Vengeance of the Pirate Queen (Daughter of the Pirate King #3)

Chapter 16

ROSLYN’S IS THE FIRST face I see when I enter camp. She throws herself into my arms, and I grip her to me.

“Sorinda, I thought you were gone.” Tears drip from her face, and I wipe them free with a hand. I’m moved by how much she cares for me. It softens my heart in ways nothing else seems to do.

Dimella claps me on the back. “Good to see you, Captain. You must be freezing. Let’s get you a spare coat.”

“Unnecessary,” I tell her. “I need rest, though. Kearan will fill you in on what happened. I’m afraid I’m about to drop.”

“I’m tired, too,” Roslyn lies, and I love her for it. She climbs into the tent with me, snuggles under the blankets, and breathes deeply. I’m out before I can kick my boots off.

IT’S DIFFICULT TO SAY how long I’m asleep before the sound of shouting rouses me, but by the heaviness in my head, it can’t have been long. I’m exhausted, I’m starving again, and my head is filled with memories it would rather forget.

But I rise, and with a quick shout to Roslyn—“Stay in the tent!”—I leave.

“To arms!” Dimella shouts just as I let the flap of the tent close behind me. My rapier is already out and ready, and I cock back my pistol as I scan the area for something to shoot.

They flood into the clearing like a tidal wave. Drifta with glowing peacock-blue eyes. Bodies freshly dead. A puppeteer nearby commanding them, though I can’t see Threydan yet.

How did he find us?

I leap into the fray, slicing and stabbing at anything that isn’t alive.

My pistol goes off, hitting a large dead male right through the eye. He doesn’t blink as the iron ball makes contact, doesn’t slow, and certainly doesn’t stop striding toward the tent I just exited.

I slice at his outstretched arms but still he doesn’t slow, so I nick the tendons at the backs of his knees, which finally sends him to the ground, unable to walk any longer. He wriggles like a snake, but I leave him for now.

Iskirra wields an ax, and she uses it to behead the nearest undead. The body continues moving, driving forward with purpose. Its own head is not what commands it.

Shots fire, and more steel slides into flesh. I realize that not a single one of the undead carries a weapon. Threydan doesn’t mean to kill anyone. My thoughts are confirmed as I witness one Drifta step behind Jadine, pull her to its chest, and hoist her into the air. It does no more than hold her in place while she wriggles uselessly.

I leap behind it, slice the back of the knees, and watch the undead go down. Jadine scuttles free, then turns and slices at the arms of the creature that is now dragging itself toward her.

Dozens upon dozens of undead swarm our campsite. It would seem the King of the Undersea put a nice dent into the armies of the Drifta. They’re overwhelming my small crew.

How did this happen?

Can he sense me? Did I lead him here? First he found me among the Drifta and now with my crew. Am I like a beacon to him? The thought is horrifying.

We cannot fight off such numbers, no matter how good my crew is, but that doesn’t mean they’re not fighting with everything they’ve got.

Kearan barrels through the clearing like a bull, knocking all enemies in his path clean off their feet. The girls swoop in, dismembering and rendering the undead immobile as best they can. They’re no fools. If Kearan didn’t fill them in on the situation, they’re quick to pick up that their quarry is nothing natural.

Visylla throws hand bombs right and left. Gooey entrails rain to the ground. Shattered bones cling to the snow. She aims for the legs, bringing the undead down to ground level in waves.

The need for sleep batters at my open eyes, begging them to close. My muscles move sluggishly, unable to perform at their best after days without proper rest.

I drop my pistol, since it’s utterly useless in this fight, and grab a dagger to aid in cutting necessary tendons to stop the body from moving as it should. The undead may not feel pain, but it seems they still need intact muscles for their bodies to work.

Though, I remember those frozen skeletons in the ice leading to Threydan’s coffin. Why should the sirens and Drifta bother to hide them? They don’t have muscles or tendons. Why would Threydan have power over them?

The trees surrounding our clearing rustle as more undead enter the scene. The battle grows sorely bleak, as ten or more Drifta are able to surround every one of my crew. Large Drifta leap upon Kearan. He fights them off as best he can, but even he can’t keep so many at bay. They pin him to the ground, holding his limbs in place with the sheer weight of their dead bodies. An undead child no older than four grabs Dimella’s sword by the steel blade and pulls. Dimella is so shocked and appalled by the cut the blue-eyed girl is giving herself that she releases her hold. Two other undead get behind her and restrain her by her arms. Visylla gets her feet kicked out from underneath her. She’s then hoisted into the air and restrained. I watch and fight as one by one my whole crew is rendered immobile.

Save me. Not a single undead touches me.

I stand there, taking in the scene with a ferocity that shakes away my fatigue. I can’t save them. A snapped neck is all it takes to end them. I know it. My hand grips the hilt of my rapier so tightly I feel my bones grind together. I keep my weapons, but I don’t move, except for my eyes, scanning the surrounding trees for him .

My heart beats a feverish rhythm, and I swear I go cold all over, aside from that small little bit of warmth that wriggles within my chest.

I keep my gaze away from the tent, lest anyone think to check for more bodies that may be hiding. Though if we all die and only little Roslyn is left to survive, can she really last long on her own in these temperatures? With a people who attack first and ask questions later and an undead army on the horizon?

I shake that horrifying thought from my mind and keep my gaze alert.

He doesn’t keep me waiting long.

Threydan strides through the trees, his eyes already on mine, as if he’d been watching me for some time. My stomach turns over at the thought.

How has the man not found a shirt yet? His tanned skin is smooth all over, except for that short cropping of hair atop his head. His eyes blaze brighter than ever, and a bit of blood is dried on his skin.

I don’t want to know whose it is.

He comes to a stop when he is a mere five feet from me.

A step closer, and I’d have gutted him. I still might, depending on his next move.

The lives of my crew are what stay my hand for now.

“Sorinda,” Threydan says. “Are you well?”

The question is so unexpected and jarring that a breathy laugh bordering on hysteria comes from my lips.

I say, “I’m pissed. You’ve attacked my crew without cause.”

“Attacked? No. Not a one of them has been hurt, including the little one in the tent.”

I swallow.

“I wouldn’t hurt your friends,” he says. “In fact, I helped you save one just a few hours ago, did I not?”

“Let them go if you mean them no harm.”

“Now that is something I cannot do until we have a proper chat.”

I say nothing.

He seems to find that amusing. “We did not finish the binding.”

“You’re not touching me again,” I spit out with every bit of venom I can manage.

I hear a few outbursts from some of the crew, as though they’re trying to agree with me, but most are silenced by undead hands covering their mouths.

“That, fortunately, is not true,” Threydan says. “We must if we’re to complete the binding. You are only partly mine. Resistant to only some of life’s dangers, it would seem. Hot and cold cannot harm you. Water cannot drown you. But the blade is still your weakness.”

“Reverse it,” I breathe out. “Make me able to feel again.”

“I cannot do that.”

“Cannot or will not?”

He hesitates a beat before saying, “Cannot.”

I don’t know if I can believe him, but my desire to return to myself is too great to trust his words.

“Find some other woman to make immortal. I don’t want your gifts.”

“Yet you have them, and they have already saved your life once.”

I say nothing to that. It is true, but I would have rather died than woken up chained to the ocean floor.

Threydan cranes his neck to the side as he observes my crew in their various forms of restraint. “Come with me, Sorinda. I wish for us to speak in private. Let me take you to my home.”

“Like hell she will,” Kearan says from somewhere buried among the undead.

Threydan steps in his direction, looking for the one who spoke.

Fool is going to get himself killed. I say, “If I come with you, you will leave them unharmed. That is the deal, right?”

The King of the Undersea turns back to face me. “That is the deal.”

“How can I trust you?”

“You cannot afford otherwise, my love.”

My nostrils flare at those words, but even I can see when I’ve been outmaneuvered.

“How did you find me?” I ask.

“I followed you.”

“Impossible. No one is able to tail me without my notice.”

“Perhaps that is true among the living.”

I realize all too quickly what happened. I was followed. By one of the undead. A body that doesn’t need to breathe or move naturally. Something I never would have thought to keep a lookout for.

So he can’t sense me, then. That’s fortunate at least.

“Come now, Sorinda. I saved you from those people who wanted you dead. All these”—he gestures to the undead bodies holding my crew hostage—“were made in your honor.”

“They only wanted me dead because of what you made me.”

“That’s not entirely true. You woke me. They wanted you dead for that, too.”

I want to scream that it’s not my fault, but perhaps it is. Death has always followed me. I have always been its cause. From the time I was five years old. It is my calling and my curse.

Literally, it would seem.

I find myself with the abhorrent desire to cry.

I crack my neck to either side. “Have your dead minions release my crew, and I will follow you from this campsite.”

Protests rise up from my crew, including Kearan’s loud “Sorinda, no!”

“You have loyal followers,” Threydan says. “I’m not surprised, but I don’t know that I can trust them. You will follow me, and my minions, as you call them, will follow thereafter.”

“So they can murder the crew the second I’m out of sight? I don’t think so.”

“Can you promise me your crew will not fight or follow when we leave?”

I keep my face clear as I look into the eyes of my crew one by one. “You will not follow. You will not fight. That is an order.”

“No!”

One shout is louder than all the rest as little Roslyn finally leaves the tent. She’s bundled in Dimella’s coat and boots, the rapier I gifted her unsheathed and ready to skewer Threydan.

“You can’t take her,” Roslyn says. “I won’t let you.”

“Roslyn,” I bite out in my most forceful voice. “Get back in the tent now!”

“She’s too good to go with you,” Roslyn continues. “She keeps us safe and has an important mission here that you cannot stop. If you need someone to go with you, take me instead. I’m not even supposed to be here. I disobeyed orders. Bad things keep happening, and it’s all my fault. I deserve to die, not her.”

Threydan turns to where Roslyn stands and kneels to her level. I take a step forward and raise my sword, but Threydan doesn’t move. Doesn’t even care that he’s turned his back to me.

“You would die for her?” he asks.

“Yes,” Roslyn answers without question.

Threydan ruffles the hair on her head, and I take the final step to reach him. He stands and turns to me before I can slice him.

“That won’t be necessary,” Threydan says, answering both Roslyn and my threat of violence. “No one is dying. Not Sorinda. Not you. Not the crew. The Drifta needed to be taught a lesson for threatening my plans and my beloved. But I am not here to hurt any of you. In fact, I’m here to help. Once Sorinda agrees to be mine for all eternity, I will personally find your missing crew. Then I will sail you all home on my way to finding the siren charm that cursed me. Sorinda?” Threydan holds his hand out to me, palm up. “Let’s go somewhere more comfortable to talk.”

I can think of a thousand things I would rather do than touch his offered hand, including hacking off my own arm.

But this crew needs me. Alosa’s missing girls need me. I can’t think about just myself anymore.

This is what being a captain means.

“Dimella,” I say.

“Aye, Captain?”

“You’re in charge until I return.”

Threydan raises an eyebrow at those words but doesn’t argue them.

Dimella says nothing for several seconds before finally replying with “Aye-aye.”

I swallow. “Kearan.”

“What?” he says in a voice filled with rage. I cannot see him through all the undead, but I know he’s back there somewhere.

“You will not move a muscle when Threydan calls off his army. Not one muscle. If anything happens to this crew, I will hold you personally responsible. Do you understand me?”

As with Dimella, he takes a very long time to respond. Then, “Understood, Captain.”

His acceptance moves something else within me, and I melt just a little, like a crying icicle.

“Philoria, keep Visylla in check.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Everyone else, make the queen proud.”

Then I take Threydan’s hand.

The dead fade back into the trees so quickly, if it weren’t for all the footprints in the snow, I might have thought I’d dreamed them.

Threydan’s fingers thread through mine as he leads me away, and I feel the stares of twenty-three pairs of eyes boring into my back.