Beauty's Secret (Beast and Beauty Book 2)

by Brantwijn Serrah

  I nearly laughed out loud, buoyant with glee. This I could do in my sleep.

  Ashe delivered a slew of instructions to us, pointing out the main rigging and the key guide ropes, explaining how to manage the masts and sails. Then she assigned pairs of the refugees to join a crewmate at each post, directing Rayyan and me to follow her to the forwardmost one.

  She took hold of one of the rope ladders anchored at the railing. "Climbers, either of you?"

  I looked up, surprised at how excited I felt at the prospect of moving across the great webwork overhead. "No," I admitted. "But I'm up for the challenge."

  Rayyan wrinkled his nose, one side of his mouth twitching. He shook his head in answer to Ashe's question.

  "You'll learn by doing, then. Let's go on up."

  The rope, rough and heavy, felt good in my hands. Not the sort used for play, of course, but still I enjoyed the taut, twisted cord and the buoyant spring of it beneath me as I hoisted myself up. I'd worried about being clumsy—I'd almost fallen from the castle walls into a howling sandstorm the last time I tried climbing—but this latticework of knots and rungs seemed easy.

  The harem slaves of the Order of Akolet had been suspended by ropes in tests of endurance and stylistic display, usually for Alaric's amusement. I'd had my body posed and tied, turned into a hanging piece of art, and shown off like an expensive ornament at gatherings, to demonstrate the king's power and decadence. The harnesses and coils hadn't been designed to allow movement, though—we weren't swinging performers, only objects, set pieces. The Masters took care not to cut off circulation to our limbs or wrap our throats in any way which could lead to strangulation, but maneuverability had never been their concern.

  Well... most of them had taken care.

  I rubbed at my throat, steering my mind away from thoughts of Alaric, who never seemed to mind if his hogties and suspensions posed the threat of strangling me. For him, of course, the threat was always the point.

  Pulling myself up a few feet into the rigging, I gave a bright little laugh, exhilarated. This was nothing at all like the rope suspensions of the Order. The ratlines, as Ashe had called them, bowed and swung under my weight, tricky but amusing. As I found my balance on them, a confident satisfaction filled me. The breeze off the surface of the water danced through my hair and a pair of birds swooped down right off the bow, sniping and cawing at one another, close enough for me to see the stubborn glints in their eyes.

  Ashe shimmied up the ropes with ease, and I did my best to hurry after her. Rayyan moved more slowly behind me, more careful as he checked his footing and scanned his next handhold.

  When we'd made it halfway to the top of the first sail, Ashe pointed up at of the central mast. "See there? That's the lookout. Lead watch-station for the ship."

  The lookout—a square catwalk built around the mast just above the topmost sail—could have held three crewmates easily, though at the moment only one was stationed there. He leaned on a thick wooden rail, gazing down at us as we navigated the ropes. Our gazes met, and he tipped me a small salute. Torv.

  He seems friendly enough, even though he calls me witch. I lifted my hand in a tiny wave back at him. Is he mocking me? Or has he not been told the stories of Alaric's cruel and evil sorceress?

  Of course he must. Everyone knew the stories. The tales of the king's loyal accomplice and her perversions had reached most corners of the northern Vash continent and even across the seas. I still hadn't convinced most of the soldiers or even the refugees that I wasn't the woman people had heard about.

  He must be mocking me. He must find it amusing, or he wants me to know where he stands.

  "Here's where we reef the sails."

  Ashe had come to the first spar, and Rayyan had joined her there. I shook off my thoughts of Torv and his teasing and moved to join them.

  Ashe mounted the spar and showed us how to move along it, using guide ropes to hold a steady balance. I followed without even thinking about it, and she pointed out the arrangement of rigs and stays. She'd already started explaining the assembly when I noticed Rayyan had not come up onto the beam.

  I looked back at the mast. My friend clung to the rigging, body coiled and tight. The color had drained from his cheeks, and his mouth twisted in a tight grimace.

  "Ry?" I started back toward him. When I reached the mast again, I crouched down on the spar, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong, dear heart?"

  "I didn't expect it to... to be so high." He closed his eyes, shaking. "I mean... the deck seems so far below now..."

  I peered down. "It isn't so bad. Just be careful—"

  He gazed at me, expression full of fear. I shut my mouth and glanced over my shoulder. Ashe seemed to understand immediately and climbed her way back toward us.

  "If you come a little higher, you'll reach the crosstrees," she assured Rayyan. Indeed, a short way above us was a platform of crisscrossing beams, broader than the spar and supported by struts.

  "I don't want to go any higher," Rayyan said through gritted teeth. He'd only been a soldier a short while, but I'd never known him to balk at any of the tasks he'd been given. Even when ordered to clear the rooms of his former Master, where he'd been victimized and humiliated, I'd been the one to interject and request a different assignment.

  He's terrified. He hasn't looked this awful since Bhrune still kept him as slave.

  Again, I checked below us, gauging the distance. "Can you climb back down? I'll come with you."

  Rayyan shook his head violently. "I can't move. The ropes... I can't keep my balance on them."

  "Don't be silly." Ashe gave up her grip on the guide ropes and stood unassisted on the spar, crossing her arms over her chest. "You made it all the way up here."

  "If you climb onto the beam here, you can get to the mast, and climb the ladder back down," I coaxed him.

  "No." Rayyan shook his head again. "I can't move. I just can't!"

  I pursed my lips. "Okay. I'm coming back onto the ropes with you. Don't worry."

  He gave a frightened yelp when the rigging shifted under my weight, but I quickly laid my hand over his.

  "It's all right, Ry. We'll climb together. If anything happens, just grab onto me."

  He made a strained sound but nodded. Taking his hand, I moved it down along the ropes, guiding him.

  "Come on, brother," I coaxed him. "You can handle this. Remember how the Order would suspend us with ropes just like these? You managed that fine."

  "That was different," he retorted, though he moved with me a few more feet down the rigging. "I was a slave. I couldn't refuse. Bhrune would have broken my arms and forced me into the harnesses if I did."

  "Bhrune was a stinking, foul-mouthed pig, and I killed him just for you," I said, trying to make my voice light and conversational. As I hoped, it brought a smile—though it was an uneasy smile—to Rayyan's face, and he uttered a soft, shaky laugh.

  "You didn't kill him. We both know that."

  "Sure I did. Haven't you heard the Sanraethi talk about it? They still think it was me, even after everything that happened."

  By now we were about halfway to the deck again, and Rayyan had lost some of his stiffness and moved more easily, though he still trembled from head to toe. I led him along, reminding him how much he'd already endured and how he'd survived the worst of the Order's brutal Masters.

  "You've faced much worse challenges than this and survived, Rayyan, you'll be back on your own two feet in no time. It's just a little farther, now."

  At last, his foot came down on solid, stable wood, and Rayyan dropped from the rigging. He heaved a great sigh of relief, wiping sweat from his brow, and then hugged himself. Schala came trotting up beside him, gazing up at me and uttering a soft miaow.

  "Thank you, Sadira," Rayyan said.

  Still hanging from the ropes, I shifted, looping my arms through the latticework so I could face him.

  "Of course, brother." I grinned at him. "You know I'll always—"
<
br />   A loop of rope fell from above, cutting me off. I glanced up to see where it had dropped from, when a second rope tumbled over me. It coiled itself around my neck, like a serpent, just as the first one slung itself around one of my arms.

  The sharp heat of adrenaline flashed through my veins as the ropes constricted, holding me bound in the rigging, choking off my air.

  Chapter Eight

  My heart plunged. The rope around my neck jerked upward, sending a jolt of deep pain through me, and driving me in to a breathless, coughing fit. I fought the coils along my arms, struggling to get my hands free and pry the tightening noose away.

  "Captain!" Rayyan yelled, spinning to search the deck for help. The rigging bounced and swayed as someone swung onto it above—Ashe, probably, climbing quickly down after us.

  I twisted one arm nearly free when a fresh rope whipped into action. It wrapped around my wrist and bent the arm backward, against my spine, into a position eerily like those I'd just been thinking of: the suspended poses our Masters tied us into.

  But that was different! I strained, tears stinging my eyes as the edges of my vision turned fuzzy and gray. I prepared for those contortions... I had to stretch and be limber! And they never wound the ropes around my neck!

  Except Alaric. Alaric, who broke all the rules.

  A sharp pain shot through my shoulder as the rope forced my arm into place, a reverse-prayer position. I couldn't scream; I couldn't even choke out a desperate whisper, and my vision had started fading to black. Somewhere far off, the ropes were now trying to force my other arm into place along with the first, and I'd lost the strength to struggle.

  In the darkness of my mind, the flickering, pulsing blue light replaced all other thought. A heartbeat. A life. Slowing... fading...

  Then, the ropes let go in abrupt surrender. I toppled from the rigging in a clumsy heap, gasping for air. A frigid cold swept over me and I curled into fetal position, shivering.

  A soft, warm presence nudged at me, chuffing and miaowing with low, mournful worry.

  "Are you all right?"

  Bannon's voice. My vision hadn't cleared, but his wonderful scent of fiery autumn immediately reassured me. I groped for him, and his hands reached out from the darkness to gather me against his crouching form.

  A thump on the deck sounded nearby. "Is she okay? I saw her get tangled up, but I couldn't get down fast enough."

  Ashe. Tone full of fearful astonishment. Somebody put a hand on my back. I had a feeling it was Rayyan.

  "I'll be fine..."

  It hurt to talk. My throat burned, each breath like sand scraping and grinding on soft, vulnerable muscles. Schala butted my hip with her head, uttering another nervous rumble, so I dropped a hand down to scratch her ears.

  "Bring her water," came Ailsa's voice. Wonderful. I'd made a fool of myself in front of the whole ship.

  No. The ropes moved. I didn't get tangled up, they wrapped around me of their own accord!

  They'd tried to tie me up just as I had been before. In Alaric's court.

  At last, I could make out Bannon's arms around me, and I lay my hand on one, giving him a grateful squeeze. "You cut me down?"

  "Yes. It was just that rope around your neck that really had you. Once I severed it you slipped out of the others easily. You must watch more carefully when you're climbing, kitten. There are always loose lines between the rigging shrouds."

  "But I didn't... the ropes—"

  I blinked and looked for Rayyan in the haze. "Didn't you see it, Ry? They did it themselves. They wrapped around me."

  Rayyan's mouth twitched. He ran a hand over his scalp. "I don't know, Sadira. I was trying not to look at anything the whole time."

  Had nobody witnessed the attack? Did they really believe it had only been clumsiness on my part?

  Somebody put a cup in my hand, and I drank, thankful for the fresh water as it coursed down my burning throat. My heartbeat slowed to normal at last, and as I passed the cup back to the crewmate who'd brought it, I let Bannon help me to my feet.

  "Do you need to return to the cabin?" he asked me.

  "No," I protested without hesitation. "I'm already recovering. I want to keep working with the crew. I don't wish to be coddled, Sir."

  First the mob on the docks and now an incident with the rigging? The Sanraethi would certainly think me useless and a coward if I couldn't manage to pull my own weight.

  Bannon looked me over, grimacing, and touched my throat where the reddened marks of the rope had left my skin raw and stinging. He checked my shoulder next, and I flinched. It still stung from being jerked and maneuvered into awkward, unyielding angles.

  He rubbed at his chin. I took his hand in mind and spoke softly, respectfully.

  "Bannon... let me do this. I want to do this."

  "Very well." He clapped his hand gently on my upper arm, careful not to be too hard. "But I'll have your word you'll be more careful in the shrouds."

  Bannon had no reason to suspect foul play, but the implication hurt, nonetheless. I bowed my head in a nod.

  Then again... if no one saw, maybe it really was an accident.

  The small knot of onlookers around us began to disperse, leaving him, me, Rayyan and Ashe. Schala wound around my ankles, offering a slow rumble of a purr.

  "Well." Ashe crossed her arms. "Rayyan will need a new assignment if the heights bother him. Might as well show you the other work we've got on board."

  I'd wanted to climb up to the lookout and see the view from above, but Ashe didn't offer me any chance to disagree. With a gesture to me and Rayyan, she started off down the deck.

  Before I followed, Bannon tilted my face up to him, and pressed his lips to mine.

  "Careful," he reminded me. "I'll be conferring with the ship's captain, should you need me."

  I'm not a child, I almost told him, but bit my lip at the last second, obediently nodding instead.

  Over the next few days, during the morning shifts Ashe took Rayyan and me around the ship, enumerating our potential working tasks for the voyage. She showed us the archery defense towers rising at the bow, center, and stern of the ship, which could be crewed by up to six archers each in case of attack, and the heavy ballista stationed at the very front of the bow. No one had any reason to manage the mighty weapon for now, but whole teams were assigned to respond the instant an alarm bell rang out.

  She demonstrated how to secure the ropes and pulleys along the siderails of the deck; when and where the livestock were allowed to roam, and how to return them to their pens on the orlop at the proper time; how to work the anchors; even how to judge oncoming weather and read the lay of the sea. The deck was to be cleaned each day, a task usually assigned to cabin boys, but Ashe assured us if the captain grew displeased, we might very well be given a mop and bucket for the job.

  "Captain Arne and the Red Bear keep their meeting rooms and war council in the stern." She pointed to the sheltered portion of the ship below the stern deck and the wheel. A single door with a porthole led into the rooms beyond, but Ashe opted not to include them in our tour.

  Leading us to the prow one morning, she hailed a trio of sailors tending to the rails and the gleaming figurehead. Using resin and waxes, they treated scuffs and chips in the wood.

  "Purely maintenance, for now," Ashe explained. "Repairs from the last journey were all made while the Drekakona docked in port. But every voyage will take its toll, and the soft woods need proper sealing and restoration."

  "Especially here," one of the others put in. She gestured over the railing down toward the water, where the ship's fierce promontory cut through the waves. "Don't expect to run into enemies on the trip home, but if we do, that battering ram's our best weapon, 'sides a team of boarders. So, we never skip the upkeep."

  I tried to pay attention but the youngest of the three, a short, skinny adolescent with long, shaggy hair, distracted me. Their eyes ran over the winding tattoos along my arm. A frown tugged at my mouth, and I rubbed at the back of
my neck—still sore, even now, from the incident with the ropes—and sidled behind Ashe.

  We descended to the gallery deck and the steering oars, handled by a broad, smiling Sanraethi oarsman and his partner, a skinny crier who called directions down to the rowers. Then Ashe took us to the first level of the gallery, and we watched the crew at work. Today their boisterous chanting had been replaced by a steady drumbeat, provided by a fair androgyne sailor at the very center of the space. Bodies shone with sweat as they flexed and pulled, heaving the great oars against a stymying current.

  Rayyan observed the rowers with a far more comfortable, even interested expression on his face. His gaze roamed over the hefty oars, and he rubbed at his leanly muscled forearm, studying the difficult, demanding exercise.

  "To the galley next!" Ashe announced. "There's other work to be done below decks, like tending the chickens and the pigs in the livestock pens. We'll go over those after we've eaten, though. The cook's got fresh crab meat from port and by the smell, I'd guess it's near ready to serve."

  I'd had an early meal of milk and bread, but the moment she mentioned food, my stomach gave a deep, hollow ache, as though I'd been fasting for days. Rayyan broke into a broad grin, evidently also hungry, and we followed Ashe to the galley with an eager bounce in our steps.

  Twenty minutes later, we'd found ourselves a place on deck where we could sit on supply crates, out of the way of workers, with rough tin plates of crabmeat and biscuits on our laps.

  "Have you eaten this before?" I asked Rayyan, inspecting one spindly armored leg with uncertainty.

  He reached out to take it from me, drawing a small blade from his belt and wedging it under one of the joints. He split the shell open to expose gleaming white flesh and handed it back to me.

  "We had rock crabs on the river." Cracking open one of his own, he pried out the meat with his fingers. I hadn't been brave enough to accept one of the large red claws when the ship's cook offered it—I couldn't shake the image of a giant scorpion as I beheld it—but Rayyan had taken one gratefully, and he cracked it next, offering me a half.