Daughter of the Pirate King
: Chapter 4

THE FLOOR IS DISGUSTING, but somehow I manage to sleep. When I wake, a face is inches from my head.

I shriek and roll away. Even though I realize now that he’s on the other side of my cell, my heart still races.

“No need for that,” the pirate says. “Just needed a lock of your hair is all.”

My hand flies to my head. Indeed several strands have been cut. “What are you doing? I’ll kill you for that.”

“It’s best to leave the lass alone, Enwen,” another man says. It’s Kearan. “Has a thing about people touching her.”

“It needed to be done,” Enwen says. “I tell you, red hair’s good luck. Keeps you from getting diseased an’ all.”

I recognize now that Enwen is the tall man who helped carry my things down yesterday.

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard,” Kearan says. “I hope you get sick tomorrow. You need to set your head right.”

“You just wait. Next time a plague hits, I’ll be strokin’ this hair while you all will be coughin’ and dyin’ and such.”

“I need a drink.”

“Nah, Kearan. It’s too early for that.”

“If I’m to survive the day, I’ll need to start early.” He pulls out his flask from one of his pockets.

“What is this?” I ask as I stand and stretch out my neck. I can feel a couple of cricks in it. And I smell worse than I did yesterday. Blasted floor.

“We’re your guards, Miss Alosa,” Enwen says. “First mate says it’s wise to have someone watching over you at all times.”

I eye Kearan. “And I take it that neither of you volunteered.”

“That’s the truth of it,” Kearan says.

“Oh, I was happy to do it,” Enwen says. “Ever since I saw you yesterday, I’ve been wantin’ to get my hands on that hair of yours. Very rare, it is.”

“I can assure you, it has no magical properties,” I say, angrily fiddling with the patch of hair that is now shorter than the others.

“Not magical,” Enwen says. “Just good luck.”

“I get sick as often as any other person.”

“What?”

“You said red hair wards off disease. I’ve got a whole head of it, yet I get sick.”

“Oh.” Enwen looks troubled for a moment. He hunches over my lock of hair, staring at it. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t work on you because it’s your own hair. It’s got to be taken from someone else for the luck to work.”

“So if I steal it back from you, will it work for me?” I say sarcastically.

Kearan laughs, choking on the rum in his mouth. A few drops fall to the floor as he coughs. He sighs. “Bloody waste, that.”

I sit on my chair, all too aware of the grime and slime that coat everything in the cell, including me. I need to change, and I need some water to clean myself off. I’m about to ask for the latter, when I hear someone coming over.

It’s Riden, of course. He carries with him a tray of food and a dangerous smile. At the sight, I feel my stomach growl. I’m fairly certain that’s a response to the food and not the smile.

“Enwen, Kearan, you’re relieved while I question the prisoner. But you will return to this post once I’m done.”

“Aye, Master Riden,” Enwen says. Kearan nods, looking bored. The two leave.

“Hungry?” Riden asks.

“Starving.”

“Good. I managed to swipe you some eggs.” Riden unlocks the cell and puts the tray on my table, keeping a close eye on my legs. I’m certain that’s because he’s wary of me kicking and not because he simply wants to stare. He shuts me back in, standing safely on the other side of the bars.

I start eating at once, cracking the boiled eggs and adding a bit of salt before chewing. I wash each one down with some water from the cup on the tray.

Riden seems to be in high spirits once again. It appears that there are no hard feelings for last night.

“So, what’s it to be today?” I ask. “More talk of my father?”

“Yes.”

“Hoping I’ll unintentionally reveal where the keep is? You’re wasting your breath.”

“What you unintentionally reveal is up to you. What I wish to discuss is your father’s reputation.”

“Whatever you’ve heard, it’s probably all true.”

“Nevertheless, let’s discuss it anyway.”

“I want some water,” I say, wiping at a spot of dirt on my arm.

“I’ll refill your glass when we’re done.”

“No, I want a bucket for washing. And a rag. And soap.”

“Don’t you think that’s asking a bit much for a prisoner?”

“And,” I say, practically singing the word, “I want a new one of each every week.”

He scoffs at first. Then he thinks it over. “We’ll see how our conversation goes today. If I like what I hear, I’ll make the proper arrangements.”

I cross my legs and lean back in the chair. “Fine. Let’s talk.”

Riden pulls a chair out and sits. He’s wearing a hat today. A tricorne with no feather. His hair is bound at the nape of his neck. His shirt and breeches fit nicely. White on top, black on bottom.

“I’ve heard rumors of Kalligan’s dangerous deeds. He’s said to be able to take on twenty men at once in battle. He’s traveled every inch of the sea, fought off all manner of sea demons, including a shark, which he fought underwater with his bare hands. He makes deals with the devil and encourages evil in others.”

“So far, you’re not wrong,” I say.

“He’s even said to be the only man to survive an encounter with a siren.”

I snort at that.

“He even bedded her,” Riden continues. “Used the creature’s own tricks against her. Now it sounds to me like our dear king is, at best, a manipulator and a wild storyteller. Perhaps he’s not as honest as his new laws demand.”

“He can hardly help what other people say about him.”

“And what would you say about him?”

“He’s my father. What more needs to be said?”

“There are different kinds of fathers. Those who love unconditionally, those who love on condition, and those who never love at all. Which would you say he is?”

For the first time, I feel Riden touching at something I’d rather leave alone. “I hardly see how this line of conversation is helpful to you.”

“Hmm. You’re deflecting the question. On condition it must be. For if he never loved you, you wouldn’t hold him in such high regard. So tell me, Alosa. What sorts of things have you had to do to earn your father’s love?”

“The usual. Cheat. Steal. Kill.” I throw each response out offhandedly. I hope he doesn’t detect the distress I feel.

“He’s turned you into something. Trained you to become something no woman should ever have to be. You—”

“I am what I choose to be. You speak ignorantly. I think we’re done talking.”

Riden stands, comes close to the bars. Then, thinking better of it, he backs out of my reach. “I meant no insult, Alosa. Consider yourself lucky. It is better to have a little love than it is to have a father who never loved you at all.”

I know Riden speaks of himself now. But I’m still irritated. I feel as though I need to set him straight. “Everything my father did, he did out of love. He made me strong. He made me something that could survive in his world. Doesn’t matter what he did to get me here. I’m a fighter. The best.”

I don’t need to block the memories. That’s all they are. Memories. They can’t hurt me. They’re done. It doesn’t matter that my father would have me fight boys older and stronger than me every day while I was growing up. Now I can beat them all. It doesn’t matter that he shot me once to show me the pain of a gunshot wound, to have me practice fighting while injured. Because now I can do it. It doesn’t matter that he would starve me and weaken me, then give me tasks to complete. He taught me endurance. Now I can handle anything.

“What about you, Riden?” I ask. “What has gotten you to where you are? You claim to be the one to have killed your father, yet Draxen is captain of this ship. Was Draxen your father’s favorite? Or was he simply the oldest? Either way, why would you let him take something you earned?”

Riden’s face hardens. “Draxen is older. And he was Father’s favorite. Not that it matters now. You were right earlier. We should have stopped talking. I don’t suppose you wish to tell me where your father’s keep is now?”

“No.”

He nods, unsurprised. “A storm’s coming, and we haven’t quite reached our destination. Be prepared for a rough night.”

“I always am.”

I clear my mind rather than replay our conversation. I’m exhausted from being out so late, so I return to the floor and doze. It’s not as though I have anything better to do.

A loud ringing sound jolts me awake, sending my heart racing for the second time today. Someone kicked at the bars of my cell.

When my eyes focus, I spot Draxen standing before me, hands at his belt, plumed hat upon his head. He watches me as though I’m some prize he’s won. Or some new tool he’s received. I suppose he sees me as both. But I don’t care. In the end, I will be the tool that ends his life.

My father couldn’t simply take the Night Farer by force. The map could easily get ruined in the struggle should he gun the ship down. He had to send one person aboard to search it. But when this is all done, I will lead this ship straight to my father so he can kill them all. The pirate king wants no competition when searching for the Isla de Canta.

“How are you liking your accommodations, Alosa?”

“The floor’s rough and the cell stinks.”

“Fit for the princess of thieves and murderers, don’t you think?”

“Still could do with a bed.”

“You’re welcome to ask one of the crew to share. I’m sure any of them would volunteer.”

“If I’m sleeping in anyone’s bed, it’ll be because I’ve killed him and taken his property as my own. Haven’t you lost enough crew members, Draxen?”

“You’re too sure of yourself. I think I should order Riden to add some beatings into his sessions with you. Might do you both some good. Stars know, he could use it.”

Since I doubt I’ll be able to finish my nap, I rise and take the chair, though I’m far past bored with the confrontation. Draxen has nothing interesting to say. He’s hoping to see me squirm with fear. He’s a man who feeds off of others’ pain. So far, none of his intimidations have worked.

“I’ve granted Riden permission to work on you, but should you continue to be uncooperative, I’ll give someone with less charm a chance to question you. Keep that in mind while you sit down here.”

“Better hope he doesn’t get soft on me. I’d hate to turn one of your own men against you.”

“Princess, Riden’s dealt with hundreds of women already in his life. He’s never had trouble leaving one of them. You will be no different.” His boots echo through the empty room as he leaves.

Draxen’s a real piece of work. So is Riden. They operate in different ways, but their goals are the same, which makes them both equally stupid. What morons would think to steal from the pirate king? Especially without sufficiently checking their crew for spies? It was easy to arrange my “kidnapping” once Theris provided all the information we would need.

I’m surprised when Riden comes to visit me again, this time carrying a bucket of water, a bar of soap, and a few clean rags.

I was certain I had angered Riden past the point of kindness. I almost feel bad for all the terrible things I’ve thought about him.

Almost.

“You have ten minutes before I send the men back to watch over you.”

“I’ll only need nine,” I say to be difficult.

He shakes his head before leaving.

The boat rocks a little higher at that moment. Storm’s coming indeed. I’ve got a good pair of sea legs on me. I feel sturdier on the sea than I do on land. I’m used to her movements, her language. She’ll tell you what she’s going to do, if you listen.

I’m clean and dressed in a fresh corset, this one red, when Kearan and Enwen return.

“I’m telling you, it’s bad luck to twist left. You should always thrust and turn right. Good luck, that is.”

“Enwen, if I’m stabbing a man in the heart, it doesn’t matter if I twist the knife right or left. Either way, I’ve managed to kill the bastard. Why would I need any luck?”

“For the next man you kill. Suppose it causes you to miss the heart the next time? Then you’ll be wishin’ you took the extra time to twist right the time before. You can’t kill a man good and proper if you miss the heart.”

“I’m starting to think that my ‘next time’ is very soon.”

“Don’t be like that, Kearan. You know I’m the only friend you’ve got on this ship.”

“Must be doing something wrong.” Kearan already has his flask out, but as he raises it to his head, he frowns. Empty. So he reaches into his pocket and pulls out another one. Now I understand the reason for all the pockets on the coat he wears. I would’ve suspected they were for a thief to put his replaces. No, they’re for holding multiple flasks of rum. I wonder how many he has in there.

“How do you fare, Miss Alosa?” Enwen asks, turning toward me, unfazed by Kearan’s words.

“For stars’ sake, Enwen,” Kearan says. “The woman’s a prisoner. How do you think she fares? Shut your trap for one blasted moment, would you?”

“The woman can answer her own questions,” I say.

“You shouldn’t be talking, either,” Kearan says. “Don’t need no noise from the both of you.”

Enwen rubs his temple. “Master Riden only said I ‘probably’ shouldn’t speak to her, on account of beautiful women have a way of playing tricks on a man’s mind. But it wasn’t a direct order.”

“He said I was beautiful?” I smirk at the thought.

Enwen looks troubled. “Probably shouldn’t have said that.”

The ship rocks faster and faster as time goes on. Coming up on a storm is like getting into an argument. There are a few warning signs. Things heat up. But then there’s a jump. The storm hits you before you’re ready. And then you’re too far in to do anything about it except get through it.

Everything is loud. There’s nothing to hear except the wind and waves. Nothing to feel except the bitter cold. I put on the heaviest coat I own to ward off the bitterness. Every once in a while, I think I catch a shout from above deck. But that could easily be an echo of the wind.

I have to resort to sitting on the floor. My chair can’t be trusted not to tip. Enwen sits as well. He pulls something out of his pocket: a string of beads. Maybe pearls.

Kearan starts snoring. I know he must have some affliction of the sinuses, because I can hear him over the storm. He jerks awake suddenly. “Give that back.”

Enwen must see the strange look I shoot Kearan. He explains, “He talks in his sleep a lot.”

Kearan rubs at his eyes. “This is a nasty one. Might tip us over.”

Enwen extends his pearls. “No, it won’t. I’ve got our protection right here.”

“I feel so reassured.”

“You should. Storms are a dangerous time to be about. Some men say this is the time when the unpleasant seafolk come roaming out of their underwater domains.”

“You mean the sirens,” I say.

“Surely, I do. They like to hide in the waves. You can’t see them in the water when the sea is boiling and tumbling and all, but they’re down there. Kicking and pounding at the boat, helping the storm take us under. They want us. Want to eat our flesh, make necklaces out of our teeth, and hollow out our bones to make instruments to aid their song.”

“Bloody poetic,” Kearan says. “And a load of rubbish. Anyone ever tell you, you can’t be hurt by something you don’t believe in?”

Realization lights up Enwen’s eyes. “That’s why everything is out to get me.”

I hide a smile behind one hand while Kearan tugs a flask out.

Sirens have worked up quite the reputation throughout time. They are considered the deadliest creatures known to man. Storytellers in taverns share tales of women of extreme beauty who live in the sea, searching for ships to wreck, men to eat, and gold to steal. A siren’s song can enchant a man to do anything. The creatures sing to sailors, promising them pleasure and wealth if they will jump into the sea. But those who do, replace neither.

Once a siren has a hold upon you, she will not let go. She carries her sailor with her all the way to the bottom of the sea, where she has her way with him. Then she steals all of his valuables and leaves him to float in the abyss.

There are many myths surrounding sirens. Most no one knows fact from fiction. But this part I do know. All the sirens throughout the centuries have carried their stolen treasures to an island, Isla de Canta. There can be found the wealth of history, treasures beyond imagination.

This is what my father seeks. This is why I’m here. This is what I’ve been prepared for: stealing another piece of the map.

Each of the three pieces was passed down from father to son for generations. One traveled down the Allemos line, eventually falling into Jeskor’s hands, possibly now Draxen’s. Another down the Kalligan line, now safeguarded by my father. And the last belongs to the Serad family. Vordan will be in possession of that one.

With the three pieces united, the bearer will be able to replace the legendary Isla de Canta. Island of Song. Also called the Land of the Singing Women.

“There aren’t any sirens out there,” I say to Enwen. “If there were, you’d already be enchanted to jump overboard. Do you hear any music?”

“No, because the storm’s blocking it.”

“So the storm’s a good thing?”

“Yes—no. I mean…” Enwen wrestles with that for a moment.

Enwen and even Kearan seem too anxious to sleep tonight. Even a man who’s spent his whole life at sea has reason to fear her when she’s angry.

But not I. I sleep soundly. Listening to her music. The sea watches over me.

She protects her own.