Chapter 3
Don’t Bite the Hand that Feeds YoU
Odelia
The map is still in my boot.
If they find it, I won’t get it back, so I haven’t risked pulling it out to see how the water might have ruined it. My stomach twists at the thought. Especially since I’ll be escaping tonight.
The room the cell is in is boring. There’s a chair and table in the corner, goods secured in waxy rope nets, and a second cage next to me, empty, swept.
I haven’t seen a single rat—even the chains on my wrist are devoid of rust. The outside sounds are muffled, though I’ve tried hard to eavesdrop.
There’s no way to tell how much time has passed and the endless silence makes me fight the urge to grind my teeth.
Once Rune finally left, I’d laid down, unable to sleep, unable to deny my aching body the need for rest. The strength in my hand is back, but I feel like a bruise from head to toe, and a thin laceration on my left shoulder is lucky it hasn’t started to fester.
Seems the captain’s good graces doesn’t extend to bandages.
Who is he? What could he hope to gain from information about my father’s crew? Attacking the Sea Bane would only earn him a watery grave. If that’s his plan, I hope he waits until after I’m gone. Imagine gaining my freedom—through capture notwithstanding—only to end up back again.
The weapons on his belt were interesting, though.
Bone, like the component bolts we’d captured off one of our more impressive hauls.
Each of those bundles had proven to have their own attribute.
Fire, acid, absurd stickiness. A specialty of the underwater siren kingdom, Nareth, and the creatures of the deep they hunted or farmed for components.
The bolts may as well have been magic, their purchase or creation on the mainland being illegal and near impossible.
Did the bone mean his sword might have similar qualities?
It must have cost a small fortune. Maybe when I leave I’ll take it, see if he grins when I hold it to his thick neck.
He probably would, those sharp eyes calling my bluff. He’s good, sure, but arrogant. And I’ve never let a pretty face stop me from what needed to be done.
Still.
Odelia.
I should have lied, should have given him any other answer. I haven’t been Odelia since my mother died.
Still, no one would recognize the name, unlike Nisse.
As much as I’m trying to escape it, I’m all too aware of my reputation.
Admitting who I am would be like tying the weights to my own legs .
. . but even the memory of how my real name had rolled off his tongue makes my stomach flip again, toeing the line between butterflies and nausea.
The knowledge that he’ll likely torture me for information before delivering me to an underground prison should temper the feeling, but it’s been so long since anyone has piqued my .
. . curiosity. I can’t help but wonder which of us would win in a fight.
If I would pull back when it came time for the killing blow.
One after the other, I prick my fingers over the bladed hairpin tangled in my matted, salt-crusted hair.
Tavi had missed that too. Rune said she hadn’t taken my pendant, but I’ll have to find wherever they’re keeping my things before I go.
There’s no way I’ll leave the last of my mother’s legacy behind.
Time bears down, feeding my impatience. The seconds beat by with the pulsing ache of my injuries.
As far as I can tell, the ship is stalled in open water.
The thought makes my skin itch. They can’t be far from the mainland if they haven't moved. It’s good fortune, but it means my father could spot them and get murderously curious.
With any luck, Captain Ivor believes his poor Nisse went overboard. After all, no amount of natural murderous talent, no penchant for sleight of hand, no vicious tongue, could ever hope to sway the sea.
Hours pass before the door opens again. I stand, and scowl, expecting Rune to have returned to fulfil his promise of water, but the footsteps are light, and it’s a kid that makes his way down, carrying a steaming plate of no-way-in-hell-am-I-going-to-eat-that.
His brown hair is short and shaggy. His collared shirt is buttoned to the top, but lightly wrinkled around the forearms like he’s constantly pulling up the sleeves.
There’s a thin ring in his lip and a single skeleton hand earring that bobs around as he descends.
I expect hostile silence, but before his foot hits the bottom step, he’s talking faster than anyone I’ve met in my entire life—
“Hey! I’m Bear, well they call me Bear, but my name’s actually Otto but you can call me Bear or whatever.
I brought dinner!” The earring waves as he sets the polished plate on the chair in the corner and brandishes a wooden bowl that was tucked under his elbow.
“Rune said you were hungry but you wouldn't be nice to me, but I told him I don’t need niceness I just need to feed every person on my crew and he said you weren’t part of the crew but I said that you’re on our ship which means I’m your chef so that means you’re part of my crew, does that make sense? ”
“Um, no—?” I answer, unsettled by the sheer exuberance. He scrapes half the plate of food into the bowl as he speaks, then stabs the only fork I can see into the middle and passes it through the bars, not waiting to see if I take it before laying it on the floor.
“Yeah that’s what Rune said, well actually Rune said ‘hell no that doesn’t make sense, Otto.
’ Sometimes he calls me Otto when he’s mad, anyways, and then he pulled me aside and said you were a Viper—“His voice catches on the word as he talks down at the half-full plate in his hands, but it’s there and gone as he plows on—“a Viper pirate and that he could bring you food later and at first that seemed like a fine idea but he’s been in his quarters with Elio and Tavi for ages and I just knew you were down here wondering why the chef of The Gilded Hart would let a prisoner starve when our whole goal is to cash in on the bounty we get from turning you in to whoever is ready to pay the highest.”
He sits and plucks a section of what appears to be . . . egg? from his plate and pops it in his mouth. The return of silence is a shock, and I ask the only question that he hasn’t already answered.
“. . . and how old are you?”
He bobs his head and then pinches more egg into his mouth, tipping his head back to drop it in. “I’m seventeen earlier this spring, you?”
I stare at him, wondering why they’d involve someone so young in their hunting. He stares back with bright blue eyes, like he truly believes I’m capable of civil conversation. Rather than answer, I let my attention fall to the food. It smells incredible, and my body is begging me to take the risk.
He sees my hesitation and leaps to explain. “It’s rehydrated duragan meat, redfin, and quail eggs. The meat’s chewy but I did my best. Watch out for the bones though. They leave them on for flavour.”
The meat doesn’t appeal to me in the least. I’d rather starve. But my chains click as I finally reach for the bowl. The first forkful of redfin is well seasoned, better than I’ve ever had, and I can’t hide my surprise. “You cooked this?”
He beams. “Yeah. And raised the quail myself. They stay with us. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen one but they’re tiny.” He gestures to his plate. “They live off the ship scraps and leftovers. Their eggs are delicious, go on, try them!”
I’ve had little opportunity to try eggs.
The thought doesn’t disgust me as much as the idea of red meat, so I spear one of the smallish bits, trying to ignore his triumphant grin.
It’s creamier than I expected, and the yellow inside takes me by surprise.
The flavour isn’t offensive, though the textures will take getting used to. “It’s . . . good,” I say.
“I know right! Captain never eats em, he says they’re bad luck.”
“Your captain is superstitious?” Maybe I could use that against them, somehow. A lot of those who run the sea have their own versions of cautions and myths. Of what waits in storms and of the pendants one might use for protection.
The absence of my mother’s necklace washes over me all over again, like a phantom limb.
Bear doesn’t give me time to dwell, waving my question away. “Nah, Rune just hates eggs. Birds too. It makes sense if you think about it. Plus he and Elio really just prefer seafood in general.”
I try not to let on that the information intrigues me. Rune is their captain. Of course he is, with a sense of self-importance that large.
“Elio has taken a liking to venison though. You know, deer meat?”
He chatters on about rare vs medium rare and I nod, trying not to think about it too hard while I chew my eggs.
They’re getting progressively harder to swallow.
“Do you have water?” Rune never brought it, not that I expected better from him.
Men on the sea are all the same: selfish, ambitious, cutthroat—desperate for anyone to comment on how big their ship is.
“Oh sure! Let me take your bowl and I’ll bring some back down. The quail will love that duragan meat, if it’s not your preference.” He tips his head and plate back to scoop the rest of his food in his mouth and I tuck the fork under my foot as I stand, tipping my toe forward to hide it.
“No, thank you,” I say, the words foreign on my tongue. I set the bowl back through the bars and offer a tight-lipped smile.
He takes a moment to chew, then swallows before gathering the dishes. As he moves to leave, he freezes. “Sorry, I’m actually going to need that.”
I fake a look around and he points to my feet.
He stands by the bars, waiting, while I pick up the utensil and cock an eyebrow.
“Are you going to come in here and take it from me?”