“Well, little spy” came that rough voice from the Thirsty Craw. “Welcome to the Hyacinth.”
Jemsin.
Safire looked up into the watery brown eyes of a man old enough to be her father. They were the same eyes she’d seen in the crawl space an instant before that knife flew up through the boards. The raised bump of a scar slashed across his forehead above his right eye and on his shoulder perched a huge black raven with bloodred eyes. A silver band encircled its leg, one that matched the silver ring on Jemsin’s smallest finger.
The pirate captain looked Safire up and down, taking in her complexion—which was several shades lighter than Dax’s and Asha’s. “Skral born,” he mused.
She bristled, waiting for further indictment of her mixed heritage—an almost daily occurrence in Firgaard. But the captain only shrugged, as if it meant nothing to him. As if the designation hadn’t shaped Safire’s entire life. “Eris says you’re the dragon king’s commandant, as well as his cousin. Perhaps you can help me.”
I’d sooner throw myself into the sea, she thought.
“What day is it?” she demanded.
“The day after yesterday,” he said, making it clear that he had no intention of giving her information until she gave him some first.
Safire held his gaze. “It’s true. My cousin is the dragon king, and I’m the commander of his army. Which is precisely why you’ll never get away with this.”
“With kidnapping you?” Jemsin smiled, gesturing to the empty horizon. “I already have.”
Safire shook her head. “My king will come after you the moment he realizes you have me.”
He bent over, pressing his hands to his knees, and Safire saw the blood caked in his fingernails. It turned her mouth sour.
“We’re half a day’s sail from Darmoor, love. We left in the night without a soul knowing. Your precious king will just be waking up, and by the time he tracks you to us—if he tracks you to us—there will be very little left of you. Unless you cooperate.”
Safire glanced around, needing a plan. The truth was, she very much doubted Dax would be able to track them. Even if he’d discovered Safire’s absence by now, how would he know it was Jemsin who’d kidnapped her? And even if he figured it out, how would he begin to look for her?
Safire couldn’t depend on her cousin. She needed to get out of this herself.
She checked the sky, but it was cloudy and gray. She couldn’t tell where exactly the sun was, nor the direction they were sailing in. And they were so far out at sea, she couldn’t tell how far from land they were.
“Tell me where the Namsara is,” demanded the pirate captain.
Safire turned back to Jemsin, holding his steely gaze with her own. “Tell me why you want her.”
His jaw tightened. Clearly he didn’t like being challenged. “I’ll give you one chance, skral. Where’s the Namsara?”
Safire kept her mouth clamped shut.
“If you’re not going to cooperate, I’ll let my crew take you down to the brig. And then we’ll try again.”
If he thought she would endanger Asha so easily, he was deeply mistaken.
When it became clear she wasn’t going to talk, Jemsin clenched his fists. He glanced over Safire’s shoulder and gestured with his chin. Strong hands grabbed her, hauling her to her feet. They dragged her down damp and rotting steps, through a dim narrow passage, toward what looked like an enormous cage with rusted iron bars on all four sides. Inside there was a small, moldy mattress with a bucket beside it.
Safire wasn’t worried about the cell. She still had her picklocks, after all. She could feel the bulge of them hidden in the flap of her boot. It was the fact that this room had no windows. And she was surrounded by men with big, groping hands.
She had been alone with such men before.
Alone where no one could hear her cries.
She would not endure it again.
She nailed the first one in the teeth with her elbow. Then broke the nose of the second. They both let go, cursing and bleeding and staggering back. No longer restricted, Safire managed to grab the daggers from their hips as two more fell in to replace them. She caught the short sword of the first while she stabbed the second with the folding knife in her boot, sending him howling. But everywhere she turned, there were more.
A fist connected with her cheek and Safire fell back, trying to shake off the shock of it. She didn’t see the boot until it hit her in the gut, knocking the air out of her lungs as it sent her backward. Her spine slammed into one of the cell’s iron bars.
Safire saw stars.
They shoved her, stunned, into the cell.
Safire fell to her knees, trying to stop the world from spinning around her.
She felt rather than saw someone step inside with her. Heard the clang of the door shutting behind them. Suddenly, she wasn’t here, in the brig of this ship. She was back in the halls of the palace, cowering before the former commandant—a man named Jarek—and his soldats, waiting for their fists to rain down, for their boots to break her ribs. . . .
“That’s enough.”
The snarl brought her back. Safire looked up, to the green-eyed girl flying down the steps and into the crowd circling the cell. The Death Dancer.
“Get out of there, Remy.”
“You ain’t my captain,” the man called Remy said, cracking his knuckles as he smirked down at Safire.
In the blink of an eye, Eris was through the door and inside the cell, standing between Safire and Remy.
Safire stared, stunned at her swiftness.
Remy staggered back in surprise. “Tides, Eris. What’s your problem? The captain said—”
“Change of plan. Captain’s orders.” Eris’s gaze didn’t leave Remy, who glared down at her. Without taking her eyes off him, she said to Safire: “Get up, princess.”
Safire obliged.
Strange, how this wraith-like girl could command such vicious men.
Stranger still that the captain would change his orders immediately after issuing them.
The Death Dancer led Safire back up to the deck. Safire glanced up to the horizon, searching for landmarks. But there was still nothing but cobalt sea and gray sky.
Before Eris forced her down another set of stairs, Safire caught sight of a small rowboat, tethered to the Hyacinth’s starboard side. If she could somehow get free of her captor, perhaps she could use it to escape.
“Keep moving.” Eris gave her a shove from behind and Safire stumbled, reaching for the damp clapboard walls of this passage to steady herself. Prickling with anger, she wanted nothing more than to turn and strike. But this was the Death Dancer: a girl who’d dodged Safire’s every blow last night as if made of wind and starlight; a girl who’d snuck past the palace guards and into her room, then disappeared before her eyes.
Even if this girl wasn’t some kind of demon, even if Safire could overpower her and flee, they were out at sea. There was no way Safire could escape in broad daylight.
More important: she needed to find out why they were hunting Asha.
“Where are you taking me?” asked Safire.
“You would find out sooner if you walked more and talked less,” said Eris, nudging her on and nodding toward a door straight ahead. Just before they reached it, Eris reached for her arm, stopping her. Safire flinched, jerking away. That same prickle of memory bubbled up in her: Jarek. His soldats. All of them hurting her. With the memories came the too-familiar panic.