“And drink, lass. You don’t look too good.” He adds and clears his throat.
I crawl to the bucket and cup water into my hands, drinking until my throat stops burning. The cool liquid steadies me a little. He unlocks the cell and steps inside, picking up the leather strap from where I slept. His boots creak against the boards as he crouches in front of me.
“Thank you,” I manage, hoping he hears the honesty in my voice. My fingers twitch in my lap. “What’s your name?”
He studies me for a moment, then quickly glances to the side before looking at me again. “Grim.”
He motions for me to turn. I hesitate only a second before obeying. He gathers my hair and places the leather on my tongue, pulling it tight behind my head to make a knot. The uncomfortable feeling makes my eyes water immediately.
I glance back in his direction and take a moment to look at my captor. In the lantern light, I can see his hair is red, and a short beard frames his face. He doesn’t look as young as the cabin boys, and several scars mark his face. He must be in his thirties. His nose is crooked, as if it has been broken many times. But he doesn’t look cruel. He looks like a boy raised by the sea, and the sea is unforgiving.
He gets up and steps out, locking the door again. The sound of the key turning echoes through the orlop.
“Oh, and lass,” he adds, turning slightly, “stop talking to yourself in the middle of the night. They’ll think you’re mad.”
He leaves the lantern by the cell and disappears into the dark.
Only then do I realize he never asked for my name. I stay still, staring at the faint glow on the floor. My heart hasn’t quite settled. The air feels too quiet, as if the ship itself is listening.
The ghost does not visit me again.
Chapter Six
“Lady,”avoiceurges.I fight to open my heavy eyelids. My whole body aches from sleeping on the hard and uneven floor. Not that I slept much after my encounter with the ghost.
When my vision clears, the cabin boy, Lark, peers through the bars. The night has finally passed, and soft light floods the orlop, giving it a faint golden touch.
The chains bite into my skin as I push up and try to answer him, but the leather strap still muzzles me and instead, spitcatches in my throat. His brows draw together, and fear glints behind his wide eyes. The last thing I want is for the young lad to be scared of me. I try to give him a smile, but fail miserably.
“I have breakfast for you.” He points to a plate of hardtack, a biscuit made from flour and water, and salt fish, which he must have slipped into my cage while I slept.
Just at the sight of the food, my stomach growls. If I weren’t already drooling from the leather between my teeth, I would start now.
“Orders from the captain,” he adds quickly. “But I should tell you that it’s likely to be your last meal.” He stammers. “Unless you, uh…”
I tilt my head at him. Unless I what? Unless I follow his ridiculous orders? Unless I succumb to their every whim as a prisoner? I can think of many reasons as to why this might be my last meal. Every meal has felt like my last meal in this unforgiving life. His feet shift from side to side, his jaw tense, giving away his nervousness. Did he forget? His eyes go wider than before, his eyes scanning his surroundings as though in search of the answer. So he did forget. And he already knows that asking his captain for the message again will bring consequences for the pirate-in-training.
“Unless you’re good,” he snaps, trying to sound rough by mimicking his captain’s bark. I bet that’s not exactly what the Captain told him. His fingers curl into fists at his sides, though I know he’s bound to be more angry with himself than with me.
“Now eat.”
I point to the strap still in my mouth. He sighs and nods, then jogs up the steep steps to the main deck. Seconds later, he returns with a key in his hand. The crew clearly doesn’t trust him with one after he helped me the first night. The lock clicks before the door to my cell is pushed open. He eyes me carefully, as if I were a dangerous animal about to snap, then steps around meand unties the leather. As it falls off, I groan in relief and work my jaw in all the directions I couldn’t before.
“Do not use your magic on me, witch.”
Lark backs out of the cell and locks the door. He sighs, obviously relieved to be out of my reach. Despite his attempts to act tough, I know he’s frightened, and that doesn’t sit right with me, so I finally manage a small smile.
“Lark, please know that I do not mean any harm to you. I only used my magic as a precaution. I couldn’t risk you shouting for the rest of the crew. And even you must admit that my fear of them is justified, given the situation I’m in now that they’ve caught me.”
Lark glances aside, as if checking whether someone might overhear. He steps closer to the cell again and lowers his voice. “So you really are a witch?”
“Something like that, yes,” I answer with a smile.
“Can you help us, then?” he asks, his voice low, his eyes searching mine as if he already expects the answer to hurt.
“Help…you?” I ask.
Is he talking about that thread of light again, the Glim? He opens his mouth to answer, but Grim comes down the steps from the deck.