My father looks up as we approach and to my relief I can tell my appearance has pleased him. ‘Ah, Marianne, here you are. You look beautiful, daughter.’ He is speaking too loudly, and I understand his words aren’t meant for me; they’re for his crew.
I had expected my apparel to cause amusement, perhaps even raise a laugh or two, but the way several of the men gawp suggests I’m having the opposite effect.
‘Thank you, Captain,’ I say, trying to communicate that I’m on my best behaviour. And I need to be because there’s a vast ship, almost as big as ours, pulling next to us, flying the royal banner of blue and green alongside the Eastern Isles’ flag. It’s so brilliantly vibrant it only serves to emphasise the shroud of darkness that permanently covers the Maiden. Apart from me. Tonight I stand out like a beacon in this stupid dress.
Ren and Cleeve step forward to catch the ropes thrown by the royal quartermaster, pulling the ships close enough so we can be boarded. Several royal guards come over first, their spears ceremoniously pressed to their chests. I can’t help but smile because if it came to a fight between them and my father’s elite killers there’d be no contest. I wonder if Prince Torin realises quite how vulnerable he is here.
And then he steps aboard. I had imagined someone older, wide around the middle from an indulged and sedentary life, arrogant perhaps. But the man approaching us is close to my age, impeccably dressed, and his strong, lean physique tells me he’s far from an idle passenger on his ship. He walks with the confidence of his station, and though his handsome face is tight with underlying tension, I imagine he is very popular at court. Especially with women.
‘Prince Torin,’ my father says, stepping forward and crossing his arms over his chest by way of salute. ‘Welcome to the Maiden.’
‘The honour is mine, Captain Adler,’ Torin replies and his voice is velvet and honey. ‘It’s not every day one receives an invitation to dine on the most feared ship in our waters.’
‘We’re glad you could come.’ I’ve never witnessed my father using his charm before – I hadn’t realised he had any. ‘Allow me to introduce my quartermaster, Cleeve. My boatswain, Ren. And this is Bronn. My most valuable assassin.’
I glance at Grace to see how she feels to be overlooked so publicly. She is, after all, one of the most senior of the crew. Her face betrays nothing, and I suspect this isn’t the first time my father has treated her as less than the others. For all her brilliance she has one fatal flaw. She is a woman. All the women on board have to fight faster and work harder to get the same recognition as the men, and I know better than anyone the low opinion my father has of us.
Prince Torin nods politely as the introductions are made. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, although of course your reputations precede you. But where is my betrothed?’
I stare ahead, expecting a woman to appear from his ship, someone elegant and beautiful, calling sweet apologies for her lateness. But no one comes. And as my father turns to face me, a false smile upon his lips, I realise no one will. Because he means me.
The meal may be going well from a diplomatic point of view, but I cannot enjoy the food set before me, no matter how lavish, and if I were to drink all the rum in the world it wouldn’t be enough to still my thoughts. Not that I’ve been allowed more than the smallest sip. My father is keeping me on a tight leash, presumably to prevent me misbehaving. Because he must know how I’m feeling about this ambush.
Since the moment this noose was slipped round my neck I’ve fought to keep my composure. If I struggle, if I speak my mind, raise my voice, scream at my father that I’m not his bloody possession to trade, then the rope will tighten and squeeze my life away. And so I sit still, play my part, and all the while my rage burns so intensely it chars my insides.
I hadn’t known what to expect of Prince Torin, and, as our empty dinner plates are cleared to make way for sweet pastries, I still feel no closer to learning anything about him. He’s behaved precisely how one would want a prince to behave, speaking to everyone as equals rather than his subjects, and being suitably attentive to me. What a beautiful gown I’m wearing; how it complements my own beauty; how the First Isle will be thrilled with the impending nuptials.
But not one word he’s said sounds sincere or genuine. It’s as if he’s playing a version of himself, and while he may fool the others, I’m not convinced for a moment.
The dull throb in my palm reminds me that my father is watching my every move, but even so it’s taking all my control to keep smiling. Only one other person looks as unhappy as I feel and that is Prince Torin’s personal guard, who despite being similar to the Prince in age and height has a true scowl for every one of Torin’s fake smiles. I don’t blame him – he must know how little protection he can offer his master here.
When there is no more food to consume and the flagons are filled yet again, it’s clear my presence is no longer required. Making my excuses, I slip away. Between my rising panic and the constricting bones of my corset, I struggle to breathe as I clamber to deck, running to the bow and collapsing in a heap. My father has utterly blindsided me with this trap. How could he not discuss it with me first? Is it a punishment for my failure to order Anders’ death? Or does he truly think so little of me that my future is of no importance to him? The path laid out before me may be fraught with difficulty, but at least I knew what it was, and I have spent my life trying to be good enough for it. And I’d always assumed that by the time it came to marriage I would at least have some say in the matter, given that I’ll be captain one day.
I gaze over at the figurehead attached to the far end of the ship’s bow. Carved from the blackest wood is a woman leaning out, her dress and cloak billowing in the wind, ropes tied round her waist. A scarlet bloom is painted on her chest, her heart bleeding. She is the maiden the ship is named after. She is my mother. Father never speaks about her; only once did he break that rule to tell me she was his great love. When she was murdered shortly after my birth, he had the figurehead made from the nightheart wood found in the black forests of the Third Isle, and renamed the ship. This act of devotion has always led me to believe he understood the power of true love and would wish the same for me. Apparently I was wrong, and I see the woman bound to the ship in a new light. I’m no more breaking free of the Maiden than she is. I have more in common with a lump of wood than anyone else. Great.
I look up as someone approaches. Bronn has left the celebrations. He stands at the railing, facing out to sea, deliberately distant but close enough to keep an eye on me. Presumably to make sure I don’t do anything reckless. My father can’t afford to lose his commodity.
‘Did you know?’ I ask him, unable to keep the accusation from my voice – though it’s been a long time since we’ve been anything close to friends.
‘Captain only tells us what is necessary.’
‘And what about me?’ I round on him. ‘Will anyone tell me what’s necessary? Will you?’
He says nothing, once more impervious to my pain, and I turn away in frustration. There was a time when Bronn would have told me anything, his silence now all the more hurtful because of it.
I was only five when he came to live on the Maiden. Father found him on the docks, an orphan surviving by stealing from the ships, brimming with raw potential, and saw an opportunity to groom a young thief into a killer. Father brought Bronn aboard as a cabin boy, where he quickly shamed half the crew with his ability to shimmy up the mast and swing from the sails. Though almost three years older than me, he didn’t mind when I trailed around after him and he would sit for hours on deck patiently teaching me complicated knots. I adored him.