I cut him off with a deep, low note. Vordan holds a knife in his hand. He glances at it in fear before thrusting it down into his own leg, the one that isn’t broken. He screams before changing the sound into an angry grunt. It’s a rather pathetic attempt at maintaining his composure.
I halt the song, and Vordan comes out of the hallucination. He looks down at his leg, sees that it is whole, that his hand holds no knife, and fixes me with a filthy stare. His breathing has quickened. Even though his mind now knows he’s not injured, it takes time to recover from the echo of pain.
“This is a dream come true for you,” I say. “Looks like you’ll get to experience the full brunt of my abilities after all.”
His face pales, and the satisfaction I get from it is a soothing balm to my senses.
“Now, then,” I say, “I want to know all of the spies you have in my father’s fleet. I want their names and which vessels they sail on.”
“I don’t—”
Another note flows out of my mouth. A puddle of water appears at Vordan’s feet, and I make him stick his face right into the water and hold it there for half a minute. I let him pull his head up for a few seconds to breathe and then stick him under the imaginary puddle for a full minute. Though his mind is fully alert as to what’s happening, I have taken his control over his own limbs. They obey me now.
When he comes up for air this time, I release him from the song.
He flops over onto his back, feeling the dry ground. No water. He hasn’t the strength to stand as he sucks down as much air as his lungs will allow and coughs it back out.
I dare a glance in Riden’s direction. He is watching everything, his face carefully blank. I’m not about to go back on our bargain to sense what he’s feeling, though I’d desperately like to.
“I could, of course, force you to be truthful with me,” I say, returning my attention to Vordan, “but I want nothing more than for you to suffer before you die. So by all means, Vordan, continue refusing me the information I want.”
Once he’s breathing a bit more easily, he stands, hopping pitifully as he finds a balance with the broken leg.
“On the Deadman’s Blade, you’ll find a pirate going by the name of Honsero. He’s my man. Klain sails with the Black Rage.” He pauses to catch his breath before listing several more ships and pirates, and even giving me the names of some who are stationed within my father’s keep.
When he finishes talking, I utter a higher note, something piercing and throttling. I ask him if he’s spoken the truth and if he’s omitted any names. While under my influence, he confirms his earlier testimony.
My power slips away the more I sing. It feels similar to the way hunger creeps up on a person between meals, leaving them small and empty. It’s infuriating how fleeting my abilities are.
When he returns once more to his senses, Vordan says, “You killed every man I had at the inn with me. For all I know, you killed the little boy who gave you up, too.”
I didn’t. I don’t slaughter children. Especially when they have no fault save choosing the wrong man to accept food from. But I remain silent. Let Vordan think I’m so cruel.
“And now you know about all of the rest. You’ve taken everything. When you and I could have been so great together.”
“No, Vordan. I could have made you great. You are not the sort of man who could ever achieve greatness on his own. You are ordinary, and you’ve accomplished nothing.”
He laughs, a quiet sound meant for himself as he rakes his fingers through his hair.
“You’re right,” he says at last. “I have only one card left to play, Alosa. A bit of information to exchange for my life.”
“There is nothing you know that I want.”
“Not even if it’s a secret your father keeps from you?”
I keep my face still, refusing to react to anything he says. He has nothing left but lies now.
“I overheard many conversations between you and Riden back on the Night Farer,” he continues, smirking in Riden’s direction. “Do you remember the talk the two of you had about secrets? You were trying so desperately to learn where Jeskor had hidden the map, preying on Riden for any information he might have. You even told him some lie about hidden floorboards in your father’s rooms where he keeps secret information. As if by telling him something of your father, he might tell you something of his.”
Vordan smiles at the memory, and I can’t believe I hadn’t noticed him sneaking about more.
“But you and I both know,” Vordan says, “that your father has a secret study in his keep.”
Yes, I do know. It’s my father’s private room. The one place in the keep where only he is permitted to enter. I spent much of my childhood trying to find a way in, curiosity getting the better of me, and suffered dearly for it.
Vordan says, “I sent my best spy at the keep inside, Alosa. Would you like to know what he found?”
I open my mouth to tell him no. Lies will not get him anywhere. He cannot manipulate me. Not anymore. I am not his prisoner. He has not won this time.
But none of that comes out. Instead, I ask, “What?”
A grin takes over his face, and I get the urge to punch him. That physical manifestation of him thinking he’s gotten the upper hand on me.
“Will you free me if I tell you?”
“I can get it out of you with my powers or without them, Vordan. Your choice.”
He grits his teeth. “Fine, but don’t you forget it was I who found out for you.”
I’m about to open my mouth and start singing, but he cuts me off.
“Have you not always found it odd that your father is unaffected by your abilities? Do you know why?”
“Because his blood runs through my veins. That connection protects him.”
“Is that what he told you?”
“It’s the truth,” I bite out through clenched teeth.
“Wrong.” Vordan seems to savor the word as it leaves his lips. “He found something on that island where he met your mother. A weapon. A device that protects him from the sirens. A device that lets him control them, should he find them again. A device that lets him control you. He’s been manipulating you since you were born.”
His words are ludicrous. I’ve been defying my father since I learned to control my own limbs. I don’t always listen. That’s why my whole body is covered in scars.
As if sensing my doubt, Vordan adds, “Think about it. Think about all he’s done to you. The way he’s beaten you. Tortured you. The way he hurt you just to prove a point. He’s been crueler to you than any other person alive, and yet you still serve him. You always go back to him. You always, ultimately, carry out his orders. Does that sound like something you would willingly do? You may try to rationalize it, Alosa. He’s your father. He’s only ever tried to make you strong. To make you a survivor. But do those sound like your own thoughts in your head? Or his thoughts bringing you back to him yet again?”
My blood turns cold. Air vanishes, and my vision blurs. No. It can’t be.
“You’re lying,” I snap once I find my voice.
“Am I?” he asks. “See for yourself.”
I do. I call forth a song so swept up in emotion, I can hardly breathe out the notes. But even as I listen to Vordan’s truthful response, his story doesn’t change. He’s telling the truth. Or at least what he believes is the truth.
His spy is deceiving him.
He has to be wrong.
I flee from the brig, needing space from the two men within more than I’ve needed anything.
* * *
I wish I had simply killed Vordan and not bothered to question him. His words follow me wherever I go.
He’s been manipulating you since you were born.
I cannot doubt my father over one sentence spoken by his enemy. I won’t.
And yet I cannot forget the words. Because they did not change even when I used the power of my voice to demand the truth from him. There is an uncomfortable ti
ghtness in my gut that I must ignore. Because if I were to examine it, to admit what the name of that feeling is—it could ruin everything I know. Everything I’ve worked for my whole life.
So I suffer silently, not daring to pull out that doubt and investigate it.
Journeying back to the keep will take a month. That should be plenty of time for the sensation to be extinguished. For me to remember exactly where my loyalties lie.
I tamp down those needling thoughts as I push myself through the rest of the day. I’d forgotten entirely about the promise I made to Roslyn about having a celebration, but it would seem Roslyn took matters into her own hands, because the revelry starts without my having to say so.
Out on the main deck, Haeli, one of my riggers, pulls out a lute and begins playing a jaunty tune. Lotiya and Deshel dance together, arm in arm. Other girls clap along or join in the dancing. Wallov and Deros take turns twirling the girls about. Enwen soon joins the fun, but Kearan sits alone in the corner with his drink.
Roslyn, noticing this, takes a break from the dancing and tiptoes over to him.
“What do you want?” Kearan asks.
I can tell by the way she tips her head that she’s surprised he heard her. “I watch you from above sometimes. You pull out that flask a lot. Does rum really taste so good?”
Kearan turns to her then with strangely sober eyes. “Doesn’t need to taste good. Only needs to be strong.”
“Can I try some?”
Kearan shrugs and offers the flask. Before I can step forward, Sorinda is there, yanking the flask from his grasp. She upends it on his head.
Kearan sputters, “Damn it, woman! Do you delight in anything other than soaking me?”
“Idiot,” she says. “You don’t give drink to a child.”
“I wasn’t going to! As soon as it was near her nose she would have handed it back.”
“You couldn’t have known that.”
“You can’t stand to come within five feet of me because the drink is so strong.”
“I can’t stand to be near you for many reasons.”
They go on like that, lashing out at each other. If Kearan could manage to keep up with her, I’m sure it would come to blows. Roslyn wisely shrinks back from the two of them and returns to the dancing.
“Quite a pair those two,” Niridia says, stepping up beside me.
“I’ve never seen anyone get under her skin like that,” I say.
“It’s probably a first for her. I wonder how long it will be before she realizes she fancies him back.”
I let out a guffaw. “Sorinda? Fancy Kearan? I don’t think so.”
Niridia shrugs. “He wouldn’t be so bad if he cleaned himself up a bit.”
“And stopped drinking.”
“And shaved.”
“Worked out a bit.”
“And had someone right his nose.”
We both laugh. I hadn’t realized how much I needed it.
“All right,” she concedes. “I suppose he doesn’t have a chance.” We turn to observe the dancers together, and Niridia adds, “You know, it wouldn’t hurt to have one more man out here to share among the girls.”
And just like that my thoughts return to the brig. To what Vordan said.
“Has Riden suffered enough?” she asks.
I want to say no. To leave him in there until we reach the keep. But that would be me being selfish because he overheard what Vordan said and not me punishing him for what he’d done. I was only going to leave him in there for the day anyway.
“You may let him out,” I say, “but warn him that if he disobeys orders again, he’ll stay in there until we reach the keep.”
“Understood.”
She watches my face for a beat longer. “Is something wrong?”
I force a smile onto my face. “It’s nothing.” And then, because I know she won’t leave it alone without an explanation, I add, “Seeing Vordan again reminded me of what he did to me on that island. That’s all. I’ll be fine.”
Her eyes fill with understanding. “Try to enjoy the celebration. Dancing always cheers you up. We could talk about it later, if you’d like.”
I nod encouragingly, and as soon as she disappears I let the smile fall from my face. I debate going straight to bed, but I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts. I’d much rather watch the crew having fun.
I tuck myself into a corner, crossing my legs under me while I sit atop a crate, letting the music replace the uneasiness inside me. Niridia returns with Riden in tow. Lotiya and Deshel are thankfully busy with Wallov and Deros. It’s Philoria and Bayla, two of my gunwomen, who reach him and pull him into a twirling dance.
Riden doesn’t miss a beat. You’d think he wasn’t just thrown in the brig for the day after being severely chastened in front of the whole crew. Not to mention the fact he’s only recently recovered from two bullets to the leg. Does nothing get to him? Nothing save his brother, anyway? I stare at him openly from my hiding spot, watch the way his limbs move to the music, the way he interacts with each of the crew as though they’ve been lifelong friends. It’s almost as if he has enchanting powers of his own.
Golden-brown eyes flit to me, as though he knew I was sitting here the whole time watching. At the next break in between songs, Riden saunters over. I tense, hoping Lotiya and Deshel will spot him leaving and capture him for once.
But no, he reaches me without anyone getting in his way and sits on the crate beside me.
I wait for him to say something. To try to convince me of Vordan’s words. Has Riden not attempted to tell me since we first met that my father is corrupt and controlling? I’ll bet he smiled at all of Vordan’s words, pleased to have someone else confirming them. What had he called me when I told him he was ridiculous for being loyal to his despicable brother?
A hypocrite.
“You keep interesting company,” he says.
My mind scrambles as it tries to tie the words to what happened down in the brig with Vordan. “What?” I ask.
“Those sisters.”
I follow his line of sight to where Lotiya and Deshel are eyeing him. They take a break from their clapping hands and stomping feet so Lotiya can blow him a kiss while Deshel waves her fingers at him.
Riden shudders uncomfortably.
They’re both very beautiful girls. I’m surprised at his reaction.
“They act like a couple of…” He trails off.
“Whores?” I finish for him. “That’s because they were. At far too young an age, they were forced into that life. I broke them out when I witnessed them fighting off a couple of men who tried to take their services for free after hours. They’re good with knives,” I add in warning.
“I wasn’t going to say whores.”
“No?” I ask, relieved to be talking about a neutral topic. “What were you going to say?”
“I honestly don’t have words to describe them.”
That prompts a little defensiveness in me. I’m glad to feel something different from the uneasiness that hasn’t left me all day. “If this arrangement is going to work, you’re going to need to remember that we’re not only women, we’re pirates.”
I remember the comments the sisters made earlier about wanting to see Riden naked. I add, “You wouldn’t give a second thought to a couple of men aboard your ship behaving in such a way or talking such talk. You do not get to judge us more harshly for being women. It’s not fair, and it doesn’t make sense. Not to mention I’ll throw your arse overboard if I catch you doing it again.”
Amusement lights up his face, but I push on as determined as ever. “I have twenty-eight excellent girls aboard this ship, and their pasts have shaped them. Just as yours has shaped you. And every single one of them, down to little Roslyn, deserves your respect.”
Riden watches me for a few more moments before looking on at the dancers. “I admire your love for your crew, Alosa, but you don’t need to defend them to me. I make no judgments because they’re women rather than me
n. I was surprised, is all. I apologize.”
I ignore his apology, yet also warm at it. I’m accustomed to defending my girls. To my father. To the men on his council. To other pirates. Women don’t belong on the sea in their eyes.
But Riden is apologizing.
I don’t know how to handle that.
“And I apologize for disobeying orders before,” he says. “I won’t go below again when you’re replenishing your abilities.”
“Good.”
“They’re … kind of terrifying.”
I’m not sure whether to bristle or be amused by that.
“Alosa?” Riden asks.
I brace again for the mention of what Vordan said.
“I never did thank you for giving me and Draxen a chance. We would have been dead if you hadn’t stepped in with your father. Thank you.”
When I don’t answer, he asks, “Why did you do it?”
And there’s the other thing I’m not thinking about. Why I bother sticking my neck out for Riden and his worthless brother.
I dare to look at him. “I don’t know.”
He smiles then, a beautiful stretch of his lips—as though he has his own thoughts on why I might have done it.
I turn away to avoid staring at his mouth and listen to Haeli strike up a new song.
“Dance with me.”
My neck turns so quickly in Riden’s direction that I actually hear it crack. “What?”
“Come on. It’ll be fun.”
He grabs my arm and hauls me to my feet before I can refuse, which of course I was intending to do.
I’m sure of it.
It’s too late now because he’s already moving me in circles. To refuse him now would only cause a scene. Besides, the crew is cheering. Wallov, Deros, and Enwen grab new partners and join us. My movements are stiff, hesitant. I can feel my mind and body warring for dominance. There are so many reasons why this is a bad idea. Not to mention I have too many things to worry about to even attempt to enjoy myself.
“Come now, princess,” Riden says. “Surely you can do better than that.”
Daughter of the Siren Queen Page 4
