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

Chapter 18

OH NO.

Now I have to feign interest in him?

I’ve never done that before in my life.

I’m no actress. I’m not good at being anything other than myself or silent, which I suppose are the same thing.

I rack my brain for something to ask this man with the expectant, hopeful features. The one who holds my future and that of my crew in his hands.

“How old are you?” is what comes out first.

“I was twenty-five when I set out to find my sister’s cure.”

“What did you do to support yourself?”

He looks around the chamber proudly. “I apprenticed with a stone mason.”

“You helped build this place?”

“Initially, it was made out of wood, but when the land changed, I decided to rebuild out of stone. Not that it mattered if I was exposed to the elements. But privacy is something that I craved dearly, and it barely took any time at all to build with the undead’s help.”

Delightful. Every stone has been touched by rotting fingers.

“Am I allowed to go outside?” I ask.

“That question does not tell you anything about me.”

“Except it does. It will tell me how overbearing you are and what I can expect in the future.”

He tilts his head back and assesses me from lowered eyes, as though trying to decide if I’m being devious or sincere. But he already knows me too well. Surely he must guess.

“When you agree to be mine, you may go outside and do whatever else you wish. Until then, we’re to spend time together.”

I look to the floor, as though trying to hide disappointment.

“Do not look so downcast,” he says. “I have allowed you to keep your weapons. I have offered you food and clothing and shelter. I haven’t harmed a single soul of your crew. These things will continue, but I expect something in return, Sorinda. Your time and patience.”

I let my hand drift toward the hilt of my sword and clench the comforting leather around the handle.

Manipulation.

It’s such an ugly tool men use to get what they want. I saw it time and again with the pirate king. The fact that Threydan is trying it with me makes my blood boil. And in that rich anger that fuels my desire to kill, I realize something very, very important.

“Stop,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Hmm?”

“Stop thinking of yourself as some benevolent person. You let me keep my weapons because I cannot harm you with them. You have offered me clothing that was already here when we arrived and made sure to feed me because you need me alive to accept your offer. You didn’t hurt my crew because, as you said, it would ruin your chances with me. But all these choices? All these things you have done? They’re still about you. You, Threydan, are selfish. You do not think of anyone but yourself. And do you know what I think?

“I think you cannot complete the ritual until I am willing to complete it. Otherwise you would have done it by now. You were able to start it because I was distracted by the onslaught of your memories. But to finish, you need me to agree to it. How close am I?”

His lips tighten; his jaw clenches.

“You’re stuck with me, but I am an unwilling partner. So now what will you do? Hurt me? Hurt my crew? How will that convince me to your side? It won’t.

“You should know by everything you’ve seen of me that I am too clever to believe your lies and omissions. So I’m going to leave now. You’ve given me a lot to think about, and now it’s time to give me some space. We can talk again later.”

I have no intention of speaking with him again, but he can’t know that. He needs to be convinced this is the best way to get him what he wants.

“Which way to the exit?” I ask him.

Threydan says nothing for so long that I worry he’s contemplating horrible ways to punish me for my outburst. But finally, he points. “Through that door. Down the hallway. Make a left.”

I take one step.

“Sorinda.”

My body freezes in place.

“I will let you leave on one condition. The man, Kearan—you must make it perfectly clear that anything he hopes for between you two is not possible. Break his spirit if you must, but he needs to accept that you’re mine now. And should you fail to do this, I will make it clear in a way he will never recover from. Do you understand me?”

I try to swallow past the tightness in my throat. “I understand.”

“Good. I will seek you out in three days’ time. Your crew’s camp is to the south.”

I take another step toward the exit.

“Do not let it be said that I cannot be kind. You want your time? I’m giving it to you. Remember that, dearest.”

“I will,” I say in what I hope is an encouraging tone. I will say anything to get away from this man now.

“You will, of course, wish to move your crew to a location where you think I can’t find you. Don’t bother. You’re always being watched.”

I spin in place. “Do not have your undead follow me.”

“I will do as I wish.”

I turn back around. Take another step toward the exit.

But he speaks again, and I wonder if I will ever make it out of this stone prison.

“As a further show of good faith and my devotion to you, I have a present for you. You’ll find it on your way back to camp.”

“What will I find?” I ask.

“Go before I change my mind.”

I leave, slowly at first, but once I clear the stone shelter, I take off at a run. My muscles are still sore from days of misuse, but they’re about to loosen up from the workout I intend to put them through.

It was too much to hope that he wouldn’t send his undead to follow me, so I take roundabout paths, hide in the trees, move like a cat to lose anything Threydan might have tailing me. He knows where my crew is camped, but with any luck they’ve moved.

What I want—what I need—is to be alone. Truly alone where nothing and no one is watching me. I need time to think. Time to process. To understand. To plan my next move.

And I need to do it without the undead breathing down my neck.

I scale down some sort of ravine, run across a frozen stream, and race back up the next side. I try to control my breathing, in case Threydan can hear it through his undead. I’ve long suspected he can see through their eyes, but I don’t know how else he’s able to use them.

At a noise behind me, I duck into some thick bushes, scrabbling under them and holding my breath as an undead walks by, his head tilting in every direction. When he passes, I scurry out and take off toward my crew’s camp, but of course the undead are all headed that way. They’re keeping eyes on me. I can hide and duck all I like, but it’s useless. If they don’t run into me, I’ll run into them.

For once in my life, I give up being stealthy. It will get me nowhere.

The thought is terrifying.

I’m so very afraid of the turn my life has taken. I thought my ship sinking in a strange land was as bad as it could get.

How very wrong I was.

Though I miss the way my body used to be, it still reacts the way it should to strong emotions. My skin feels ready to burst from the internal pressure. From thoughts of Threydan’s hand on me to the threats he made against those I’m supposed to protect.

I’m dealing with forces far greater than I thought possible. After Alosa reconciled with her mother, I thought we were done having troubles with sirens. But of course there is more than one charm in the world. Just as there is more than one school of fish or community of humans.

These northern sirens have caused quite a fuss, and then they left so they wouldn’t have to deal with the consequences. Not that they’re still around. Sirens live longer than humans, but not a thousand years, as far as I know. Threydan likely wants to hunt down all sirens, for they are all that pose a threat to him.

Them and Kearan, apparently.

I scoff.

He wants me to break Kearan’s heart. As if he were smitten with me. He’s made it very clear how he feels. How I gave too much credence to things he’d said and done while drunk. He’s a new man now, one who wants nothing between us. Whatever memory Threydan saw, it must have been outdated, and any protests I make or efforts to set the record straight would only appear as if I’m trying to spare Kearan because I return those feelings.

So he’s forcing me to do this.

My blood begins to boil the more I think about the King of the Undersea and all his plans for me.

I pull a dagger from the confines of my clothing and throw it at the nearest tree trunk.

Thwack .

It imbeds in the wood with a satisfying sound. I pull another dagger, imagine Threydan’s face and throw.

Thwack.

My breathing comes quicker as I reach for more knives, giving my sore arms a workout and my mind something to focus on. A healthy outlet for all the nervous energy I’m dealing with.

A way to attack all the negative thoughts that permeate my mind.

Can’t feel anything. Thwack.

Can’t die by cold or heat. Thwack.

Stuck on this island. Thwack.

Still have no hope of finding Alosa’s missing girls. Thwack .

I was the wrong woman for this job. Thwack.

I’ve failed everyone. Thwack.

And now Threydan thinks I can break Kearan? Ha! Thwack.

He gives me too much power. I am powerless. I can do nothing. Thwack.

On and on I throw. When my remaining twelve daggers are imbedded in the wood, I retrieve them before wreaking havoc on the trunk again.

Soon I see Kearan’s face and his wicked grin. Throw until you miss.

Danger excites him. I excite him because I’m dangerous. And he clearly doesn’t care about getting hurt. He didn’t even flinch when that last knife cut him. No, he smiled.

Because he’s mad.

And unpredictable, which is why he unsettles me so. What will he do when I tell him the King of the Undersea wants him to back off?

Doesn’t matter. It was the agreement for letting me go, so I’ll follow up in case the undead are spying on me. If Kearan’s life weren’t hanging in the balance, I wouldn’t bother. But he’s under my protection. I just have to figure out how to broach such a ridiculous topic once again.

Captain, stop flattering yourself.

Ugh.

I fling all my knives for a third time.

A fourth.

A fifth.

At a rustling behind me, I duck behind the tree I’m using for target practice, but when a snowy fox darts past, I relax. Then I remember I’m not bothering to be quiet because Threydan will find me regardless of what I do. Still, old habits are hard to break.

I retrieve my knives and sheathe them one by one inside my clothing as the world finally feels more manageable.

There is much that is out of my control.

My own body.

Threydan’s intentions.

The Drifta’s threats.

But I need to focus on what is within my power to change.

This very second?

My current location.

I continue south, keeping my eyes straight ahead so as not to glimpse the undead hiding behind the trees. I’ve no reason to think Threydan will change his mind and drag me back prematurely. If he wanted me to do something, he would have kept me in that stone house he built so many years ago. It’s hard to imagine it still would have been standing all these years later. With dozens of undead at his command, I imagine he simply had everyone refortify and clean the place in a matter of hours.

The thought of sleeping in a bed made up by undead fingers has me gagging.

It must be midafternoon, and for the first time, I wonder just how long I slept. I do not think it was only one night. I had been pushed past the threshold of exhaustion again and again. My body quit on its own. Fell asleep in that immortal man’s arms. I never would have allowed that otherwise.

And how long did he carry me before reaching this place? We could be days away from my crew’s camp for all I know.

But there is nothing to do except keep walking.

So I keep on.

THE TERRAIN ALL LOOKS the same.

White everywhere.

Though, I do pause when I find a frozen waterfall, the water turned to icicles clinging to the cliffside. When the sun hits it, I have to blink for the brightness.

It’s a single image of beauty. A reminder that not everything is dark and forlorn right now.

I scale the cliffside, taking a route to the right of the waterfall. It is harder than it looks, but I don’t fall. Only slip a few times. Good thing the cold doesn’t affect my grip on the rocks.

When I reach the top, I see something through a break in the trees. Someone standing just as still as any trunk.

I have a present for you.

Oh, what has he made his undead do now?

I try to decide the best approach to take. Head-on? Roundabout? Nothing matters anymore, though it feels that it should.

When a sound cuts through the trees, I halt in place.

Shouting.

Shouting in Islander.

I can’t make out the words, but I’m certain of the accent. I can’t have reached my crew already. This terrain isn’t familiar yet … unless they’ve happened to move camp closer to Threydan?

I move closer.

From within the cover of the trees, I spot a clearing, where the shouting grows the loudest.

I do not recognize the people before me.

I note fifteen of them, wrapped in furs and deprived of weapons. Some are in bad shape with arms in slings or bandages on their heads. Too thin and haggard from not enough nourishment. I recognize not a soul among them, but I know immediately who they must be.

The crew of the Wanderer .

And they’re being herded by the undead, forced to come straight in my direction.