Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14
WENDY
T he night we leave Morella, I’m woken to a crash as a cannonball goes barreling through the wall of our cabin, missing my head by a hair. It lodges itself into the opposite wall, its shiny black facade taunting me in the low faerie lamp light, reminding me just where my head might have been pinned.
Panic pounds in my chest. I jump from my bed, mirroring Charlie, who already has a saber in hand and a blade strapped to the thigh of her leathers. “Stay here,” she tells me in the most commanding voice I’ve heard her use.
“Stay here?” I ask, exasperated. One would think almost having your head taken off in the middle of the night would deem a space unsafe, but Charlie just gives me a look that says that if I leave this room, I’ll have more than a cannonball to be concerned about. She rushes out of the room, and I lock the door behind her.
From above, I hear shouting. The whirr of cannonballs. The crash of wood and the clank of swords. Screams and gurgles infiltrate the more elemental sounds, and each one of them brings me back to the night of the masquerade. To the moment the captain I thought would rescue me orchestrated a massacre.
I shouldn’t be shocked that his ship is now under attack. I imagine Captain Astor has made some enemies in his day.
Even though I’m worthless when it comes to fighting and am not sure I’d want to be fighting on Astor’s side anyway, I need to do something. I get dressed, shedding my sleep shirt for a tunic and a pair of trousers.
There. At least when I’m brutally murdered, my body will be clothed. Less mortifying that way.
I work my bottom lip between my teeth, pacing the room as I listen for hints of who’s winning up above. Of course, the sounds are no use in uncovering the truth and only serve to perpetuate worst-case scenarios in my mind. I worry for Charlie, though this can’t be the first time she’s encountered an attack like this in her line of work. Still, I don’t like the idea of anything happening to her.
Maybe that’s why I’m relieved when I hear the click of a key against the lock of our door.
“Charlie, what’s going o—”
It’s not Charlie. In steps Ascor, the man they call Teeth on board because his name is too similar to the captain’s. He has a master key ring he’s clipping back to his belt. Even from across the room, his breath reeks, filling my nostrils and making me want to gag. Only decorum has me holding in my bile when he grins at me, thin, blistered lips giving way to a set of blackened teeth.
My instincts might be a tad dulled, but they’re not completely dysfunctional. Unease settles in my stomach, dread creeping up in the waving of rising hair on my forearms, the back of my neck.
Be what he wants, then run, I tell myself, already settling onto the balls of my feet.
“Mister Ascor,” I say, my tone sweet. Compliant. It’s much easier to slide back into this persona than it should be. Perhaps because it’s not so much false as it is natural for me. “I’m terribly frightened. What…what’s going on up there? Please, I don’t want to die.” Ironic, given what I’d attempted the night I met my own wraith, but Teeth doesn’t know about that.
“No, missus. Don’t worry your pretty little head about that.” Teeth offers me a wink. “You wouldn’t be as pretty dead.”
My stomach churns, and I instinctively take a step back. Surely this man hasn’t snuck down into my rooms in the middle of a skirmish, abandoning his post just because he knew I’d be alone.
Surely.
But Teeth takes another step forward, his beady eyes full of a hungry greed I’ve witnessed before.
My voice might shake, but I still manage to force the words out. “The captain will kill you if you touch me,” I say. “He’s keeping me for himself.”
Teeth laughs. “We both know the captain would rather claw his eyes out than touch you. Believe me, I don’t understand it. But that’s alright. The captain’s a unique man. Others won’t have his reservations.”
My heart turns to ice. Others .
There’s no time to process his words before he lunges for me. At least prepared enough to sidestep out of the way, I let loose a scream, but it’s lost in the roar of the battle on deck. I race for the door, but as soon as my hands reach the latch, Teeth grabs me, one hand at my mouth, the other around my waist.
Once again, my body betrays me, my limbs slackening beneath his touch, my spine frozen.
Teeth spins me around to face him, securing both my wrists in one hand as he dips his other hand into the pouch at his side. No matter how hard I try to make myself writhe and struggle, I can’t seem to move. My mind flashes back to my altercation with the captain. How disgusted he’d be at my inability to fight back.
Teeth jabs his finger into my mouth, coating my tongue with something bitter. Something that takes me back to a cave on a beach and the captain’s resignation as I pressed a spoon to his chapped lips.
Horror overcomes me.
It starts in my torso, then spreads out to my limbs, my legs and arms going limp in Teeth’s grasp. My body is paralyzed, heavy with the weight of the rushweed as it works through my system. I can’t move. Can’t fight.
All I can do is laugh. Laugh at the irony of the same drug I’d used on the captain now being used on me.
But that is the unfortunate thing about being a woman. They’re going to do worse things to me than I ever did to him.
Teeth strokes my hair, whispering in my ear as he rips a piece off my tunic and uses it to gag me. “There, there. It’s alright. They’ll treat you well where I’m taking you. I’ve found you a good home, little pet. You’ll have all the gold and jewels you could ever desire.”
Teeth has to transport me across the deck to get to the safety boats. He keeps to the shadows, dragging my limp body over splinters in the wood that tear into my clothes and dig into my flesh as he sneaks behind crates. Rain pelts us, making the deck slick. The fighting is a bloodbath, and I can’t tell who is making it out on top, or if both sides’ blood runs together in dark rivulets, already being washed away by the evening storm. I tell myself to close my eyes. Remind myself that I don’t want to see a throat slit, not when all I’ll see is my parents gargling as they fall to the floor.
But I can’t bring myself to close my eyes. Not when I keep searching for Charlie among the bodies on deck, praying she’s not one of the headless corpses. For the first time, I long to see Astor’s face. To glimpse his reaction when he realizes Teeth is hauling me away.
Just this once, I’d love it if someone actually saved me. Because clearly I’m not capable of it on my own.
Teeth has made it to the edge of the rocking ship by the time I spot the captain. He’s at the helm, fighting off a band of three invaders on his own with his back to the wooden wheel. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t look away. There’s something about the grace of his stride, the way his sword acts as an extension of himself. When he fells his opponents, he makes it look like art. Like a brush against a canvas. And I can’t look away. Could never want to.
Please see me, I whisper to him in my mind. I cry into the gag, but it’s no use.
It’s only when Teeth hoists me over the side of the ship, pulling on the rope secured to my waist, that Astor finally sees me.
Shock flashes through his eyes, and the distraction costs him. An opponent parries Astor’s attack, backs him against the helm by using his weight against him. It doesn’t take long for Astor to recover, but it delays him long enough for Teeth to loosen the rope, my body dangling above the dark ocean as he lowers me until I can no longer see Astor.
Below me is a boat, beaten heartily by the waves.
Peter, surely Peter’s here. Somewhere in the shadows, waiting to strike. But no, Peter said he could only come during the Sister’s errands. And I have no way of knowing if he’s on one right now.
Greedy hands grasp at whatever they can get their hands on to pull me into the boat. One of them whistles as his stray hand catches my breast. Blackness swarms the edges of my vision. There’s a sawing sound above me. Someone hacking at the rope Teeth used to lower me down. The rope gives way, and I fall, slamming face first into the base of the boat. Saltwater lining the bottom goes up my nose, or so I assume. It takes me a moment to realize it’s my own blood, gushing from my pounding nose.
“Make sure it’s the right one,” one of the men says. Someone flips me over, yanking my stray hair out of the way and running his hands over my Mating Mark.
“It’s her alright,” he says. “Imagine what Vulcan’ll pay for this one. It’s pretty too,” he says, running his thumb all the way down the part of my Mating Mark that rounds my jawline.
His touch, his words, transport me back to the parlor. I gag into the cloth stuffed into my mouth, and the man above me has the gall to offer me a look of sympathy. “Don’t worry, love,” he says, his smile all teeth and, I believe, truly meant to be comforting. “You’ll have it better from now on.”