*
When I reemerge, I’m no less furious with Riden. This ship is too small, I decide. I could have ordered him put back in the infirmary, but that’s less of a punishment. It’s only comfy living quarters. No, it’s the brig for the cocky bastard.
I am making a beeline for the hatch leading belowdecks, when I have to pause to let Enwen exit first. He’s so tall, he has some difficulty angling himself out of the hatch. With small eyes, hollow cheeks, and a perfect nose, he resembles a tree trunk.
“Enwen, where have you been?”
“Helping Teniri in the treasury, Captain. There was a lot of gold to count through.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Turn out your pockets.”
“No need. Teniri already searched me before I left. You can ask her yourself. I wouldn’t steal from my new crew. Unlike back on Draxen’s ship, I actually enjoy living on the Ava-lee.”
“Then why did you stay with Draxen?”
“Who else is going to keep an eye on Kearan?”
“Some job you’re doing. Why don’t you keep him out of my cellar? I’m sick of seeing him throwing up over the side of my ship.”
“I was meaning his emotional well-being, Captain.”
“You can’t be serious. Kearan has the emotional depth of a clam.”
“Well, a man can try, can’t he? I wouldn’t be doing my job as his friend if I didn’t try.”
“How many times do I have to tell you?” Kearan shouts from the other end of the ship. “We are not friends!”
“Yes, we are!” Enwen shouts back.
“Stop yelling,” I tell Enwen. “Sort it out yourselves. I have work to do.”
“Captain, wait!” A different voice this time. Little Roslyn’s. She intercepts me before I get a foot through the hatch. “I need to talk to you about having a celebration.”
“A celebration?”
“For getting the map and stealing the pirate lord’s treasure! Niridia said we couldn’t last night because you had to lock yourself in the brig for the night to let the siren out.”
“That’s true. And right now I have a prisoner to interrogate. How about tonight?”
“That works for me,” she says. As though she might have had an important appointment scheduled. “Can I help with the prisoner?”
“No.”
She crosses her arms, ready to argue.
“Have you practiced your letters today?”
She throws her head back and sighs angrily.
“No interrogating prisoners when you haven’t performed your own chores.” Not that I’d let her help anyway. She doesn’t need to witness me torturing a man. “And no celebrating if you haven’t practiced.”
“Oh, all right,” she says, stomping off.
Wallov and Deros are playing cards in the brig when I get down there. Vordan has finally been let out of the cage, only to be placed into one of the brig cells instead. He’s unbound and ungagged, his back to us. Riden is two cells over, seated on the floor with his arms atop his knees. He doesn’t look at me.
Good.
“Your daughter is getting awfully cheeky, Wallov,” I say.
“Can’t imagine where she gets it from, Captain,” he says.
“I hope you’re not suggesting she’s getting it from me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says. But his tone is too light to be sincere. I smile at him.
“You two are relieved for now,” I say. “I’ll keep an eye on the brig rats.”
They both scoot out of their chairs, starting for the stairs. “And see to it, Wallov, that Roslyn is actually practicing her writing and not threatening people with that dagger.”
“Isn’t it a beautiful piece of work, Captain? Won it off Deros in one of our games.”
Deros folds his massive arms. “I lost on purpose so the lass would have a way to protect herself.”
“Take it up top, lads,” I say.
I wait a few beats until the hatch slams closed behind them.
Vordan has risen, standing on one leg—the one that didn’t break during his fall at the inn—and turned to face me already. He jerks his head toward the cell on the opposite side of the brig from him and Riden, the one filled with plush cushions. “I’d have preferred that one, but I take it that one is yours.” He smiles at his own cleverness. “What is it like having to be locked up on your own ship?” he continues. “I can’t imagine it—”
I cut him off with a deep, low note. Vordan holds a knife in his hand. He glances at it in fear before thrusting it down into his own leg, the one that isn’t broken. He screams before changing the sound into an angry grunt. It’s a rather pathetic attempt at maintaining his composure.
I halt the song, and Vordan comes out of the hallucination. He looks down at his leg, sees that it is whole, that his hand holds no knife, and fixes me with a filthy stare. His breathing has quickened. Even though his mind now knows he’s not injured, it takes time to recover from the echo of pain.
“This is a dream come true for you,” I say. “Looks like you’ll get to experience the full brunt of my abilities after all.”
His face pales, and the satisfaction I get from it is a soothing balm to my senses.
“Now, then,” I say, “I want to know all of the spies you have in my father’s fleet. I want their names and which vessels they sail on.”
“I don’t—”
Another note flows out of my mouth. A puddle of water appears at Vordan’s feet, and I make him stick his face right into the water and hold it there for half a minute. I let him pull his head up for a few seconds to breathe and then stick him under the imaginary puddle for a full minute. Though his mind is fully alert as to what’s happening, I have taken his control over his own limbs. They obey me now.
When he comes up for air this time, I release him from the song.
He flops over onto his back, feeling the dry ground. No water. He hasn’t the strength to stand as he sucks down as much air as his lungs will allow and coughs it back out.
I dare a glance in Riden’s direction. He is watching everything, his face carefully blank. I’m not about to go back on our bargain to sense what he’s feeling, though I’d desperately like to.
“I could, of course, force you to be truthful with me,” I say, returning my attention to Vordan, “but I want nothing more than for you to suffer before you die. So by all means, Vordan, continue refusing me the information I want.”
Once he’s breathing a bit more easily, he stands, hopping pitifully as he finds a balance with the broken leg.
“On the Deadman’s Blade, you’ll find a pirate going by the name of Honsero. He’s my man. Klain sails with the Black Rage.” He pauses to catch his breath before listing several more ships and pirates, and even giving me the names of some who are stationed within my father’s keep.
When he finishes talking, I utter a higher note, something piercing and throttling. I ask him if he’s spoken the truth and if he’s omitted any names. While under my influence, he confirms his earlier testimony.