One of my earliest memories is of spiralling through the sea, my limbs tangling with the water as it filled my lungs. The weight of it. The unbearable, heavy darkness. I don’t remember how I fell in, or who fished me out, but I do know the fear as if it were yesterday. My dreams remind me if I try to forget.
If the Maiden is my prison, then it is the ocean who is my gaoler.
For any Snake to feel this way is unthinkable. But for me – daughter of the Viper – to be afraid of the water? It is my greatest shame and my biggest failure. I have, after all, been born for this purpose.
Whether I like it or not.
I dig my nails into the splintering wood of the railing, wanting to inflict my pain on to the ship, willing her to suffer with me.
My only comfort is that, at seventeen, I’m yet to join official Snake ranks and am not required to carry out any acts of service to my father or my king. But my eighteenth birthday is only weeks away and once I’m of age I’ll await Initiation, when I will be required to complete a series of tests before taking my place at my father’s side. I’ll become an assassin with a Royal Commission, just like the rest of Father’s fifty-strong crew – each and every one a highly trained killer.
I’d laugh if it wasn’t so horribly real.
It’s not that I don’t value the importance of the Viper and his crew. I do. Centuries ago the Eastern King created the first Viper in order to lead the King’s Fleet in defending the Twelve Isles against the threat from the Largeland far across the sea. Answerable only to the King, the Viper became a presence so menacing, so terrifying, that no one in their right mind dared to challenge his authority on the waves, and though years of battle raged between the Isles and the Largeland, the Viper led the King’s Fleet to ultimate victory and all was well.
Time passed, and with the threat from the Largeland extinguished, the Eastern and Western Isles turned on each other. The Viper became the Eastern King’s most vital weapon, a means to eliminate those who threatened him. Though that war is long since done, over the generations the Viper has become a symbol of fear, his crew prepared to do whatever is necessary, however unpleasant, to keep the Eastern Isles peaceful.
So my father is cruel, yes, but for good reason. We keep the Isles safe. We keep the people safe. And I need to find a way to embrace the violence if I am to serve them, as I want to, as I must.
I just don’t know how.
A movement in the corner of my eye makes me glance to my left, where I see the cabin boy, Toby, struggling with some rope. He is the only child currently living on the Maiden, having joined us when we last made port at the First Isle six months ago. My father rarely allows children aboard, and I’m not sure why he made an exception for Toby, who has no aptitude for sailing. I wander over to show him how to tie the knot he’s after. He doesn’t speak to me, but gives me a nervous smile before scurrying away. A boy of few words.
As I watch him go I notice Ren, the boatswain, staring at me. I smile in greeting, but he just grunts in response, before returning his attention to the mizzenmast. A man of few words.
A soft creaking on the boards causes me to look over my shoulder, and I relax when I see who it is.
Grace, the only Snake I’m ever happy to see, is approaching. Her uniform is closely fitted to allow her complete freedom of movement. There are no weapons on her person because her body is her weapon – agile, strong and deadly. She stands next to me, staring out to sea, her expression grim.
When she doesn’t speak I fill the silence. ‘Is something wrong?’
She tilts her head, panther-like, her astonishing black eyes locking on my own muddy-coloured ones. ‘I heard about Anders.’
I shrug.
‘You didn’t make the kill.’
I wonder for the hundredth time what Grace thinks of me. Seven years my senior, and the most respected of all the women aboard, she knows me better than anyone, has trained me in combat over the years, knows exactly what I’m capable of, is perfectly aware how much I hold back – and yet she says nothing. Not once has she given me away to Father when I downplay my skills. Does she suspect I’d rather heal than kill? Can she sense the lack of murder in my heart? Or does she think, like my father, that in time I will learn to be one of them, a killer for my king? She is the closest thing I have to a sister, but as long as she answers to her captain, I can’t entirely trust her. I can’t trust any of them.
‘I hear we’re having a visitor,’ I say, transparently changing the subject.
‘We are. You should be getting ready.’
I hold up the hideous dress. ‘Have you seen what I’m supposed to wear?’
She raises an eyebrow and takes it from me. ‘Come on. I’ll help you.’
As we make our way below deck I glance over at her. ‘Who’s this guest it’s so important to impress?’
‘The Captain didn’t tell you?’ She seems surprised. ‘Apparently Prince Torin is gracing us with his presence. And, before you ask, I have no idea why.’
A royal visit? This is new. We always make port on the First Isle when Father needs to attend court or receive new orders. And he always goes alone. No one aboard the Maiden accompanies him, the King preferring to conduct business in secret. As far as I know, and admittedly my knowledge is limited, even the Prince isn’t privy to his father’s darker orders. I wonder whose idea this visit was, my father’s or the King’s? And why now?
No one seems to know much about the Prince, and so he’s taken on quite an air of mystery. Some say he’s a coward who’s brought shame upon his father’s name by hiding away, others say he’s a scholar wedded to his books. I’ve even heard rumours that he’s secretly fighting against his father under an alias and that they haven’t even seen each other for years. Whatever the truth, one thing is certain: the Prince is rarely witnessed in public. And now he’s coming here. I don’t know what my father is up to, but it’s unlikely to be good.
Once in my cabin I relax slightly, the door creating a false sense of security.
It’s a poky space, my room: my bunk runs the full length of one wall and it’s sparsely furnished. I can count the items in here on one hand: clothes, knife, chest, wash bowl and chamber pot.
And now a new gown.
I throw it on the floor and fling myself into my hammock. Grace bends to scoop the dress up and pulls a face.
‘Where did the Captain dredge this up from?’
‘I dread to think.’ Maybe it belonged to a woman he entertained in his quarters last time we made port. Or maybe he prised it off a dead body. Either way I don’t want to think about it too much.
Grace is shaking it out with a look of amusement. ‘He knows it’s going to take more than a new dress to make you respectable, right?’ And she pokes me in the ribs.
I gasp with mock indignation, but swing my legs round and force myself to stand up. May as well get this over with.
Grace helps me into the gown – which we discover has several layers that create a full skirt and a low-cut bodice so tight I can barely breathe.
As she fastens the ribbons at my back, my mind wanders to the days when she spent more time alone with me here, when I was a child and she was one of the few who noticed me. ‘Do you remember those stories you used to tell me?’