
“Nice weather we’re having,” I say as I shiver from the cold. How can Draxen stand not to have his coat on? It looks like he’s using it as a cushion under his rump.
“What do you want?” he asks.
“Nothing from you. I’m just passing through.”
“Then get on with it.”
“I didn’t realize you were busy.”