Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
VALESSA
C rawling onto the back of a sea turtle feels strange, yet it’s not the strangest thing so far this day. I should think nothing of it after all that this day has brought. And yet…it’s not like being on land. It bobs like a ship, though with a different sort of motion, and one that makes me instantly queasy. I shiver, my slave-shift soaked and clinging to my skin. Every bit of my body is outlined under the thin fabric, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I tug it off of my skin as best I can, cross my arms over my breasts, and study my new environment.
It’s very…flat. Empty. Underneath my bare feet, the turtle shell is warm and rough, a bit like a cow’s hoof, and the most surprising thing of all is the thick clumps of moss that grow in cracks on the shell. They hang from the back like tufts of pale green fur, dry from the sun’s rays and crusted with salt from the water.
The turtle is also even bigger now that I’m upon it. When I was a young girl back in Parness, we once walked half a day to see a traveling menagerie at an amphitheater. The amphitheater had been huge, like a giant bowl set down by the gods in the midst of the city. I remember the base of the bowl being sandy and large enough that you could fit several buildings inside. That’s how big the turtle’s back is.
As I get closer to the center, I see that the tree on its back is not actually a tree at all. It’s a bony protuberance—a spike—in the dead center of the shell, and more of the strange moss hangs from it. A wooden cage of some kind has been attached at the top, and it looks like more moss and seaweed hang on it to dry. I turn to look at the sea-ogre’s tent. It’s made of the same strange glossy leather that he wears, and I don’t dare go inside if I’m not invited.
I might be brave, but I’m not that brave.
I rub my arms, continuing to shiver as I look around. There’s no spot for a fire to warm the camp. Of course there’s not. This is the back of a turtle, I remind myself. Why would anyone build a fire? And yet it’s disappointing to realize because I’m freezing with cold and there’s no relief to be had. I glance over at the sea-ogre but he’s ignoring me, and I suspect it’s not the time to demand dry clothing.
The turtle moves into the sunshine and it feels good. Maybe if it stays here, I’ll warm up. I sit near the tent and hug my knees close, watching my new “husband.” He moves around the turtle’s back, looking busy. I watch as he checks the strands of moss and seaweed hanging on the cage and then ducks into his tent. He emerges a moment later with a nasty-looking trident and gazes out at the waters as the ship slowly moves past the turtle.
It’s a warning. It’s him telling them that he’s letting them pass, but if they try anything, he’ll attack. You wouldn’t think that a single man could intimidate an entire ship full of soldiers, but they watch him warily. He might not win if they all attacked at once, but he knows these waters. I have no doubt he could tip over the entire ship with a few movements and I doubt many of them could swim. If it fell to hand-to-hand combat, he’s nearly twice as big as the men and could take down a great many of them without breathing hard.
No one wants to risk their lives over a single slave—me—and I don’t blame them.
I continue to shiver, watching as the ship drifts past, the oars digging into the waters. Just when they’re about to pass, Lady Dywan struggles to her feet, the chains dragging on her arms. “We won’t forget you!” she cries. “When I’m free, I’ll find a way to save you from this monstrous fate!”
I’m touched. Perhaps I’ve misjudged Lady Dywan. I doubt she’ll be able to do anything, seeing as how she’s heading for a Sunswallow brothel and likely to a fate worse than mine. I’m actually not feeling too bad at the moment.
When my father was killed and I was sold into slavery, I cried bitter tears. When my first master died, I cried again, knowing that my fate was uncertain. I’m far more used to the cruelties of the Lords of Fate. There are no tears this time, only planning. I need to please this sea-ogre. I need to be a charming companion, one that makes his life easier. A happy master is a benevolent one, and I don’t kid myself into thinking I have any rights as a monster’s bride. I’m a slave again, regardless of the title. But I know what’s expected of me. Make the food, tidy the house, be willing in bed.
Except there’s no fire to make the food.
There’s no house, just a lone tent on a turtle’s back.
That leaves just one task for a slave, and it’s not one I’m particularly looking forward to. My new sea-ogre “husband” is oversized, and he’s sure to have a huge cock. Nothing to be done about it save for practicing my “why yes, I love a huge pike shoved into my innards” face.
I smile brightly as the ship passes, only for the sea-ogre to jump over the side of the turtle and disappear into the water. Oh. Perhaps he’s going to follow and make sure that the ship leaves his territory. I wait patiently for him to return, keeping my expression eager. Like this is all I have ever wanted, to be a sea-ogre’s bride. Like I have no thoughts and dreams of my own, and that I want nothing more out of life than a giant prick in me.
Time passes, and there’s no sign of the sea-ogre. I scan the waters, looking for the sail atop his head, but find nothing. The ship is long gone, and I’m alone on the turtle’s back.
It makes me nervous. He’s coming back, right? If he leaves me here, I’ll have to swim to shore. It’s just that…there’s nothing but sheer cliffs in this strait, and there’s no shore to be had without a very, very long swim. I’d drown before I made it to shore. He’ll come back, I tell myself. It’s his turtle. His territory.
Something splashes in the water, and I automatically look over. It’s not the sea-ogre, just a fish jumping, but it reminds me of my promise. I swore to the god Vor that I’d find him a huge fish and offer it up as thanks. I clasp my hands and bow my head, thanking the god for saving me from the brothels, and that as soon as I figure out how to get him his fish, I’ll offer it. I’m grateful that the capricious Lord of the Waves saved me. Being a sea-ogre’s woman isn’t exactly what I asked for, but I hadn’t been specific, either.
You get what the gods give you, and you’re grateful for it.
The sun warms me for a time, but then the shadows move and the turtle’s broad back falls into the shade of the cliffs once more. I’m chilled to the bone, shivering and hungry, and there’s still no sign of the sea-ogre. Am I supposed to be doing something, I wonder. Does he expect me to make him dinner? Set up a bed? Something?
I get to my feet, stretching, and my muscles protest. I’ve held myself in the same cramped position for hours, and I don’t know why. I’m free. I rub my raw wrists, now rid of the manacles, and love how light they feel. Whatever else happens…I’m free. I stretch, my arms over my head, and then shiver at the cold.
“Are you here?” I call out. “Lord Sea-Ogre?”
There’s no response. I didn’t expect to hear one, but I figured it was worth a try.
“Your bride is in danger of freezing her tits off,” I call again. “Have you anything warm I can wear? A fire I can build? Something? Anything?”
No response. I’m alone on the turtleback island.
Right, well, if he’s not coming back, I’m not going to sit out here in the open. I dust off my ragged gown, noticing that it’s practically falling apart now that it’s gotten wet, and head for his tent. I’m curious what he’s hiding in there.
Inside, everything is in bags. There’s no bed, no cozy sitting chair, no nothing. Just bags and bags. Well, sort of. There’s dead fish as well.
The strange, puffed-up fish look like a child’s ball, each one as big around as a circle I can make with my arms. The mouth of each one is sewn shut and they’re dried and hard and hollow. There’s a cord through the mouth, and on the other end of the cord is a small bag made out of more of the strange leather. I run my hand over the leather itself, because it looks scaly and strange. Is it from a snake, I wonder. Or something else? I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s tied tightly in one spot and then stuffed with a cloth rag and tied lower down below the rag. It seems like a lot of work, and I’m not entirely sure what the reasoning is behind it. Ritual? Spellcraft?
I finally get the last knot worked through and peek inside the bag. It’s dark, but I can make out the gleam of…gold? I reach in and my fingers brush over cool metal, encrusted with gems. A few more touches and I realize the entire bag is full of jewelry.
By the gods, the sea-ogre is rich .
A throat clears behind me.
I slump. Of course he’d come upon me nosing through his bags. Of course . He’s gone all day and returns the moment I touch his gold. It’s like the Fates are determined to show me their disdain by making my luck absolutely rotten. But I’m not going to let this beat me. Papa always said we make our own luck and I’m going to make mine right now.
So I turn and toss my hair, giving the sea-ogre my most winning smile. “It’s about time you came back. Do you have anything warm to wear?”
He crosses his arms over his chest—all four of them, which is an alarming, intimidating sight. “Stealing from me?”
His voice is low and raspy, gruff and full of anger.
“Looking for something dry to wear,” I repeat, and hold my hand out. “My fingers feel like ice, and jewels might be pretty but they won’t keep me warm.”
He eyes my hand but doesn’t take it.
That’s fine. I continue on. “My name is Valessa. You can call me Vali if you like.”
No response.
“What’s your name?”
Again, no response. He just glowers at me.
“I know you can speak. You just did. Silence only works in certain situations, and this isn’t one.” I tilt my head and study him. Gods, but he’s tall. The sail atop his smooth head just makes him seem taller, and his shoulders are impossibly broad. He’s still wearing nothing but that loincloth over his deep golden skin, and he doesn’t seem to be suffering from the cold like I am. “Since I’m your wife, don’t I at least get the benefit of your name?”
But he just continues to glare at me. He acts like I’ve done something wrong, when I’m the bride he requested. If this is how he acts around women, it’s no wonder he has to demand one like a pirate instead of acquiring one the normal way.
Has he demanded other brides from sailors in the past? If so, where are they ? It’s a terrifying thought, and one I push away quickly. Instead, I focus on getting his expression to crack. I’m here now, and I must make the best of this. So I arch a brow at him, using my most flirty look. “Good sir, are you waiting for your wife to service you?”
His gaze flickers, but he still doesn’t speak.
It’s a start, though. I lift my chin. “I’ll happily do so.” It’s a lie, of course, but he doesn’t need to know that I’m less eager than I pretended. I’m excellent at pretending. “If I’m to service my new husband, however, I need for you to ask for it aloud. It would make things very odd between us if I started gobbling your cock and all you wanted was for me to pass the salt.”
It’s a tease, a joke. It’s meant to make him laugh, to open up, to respond. Even if all he does is drop his loincloth, I know what to expect. This is me figuring out what my new master wants from me so I can anticipate his needs. If I make him happy, life will be easier. Running away is out of the question. There’s nowhere for me to go and I have no coin. Parness is in ruins, and a woman alone on the roads to Aventine will be quickly enslaved once more.
This sea-ogre is the trouble I know, so I’m going to stick this out.
I almost expect him to continue to stare at me in stony silence, as if there’s some secret to making him respond that I’m unaware of. But he finally speaks. “Two-finger tease, eh?”
So he’s thinking about that, is he? “Indeed. Popular with all the sea-ogres back home.”
“Sounds like you’re more experienced than I am. Very well.” With his gaze locked on me, he unbuckles his belt and unwraps his loincloth, dropping it to the ground.
Not one but two cocks unfurl from the depths of his loincloth.
Two.
Two very large, very un-hard cocks.
“Oh.” For once, quick and easy words escape me. I stare, my jaw hanging open. I’d expected him to be large. I hadn’t expected two. And of course it seems reasonable that he might have two, what with the fact that he has two sets of arms. All right. I can handle this. I can.
Before I can say anything else, though, he snorts at my stunned expression and stalks away.
I’ve been completely caught in a lie.
Here the sea-ogre took me for a bride because I promised all kinds of naughty pleasures, and he’s realizing now that I have zero experience with his kind. My shock at his doubled anatomy made that plainly obvious.
I’m an idiot for thinking I wouldn’t be called out, and now I have to fix this. He’s storming away from me, and I need to do something.
“Fine!” I call out, chasing after him. “You caught me. I lied about the two-finger thing. I just had to get off the ship and your appearance seemed like a good opportunity. I’m sorry if I’m not as skilled as you expected me to be. That ship was going to end up at the bottom of the sea. If it ever made it to the city of Sunswallow, I’d end up sold off to a brothel. I figured one master would be better than a hundred.”
He remains silent, so I race in front of him and drop to my knees, clinging dramatically to his leg. “I’m ready for my punishment, my husband.”
That gets his attention. He stops walking. “Punishment?”
I nod, pressing my cheek to his warm, damp leg. I don’t have to feign panic. I’m desperate—I need him to like me. “You can whip me. I’m told I heal fast.”
“Because you’ve been whipped before?” he asks, voice icy.
I nod again. I’m not the most obedient of creatures. I tend to run my mouth—some would call it lying—to try and grease the works. Sometimes I get caught.
The sea-ogre huffs, the sound one of irritation. He pries me off of his leg and continues to stalk away. As I sit on the ground, trembling in fear, he moves to the edge of the turtle and dives into the water.
Gone again.