“You and me both, my friend.”
Apparently, confirmed bachelorhood was all it took to unite them as brothers. Four-Eyes slung his weapon over his back and opened the sliding metal door. Then he hooked an arm around Doran’s neck and led him to the source of the festivities, a great room at the heart of the ship. The sight of a thousand bodies stopped Doran short.
He nudged his new friend and shouted, “Where’s your chief?”
Four-Eyes pointed above a sea of heads to a stage at the center of the room, where Solara stood beside a hulking Goliath twice her height. Doran had to do a double take. He’d never seen a human being so large, not even last summer during Super Bowl Camp. It was no wonder the pirates had made Demarkus their chief; he could crush a man with a pinch of his fingers. Solara looked like a child beside him, hugging herself tightly with both arms, her blackened eyes round and unblinking.
But the two of them stood alone onstage. Where was the bride?
Mugs of ale started circulating, handed down the tables until Four-Eyes snagged one for himself and handed another to Doran. After they each took a gulp, Four-Eyes lifted his mug toward the stage. “A bit young and slight, that one. Not his usual type.” He cupped a hand in front of his chest as if balancing a cantaloupe. “He tends to favor bigger ladies, if you know what I mean.”
Doran inhaled his ale, then coughed so hard he almost expelled both lungs. He wrenched his gaze to the stage and paid attention this time, noticing the way Demarkus showcased Solara like a prize he’d won at the fair. She fingered a golden necklace at her throat, which certainly wasn’t there half an hour ago. But nothing in her watery eyes led him to believe she’d chosen this union willingly.
“That’s my crewmate,” Doran shouted.
Four-Eyes laughed. “Not anymore.”
“But I know her,” he said. “She would never consent to this.”
The din of the crowd had died down enough for a few men to overhear. One of them cocked a warning brow and said, “The girl wears his token. She put it on of her own free will, in front of witnesses.”
“A token?” Doran asked. “That’s what passes for a wedding with you people? She probably didn’t understand what she was doing.”
The man shrugged. “Ignorance of our law is no defense. They’re wed.”
“Okay, so they’re wed,” Doran said. “How do we undo it?”
His question drew the interest of another nearby group, who silenced their conversation to listen in. Four-Eyes studied Doran’s face warily before telling him, “There’s only one way to break a marriage bond.”
“How?” Doran demanded.
“One of us can challenge him for the bride.” Four-Eyes glanced at his comrades and let out a barking chortle. “But who’s fool enough to do that?”
While the men joined him in laughter, Doran peered across the crowd at Solara, who seemed to have shrunk an inch. Her skin was the color of almond milk, pale white against purple bruises. Soon her eyes met his and widened with the unmistakable relief of a lost soul who’d found her only friend in the world. She lifted her head in an obvious show of strength, but her gaze shimmered. And then her proud chin began to wobble.
Something behind Doran’s breastbone cracked in half.
He lost control of his vocal cords and heard himself say, “I’ll do it.”
For the span of two heartbeats, there was silence all around.
He repeated, louder, “I challenge him.”
The pirates must have craved a night’s entertainment more than a life of marital bliss for their chief because cheers erupted from nearby, along with shouts of, “A challenge! A challenge for the bride!”
Four-Eyes clapped Doran on the back hard enough to send him stumbling forward a step. “You’ve got titanium twins between your legs, my friend. What’s your name?”
Doran had rehearsed this answer in the shuttle, but it took a few tries to untie his tongue. “Daro,” he said. “Daro the Red.”
Four-Eyes lifted Doran’s hand in the air and hollered at the stage, “Daro the Red issues a formal challenge of combat for the girl!”
“Wait. Combat?” All the blood left Doran’s face. He’d assumed the challenge would involve athletics—target shooting, or a race, perhaps. He’d never engaged in combat before, unless varsity football counted. “Can’t we do something else?”
But it was too late. Four-Eyes began pulling him through the crowd. Rough palms slapped his shoulders as he passed, while unseen men shouted, “Good on ya, boy!” and “Die well, you crazy bastard!”