I glare at the two of them. “We have a new recruit,” I shout for the whole crew to hear. “Meet Riden.”
Many of the girls look up from their tasks. A couple drop down out of the rigging now that the ship is under way. I see a lot of curiosity in their faces. And some interest in others.
“Riden!” I shout, remembering something. He looks up again. “Go below and shave. You look haggard.”
He raises a brow, but doesn’t dare to disobey the first order I give him after our deal. He treads belowdecks. Lotiya and Deshel try to follow.
“Get back to your posts,” I shout at them. They sigh in resignation and scatter.
“Haggard?” Niridia asks. She’s at the helm. Kearan, it would seem, hasn’t arrived yet. I join her. “That man is handsome as hell.”
“Troublesome as hell is more like it,” I say. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with him.”
“I could tell you what I’d like to do with him.”
“Niridia,” I warn.
“A jest, Captain.”
I know. Niridia hasn’t been able to stomach the touch of a man after what she went through before I found her, but that doesn’t keep her from teasing. As my best friend, it’s her job. She’s able to jump back and forth between the roles of friend and first mate effortlessly, knowing when each is appropriate. I love her for it.
“We’re keeping him, then?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“Hmm” is all she says. She’s the overly cautious type, the most responsible out of everyone on the ship. She always has something to say.
“What?”
“Just remember he’s Jeskor’s son. Your families are rivals. Have you wondered if being on this ship is exactly where he wants to be?”
“Just like when I was a ‘prisoner’ on his ship?” I intended to get captured—all because I had a map to find on Riden’s brother’s ship.
“Exactly.”
“Riden’s not like that. He doesn’t have his own ambitions. The only thing that drives him is his brother.”
Niridia blows a golden wisp of hair out of her blue eyes. “I wouldn’t say it’s the only thing, Captain.” She looks at me pointedly.
To change the subject, I ask, “Where is Kearan?”
Niridia waves toward the bow, and I’m surprised now that I didn’t spot him sooner. Kearan is massive. His bulk is tucked into his usual dark coat, a jacket full of pockets where he houses all his flasks. The man drinks like a parched fish.
But now it looks as though he’s had a few too many. He’s pressed against the starboard side, the contents of his stomach depositing into the sea below.
I’m trying to think of a suitable punishment for him when Niridia and I spot Sorinda materializing out of the shadows near the foremast. Her raven-colored hair is just a shade darker than her skin. It’s held up with a band, the ends reaching just past her shoulders. Sorinda never bothers with a tricorne. She spends most of her time in the dark and has no need to keep the sun out of her eyes. Instead of a cutlass, she carries a rapier at her side, favoring speed to strength.
Right now, however, she holds the end of a rope.
“What is she doing?” Niridia asks.
I’d tasked Sorinda with keeping an eye on Kearan when he first joined the ship. She hated it, though her job turned out to be easy since Kearan couldn’t take his eyes off her. She’s threatened to cut out his eyes multiple times, but I’ve expressly forbidden it. He can’t navigate my ship without them.
Now that we’re back from our mission, it looks like Sorinda has picked up right where she left off. Tolerating Kearan.
She ties the end of the rope she’s holding around Kearan’s waist. He doesn’t even notice, merely fidgets with another wave of sickness. Since he’s already halfway over the edge, it takes Sorinda very little effort to push him the rest of the way. There’s a quick shriek followed by a loud splash.
And Sorinda—my dark, quiet assassin—smiles. It’s a beautiful thing, but so fleeting. She composes herself before peering over the edge, the only outward sign of her preening over her victory.
Coughing and swearing ensues on Kearan’s end, but Sorinda molds back into shadow without another word.
Sometimes it’s so easy to forget Kearan is only a few years older than Sorinda and I are. Carrying on like a drunk will age a man considerably.
“See to it that someone helps him out of there, will you?” I ask Niridia. “He and the rest of the men need their ears covered. I’m going to stock up.”
“Now?” she asks carefully. She knows exactly how much I hate this particular part of being half siren.
“It needs to be now. I haven’t any song left after the fight on Charden, and I’ll need it if I’m to properly interrogate Vordan.” I smile then, thinking of the fun the two of us will have.
My methods of interrogation have been known to make men lose their minds.
Chapter 3
ONLY ONE CELL IN the brig has cushions: my cell.
Fluffy red plush covers the floor and props against the wooden wall. I remove my boots and leave them far out of reach of the bars. Then I unlace my corset and set it atop my boots. I step inside the cell, wearing naught but leggings and a simple long-sleeved blouse. I can’t wear buttons or laces or hairpins. Not in here.
I shut myself in and lock the door. With the tightest grip I can make, I yank at the bars. I know they haven’t grown any less sturdy, but I always fear I might break out. I have to check each time, just to reassure myself the metal won’t bend under my fingers.
Mandsy comes down with a bucket of water. She places it just on the other side of the cell, so I can reach it through the bars. Then she collects my boots and corset. I hand her the key.
“All the men have their ears covered, Captain,” she says. “They know the drill.”
“What about the new recruits?”
“Well, Kearan is probably too drunk to be roused even by your abilities, but Sorinda made sure his ears were properly covered anyway. Enwen took enough wax for three men’s ears, saying you could never be too careful.” She laughs. “I like that one especially. He’s a funny sort of fellow.”
“And Riden?”
“He took it calmly, no questions asked.”
“You explained to him what I was doing?”
“Yes, Captain.”
I want to ask more. What expression did he have on his face? Did he seem disgusted?
He made a point of telling me I was never to use my abilities on him. Is he sickened by what I am? But then I remember I shouldn’t care. I don’t care.
My fingers tingle as my gaze flits to the bucket of water. Though I dread what it does to my mind, my body revels in being so close. Without another thought, I plunge my fingers into the bucket and pull the water into me.
Everything becomes heightened instantly. The creaking of the wood, the sloshing water outside the ship, a woman’s whistling from up top, boots on the deck, coughing, laughing. I can sense the breaths of all the people around me—puppets for me to play with.
Like plucking a string on an instrument, my voice tugs at the string of a human’s consciousness. Come to me.