Through swollen eyes, the cell comes into focus. Salt now clings to my cheeks, and I realize that I must‘ve been crying.There’s no cot in this cell, not even a scatter of straw. Lanterns swing from the beams, their glow soft and uneven, painting the walls in a sickly gold. Chains hang idle, creaking whenever the hull shifts. Above, the main hatch hangs open just enough to spill a thin wash of light across the boards.
It seems like the crew is still dealing with the aftermath of the storm. Boots thud along the planks, and ropes strain on their pins while voices rise and fall. I pick out the carpenter, Saint, by his steady tone. The captain’s voice does not carry down here, which surprises me, because he enjoys barking orders at his crew.
I focus and sift through the sounds, matching names to the faces I have seen. The carpenter, whose name is Saint. Lark, the cabin boy I compelled, who might have helped me even without the hum. Match, who showed a flicker of mercy, though I do not know how long it will last. His mate, the one who sneered and spat, kept his name from me. For now, I call him Rat, as I call any man who chooses to treat me poorly. Yes, that feels right to me.
And then there’s the captain, Sable. He clearly does not trust me. My hands curl into fists at my sides until the cuffs cut into skin. He finds amusement in hunting me through his ship. And let’s not forget the leather strap that sits between my teeth, making me drool like a sick whelp.
Saint. Lark. Match. Rat. Sable. I say their names in my head and fix them to the faces of each one. Better to remember them all, I think to myself, and a smile tugs at my lips.
The siren in me stirs with excitement.
Chapter Five
Iwakeuptothecold. The chill sits on my skin and makes it almost impossible to catch a clear thought. When my teeth begin to chatter, I notice that the leather strap is gone. I touch my tongue, disbelieving, then work my jaw to ease the pain. Straining my ears, I listen for shouts or boots drumming the deck, but there’s nothing. It must be in the middle of the night.
The wound in my foot still pulses, and with every pulse, pain rushes through me. If the wound gets infected, I am doomed, unless they have a bonesetter. A dark red stain is now visiblewhere the nail pierced my foot. The idea of ripping the makeshift bandage off turns my stomach, but there‘s no way around it if I want to clean it to avoid an infection. A quick glance at the closed gate of my cell makes me sigh in relief. Match has brought me the bucket while I was sleeping.
I crawl towards it, the chains that bind me rattling as they‘re dragged across the floor, not wanting anyone to wake and look after me. I know that the men are sleeping in hammocks a few feet away, on the opposite side of the main hatch, their breathing rising and falling like the waves that carry the ship. Leaning against the rusty bars, my face twists in agony as I unbind the piece of sail from my foot. The blood sticks to it, so by removing the fabric, I will tear the wound open again. Better to make it quick than slow. I count to three and rip it off.
The fabric tears free with a wet sound, and pain shoots up my leg so sharply my fingers dig into the boards beneath.
I scoop some of the water up with my hands and start to clean the open flesh. It stings, but I know it’s necessary, so I breathe through it until the shake leaves my hands. After I’ve finished, I make quick work of my nightgown and tear away a few strips using my canines. I take one of them and wrap it around my hurt foot, then carefully clean the other ones in the bucket and hang them on the edge of it to dry.
Sinking back against the wood, exhaustion takes over me again and fuzzes the edges of my vision. My stomach grumbles, telling me something I already know. The sound is small but insistent. If I don’t eat something soon, my strength will fade away even more.
From the corner of my eye, I catch a movement underneath the stairs leading to the deck. I go still, my breath caught halfway. What was that? Cautiously, I lift myself up a bit to get a better look at the narrow space, but there’s no one there. Great, so the stage of hallucinations has begun. I rub my temple withmy fingers, trying to get myself back together. If I'm lucky, sleep will find me for a few more hours before sunrise, and I will come back to my senses.
I am about to make my way back to my favored corner of the cell when I catch the dark figure moving again. This time, I can see the silhouette clearly. A pirate leans against one of the wooden beams, looking in my direction. He doesn’t bother to hide it. His head is tilted to the side, as if he were curious, trying to figure me out.
How long has he been watching me? Does he think I will simply accept that I’m being gawked at? Heat rises within me as my nails dig into the palm of my hand.
“Go away.” I spit, maybe a little too harsh for the position I am in. But I couldn’t care less. My back straightens on its own. I will not lose my worth, or my pride, to these men.
The pirate doesn’t move an inch. Instead, he tilts his head to the other side and crosses his legs at the ankles, getting comfortable. I pinch my brows together and clench my jaw tight.
“If you want to harm me, just know that I will fight back.” My voice trembles, and I hate myself for it. I carefully sit back up, getting ready to defend myself with all I have left. My gaze fixes on his throat. Will my canines be sharp enough to rip it open? Probably.
“You got yourself in a pretty inconvenient situation.” His voice is calm and quiet, like the sea when the sun rises on a beautiful day. But there’s something unnatural about it that I cannot explain. It sounds like a whisper that echoes through the ship, and though he stands a few feet away from me, it is as if he is whispering directly into my ear. I fight the urge to cover it with my hand.
That man is not human—he cannot be. I am about to ask him who and what he is when he steps closer to my cell with his hands tucked neatly behind his back. His posture is straight andproud as he makes his way over to me in long steps, though the boards do not creak under his weight. Maybe I am hallucinating after all.
I blink hard, once, twice.
“You fear me?” he asks, as if offended by my reaction, now almost standing directly in front of my cell.
Fear me?
Fear me?
Fear me?
His voice surrounds me and multiplies itself over and over again. I clench my jaw, my whole body going rigid as I keep my eyes fixed on the stranger. I can only see his silhouette, the darkness takes everything else, and the moonlight doesn’t help much. My pulse hammers in my ears, blending with his voice.
“Yes,” I manage to mutter through clenched teeth.
There’s no point in lying. I am terrified.
He steps closer to the bars, likely glancing down at me, though it is hard to tell with the way his features flicker and blur at the edges. I wonder what I must look like to him. My torn gown, the dirt, the bruises, the blood. I barely recognize myself. In Aurelith I was poor, but I had clean clothes and food, even if it was stolen. It wasn’t a good life, but it was mine. My throat tightens at the thought of what I have left behind.