Chapter 18
Chapter eighteen
James
Icurl in, grabbing my head, like the warmth of my clammy hands can make the headache disappear.
I have been drinking nothing but water, eating nothing but fruit.
Nothing processed to make sure the pirates are not poisoning me.
But it’s not helping me, nothing but the juice Killian and his crew had been giving me.
Every glass had made my muscles tremble less. All the symptoms of the distance too great for the mate bond, are back in full force. I don’t get why Peter demands I struggle this much just to prove to him that getting me out of here is worth it.
“You miss home don’t you? Am I not giving you enough, my sweet boy?
Do you know how much this hurts me?” Peter asks me, his usually high-pitched voice barely audible now.
I just moved here two weeks ago. The first week, Barry and Matthew lived with us at the castle, so we all had some time to adjust. This weekend without any family around me has been hard.
I never told Peter, but I did feel lonely.
Especially in the moments when he is out doing his royal duties about which I don’t know that much yet.
“No, my love, I never said I was not happy, did I? It’s not that weird to miss my family, right? Doesn’t mean I don’t want to be with you,” I plead. Just for a second, I feel weird, like I should not be feeling this sorry for missing my family.
“No, you’re too sweet to me to tell me you’re not happy, but I can feel it.
The mate bond lets me feel when you are happy or sad.
Comfortable or in pain.” His gentle words, his care for whether I am in pain or not, soothes the sting of worry about suddenly being softer and more submissive than I used to be.
He told me he could feel my pain through the mate bond.
Then how can he sit back, feeling all that I am feeling now.
Able to save me from it, but unwilling to, just because I went against his wishes.
Which I did because he wasn’t honest about the consequences of my actions.
How dangerous it was for me to relax at the shores of the lakes I was told were his territory.
And now he left me out here, with a bunch of what he called savage pirates.
When Captain Pestilence is caring for me, beyond just keeping me alive.
Where Peter never even tr—In a rush, I get up, ignoring the fact that I am still wearing Killian’s snug-on-me tunic that comes down to my knees.
Ignoring the fact I smell, he has been hinting about what happened between him and Peter.
Hints at Peter taking things from him, about Peter manipulating me.
And I am sick and tired of being lied to, sick and tired of men not being honest with me.
Because things are not adding up, and despite feeling like I died and someone did a poor attempt at resurrecting me, I am starting to see things more clearly now.
It is mind-boggling how easily I can find my way to the Captain’s quarters now that I have been there before.
Maybe it is the layout of the ship, but every time I have been somewhere, I can easily find it again.
To the point where it feels a little odd.
Today it serves me well, yet my legs still struggle to carry my weight.
Just some pomalas and neverberries have hardly been enough to feed me. Light flashed in front of my eyes all the time now. Now it’s like fireflies have settled in them. It is making me disorientated, and I am swaying despite the ship still being docked.
The loud crash of wood on wood reverberates in my skull, making my head ache, as I slam open the door to his quarters. Killian startles, a bottle of ink falls to his desk with a soft clink, at the impact of his knees bumping up against the bottom of the worktop.
“You look terrible, if you’re looking for the kitchens to finally have a decent meal, you need to go starboard. You have no business being in my quarters.” His eyes trained on the desk cleaning up the spilled ink.
“I am not here for food, I am here for answers.” That gets his attention; his eyes fly up to find mine, darkening as they zoom in, on the tunic I am still wearing.
“You stink of sweat and desperation. Bathe. I will get you clothes that actually fit you and a meal. If you want answers, you will have lunch with me.” Yet another man making demands.
But his demands are good for you; he is honest about them.
I’ve been having thoughts like this more frequently, the longer I am away from Peter.
At first, I filed them away as insecurities.
Lately, I am being forced to admit that he isn’t as mean or vile as I deemed him to be.
I am not ready to express those worries yet, especially here where I have no one who cares about me.
Or well, even that might not be true, Belichime seemed actually worried about me not eating and drinking enough.
And then there was Killian who was cleaning my damp forehead with a cold cloth as I slept, dreaming of Peter leaving me.
“Sure,” I say with a small shrug, making my way to the bathroom. In the distance, I can hear the door being slammed shut, Killian going out to get me fitting clothes and whatever meal he is going to force me to eat.
The bath water has gone cold. I’ve just been sitting here.
The burst of angry energy I had when I realized Killian was keeping the same secrets from me as Peter is, has left me.
When I pull the plug from the bath, my energy will just flush out of the ship with the bathwater.
The room outside the bathroom door is quiet, too quiet.
I can’t hear a sound being made, not after the door opened and closed again, followed by the tinkling of metals clattering together. No doubt silverware, plates, and mugs.
He is just silently waiting for me behind this door, the idea of his presence looming over me like a shadow in a dark room.
It is not here yet, but you know it will be soon, blocking out the sunlight before it can reach me.
But… I have to admit, his patience now speaks of kindness too.
It’s all so confusing, like my thoughts are a ball of yarn all knotted up.
I just need to pull one thread at a time, figuring out what is going on with Peter, Killian, and me is the first step.
“Food is getting as cold as the bath water must be now,” Killian shouts at me as if on cue.
Honestly, I can’t blame him, not this time.
I stormed into his quarters, demanding answers, and now I am hiding in his private bathroom.
I exhale loudly, hoping my exhalation and the sound of the bath water rushing out is enough of an answer.
My fingers brushes over the soft fabric of the clothes he has laid out for me.
It feels so different from the other clothes he gave me.
The fabric is as soft as velvet but light as silk.
The first genuine smile in days curls my lips up.
I take a step closer to the mirror, eager to see how these clothes will fit me, when my feet bump into something hard enough to hurt but flexible enough to move as I hit it.
Brown leather boots, much like the ones Killian always wears, are waiting for me. The fabric of the clothes caresses my skin as I rush into them. They feel far warmer than I expected them to be.
“Why did you get me new clothes and boots?” I ask the second I open the bathroom door. Boots in my hands not on my feet.
“You can’t swim, and those slippery goat fashion boots will make you fall and slip, sooner or later. Pax was over you wearing their stuff, and you need clean clothes, so here we are.” Somehow he is capable of making a gesture of kindness feel like punishment.
“Put them on so we can eat and talk. Or did you burst into my quarters just to annoy me? If so you succeeded,” he says, not even looking up from the piece of parchment he is writing on.
“What… no… I…,” I stutter. Shit why am I even stuttering?
This is not kindness; he is just covering his bases.
Getting me new boots is easier than needing to pull me from the water all the time.
Of course, he is not going to look at me.
Like he just reminded me, I burst into his personal space making demands.
And yet, something about the soft clothes, the supple leather boots feel like more.
More than the bare necessity he makes it out to be.
“Thank you, anyway,” I mutter. Sitting down on the chair across from him, putting the boots on.
Ashamed of how my stomach growls at the scent of warm, rich, salty fish stew with something tangy, like the tomatoes I used to eat back home but have not seen in Silvermist yet, I sit down and put the shoes on.
“I want some answers. Peter is taking forever to come find me, and you keep hinting at how much he has hurt me. How he deserves everything you are doing to him, and with that, all you are doing to me.” The words leave me in a rush.
I found my voice again, but I am not sure how long that will last. Especially not when the only answer I am getting is the sound of metal scrapping against wood.
Followed by a sharp tap of a different metal against the desk.
“Eat!” Not a question, not a command either, a short reminder of the conditions for Killian to talk to me.
Peter only told me not to drink the juice.
I know he probably doesn’t want me to eat prepared food either.
Not with how mad he was at me. Still, he hasn’t outright told me not to eat.
Killian is eating it too, and it will be the only way for me to get some answers, and I am getting desperate for them.
“Peter won’t find you, simply because he has never been here before, has he?
” His gray eyes narrow slightly, the left corner of his lip curling up.
Like a cat who just got the last of the cream.
“You don’t know what he is capable of,” I say, the gut reaction to sing his praises, to defend his honor flaring up again.
“Oh I know what he is capable of, more than you do. But Fae magic is strong, fae magic done by the royal family more so. If you have not been to the Obsidian Oath—or any of her huts and rooms—before, you will not get there. Not unless the crew or me have taken you there before.”
The explanation seems insane. This ship is a huge black pirate ship; you would have to be blind as a bat not to see it.
Or her according to the pirates, but I have noticed it myself.
How I could not find spaces before I was brought to them.
That is why they weren’t too bothered about locking my door two days ago.
I couldn’t go anywhere they did not want me to be.
Maybe that is why Peter said he needed me to be a good mate first. Why he faulted me for not trying to escape.
He needs me to get off this damned ship so he can actually get to me.
I am waiting for the usual warmth, the sensation I always get when I step into a warm bath.
That’s when I realize what Peter did after an argument.
But it’s not happening now. I am just sitting here staring into nothing, only seeing black in front of me.
“So, that’s it… that was everything you needed to know?” If Captain Pestilence had not spoken to me in that insufferable, smug tone, I would have still been waiting on the feeling of stepping out from the shadows into the sunshine of Peter’s presence and good intentions.
“No, that’s just, the fuck is Peter going to find me then…
I was just wondering what the hell you are playing at then,” I say, quickly recovering.
“He can buy you back, he is familiar with deals like that. Only now that I am the one offering the deal, he doesn’t seem to be so willing to take it.
” My heart freezes in my chest, the cold blossoming through my entire body before it falls to the pit of my stomach, shattering in a thousand pieces.
“No, no, no, you’re lying, that is what he warned me for.
He told me you would try to come between us.
” One of the chair legs hooks between my legs as it clatters to the ground from the force I got up with.
If it had not been for my new boots, he would have needed to pick me up from the floor again.
“What the hell has he done that you hate him so much? That you are doing all of this just to hurt him?” My voice comes out all weird and squeaky, as if I lost all control over it.
“Fuck. You really don’t know, do you?” His words sound hollow—what my dad sounded like when he told my brothers and I how sick my mother really was. No sadness or anger in his voice, just a terrifying lack of emotions. Even the people back home reading telegrams had more emotion in their voice.
“Know what?” I ask softly, the lack of emotion in his voice, his glossed-over eyes, his posture is so intense it sucks the anger out of my words. If he were anyone but the man who kidnapped me, I would have pitied him.
“What he did to me, why I hate him. What did he say the reason was, tell me now!” The words that come out of his mouth do not match with his tone. The words resemble another command, but commands are not whispered, in a breaking voice.
“That you just hate him, that you want what he has,” I start explaining, and with every word I utter, I feel my cheeks burn more. It all sounds really stupid, when I am telling it now. But somehow when Peter told me, it all made sense.
“And this.” Wood cracks loudly as his hook prostheses embeds itself into his desk, making it abundantly clear what he is talking about. And suddenly, the answer I need to give him scares me.