Hettie and I spend the entire next day cramped inside the cabin. My only respite is when Aris stops by after a shift keeping an eye on Brus and the other sailors.
We pass the time playing Seascapes on an old board I found in Royce’s cabin.
I used to love playing with my father. We’d race to maneuver some of our little carved ships along our respective sides so the other couldn’t invade before sending the rest out to battle across the board. When I was younger, I always used to focus solely on defending my coast. Only under my father’s coaching did I finally learn enough strategy to fight my way to a win.
Aris wins the first three times we play. He always seems to know just when to move a ship to avoid an attack or when to shoot his across the board to attack mine. His strategies always change from game to game. I can never tell when he’ll attack and when he’ll race back to guard one of his ports.
Each game leaves me breathless as I inevitably race to keep my last ship from his grasp long after I already know I’ve lost.
I smile up at him each time we collect our pieces after a finished game. Watching him play reminds me of watching Uncle Pheus play against my father when I was a child. No wonder Uncle Pheus likes Aris so much. They’re both able to see in advance how one move could affect all the other pieces.
Even Hettie, who used to play far more often with her father, only comes close to beating Aris once. And I love that he doesn’t let me win. He challenges me, forces me to think like him in order to stay alive.
When we tire of Seascapes, Aris distracts me by telling me tales from his travels.
He tells me about the time he was nearly trampled by camels in Kalakhosia but was nursed back to health by the sultan’s daughter. He recounts how he climbed to the top of the Iglanic Volcano by himself simply because the locals didn’t think a foreigner could. He tells me about the time he dug for diamonds in Lutina and found one nearly as big as his thumbnail, but his companions attacked him in his sleep, stealing it. He was lucky to make it out alive.
That’s how most of his stories end, with him being lucky to be alive. And I love them. They remind me of how much living a person can do outside the walls of the palace. It’s like having one of my storybooks come to life in front of me, but all too soon Aris rises from his chair and says he better give Royce an update on the gold’s direction.
After Aris leaves, the only other person brave enough to venture down to our cabin is Rhat. Or more precisely, he’s the only one allowed after Phipps and Thipps got in a fight about who could bring us breakfast this morning because they both wanted to see if I turned into a golden statue in my sleep.
When Rhat brings dinner, he makes a big show of placing Hettie’s right in front of her at the desk. If I’m not mistaken, the pile of peas and hard roll are meant to be the eyes on a face completed by a thin strip of salted pork acting as the mouth.
I glance at my plate. The peas have rolled all over the place.
Hettie doesn’t even look up from the piece of rope she pulled from who knows where. She’s been trying for the last hour to imitate the spiraled knot already tied into the top portion.
“I also brought you this,” Rhat says in an attempt to gain her attention. He slaps a pickle onto Hettie’s plate. I’m not sure if it’s meant to be a nose or if that was the only open spot. Green juice oozes out and begins to stain the bottom of the roll.
Hettie drops the rope. “Now it’s ruined the bread.” She shoves the plate away.
I suppress a groan.
Rhat shoves the plate back. “No, it makes it taste better. Trust me, you won’t want honey anymore after dipping it in pickle juice.”
Hettie’s mouth hangs open in disgust.
“See.” Rhat breaks off a chunk and shoves it into her gaping mouth before she can protest. She smacks it around a few times looking for something to spit it out in. The more she smacks, the less agitated her face looks. Her cheeks relax, and she actually swallows.
I take a bite of my own roll. It’s a little bland, but palatable.
Rhat beams at Hettie. “I knew you’d like it.”
“I didn’t say I liked it,” Hettie snaps.
“You didn’t spit it out,” he supplies.
“I didn’t want to be rude.” Hettie turns up her nose but takes another bite.
Rhat smiles knowingly. “I could teach you how to tie that rope too, if you wanted.”
Hettie takes another bite out of her roll and looks Rhat up and down. He’s certainly a far cry from the men who frequent the palace, but Hettie seems desperate for any attention. She tosses the rope toward him. “Fine.”
Rhat spends the next hour guiding Hettie’s hands through twists and turns to make different knots with the rope, all the while regaling her with stories about his home island. I can’t tell what he’s making up to impress her and what’s actually true. For her part, Hettie is eating it all up faster than the food she’d stuffed down. Once she tires of the knots, she sits with her elbows on the desk and her chin in her hands. She asks him question after question about every island he’s seen.
It’s only when the ship pitches further to the side and her empty plate clatters to the floor that Rhat rises. “Looks like we’re in for a bit of rough weather.”
Hettie pulls back from the table and her hand goes to her stomach. “How rough?”
I can tell she’s already worried about dinner making a reappearance after she’d barely gotten over her seasickness.
“Just a storm,” Rhat says. “It’s nothing this old ship can’t handle, but I should probably go help fasten down the sails. Is there anything else you need?”
Hettie sits back in her chair. “I could use some water.”
Rhat leaps to obey.
In fact, though the ship continues to tilt more and more to each side, he spends the next ten minutes going back and forth fetching things for Hettie: another pickle, a softer pillow, a blanket that doesn’t scratch so much. Each time he arrives with a bright smile on his face like he’s returned triumphant from some dangerous quest.
“Anything else?” he asks again after arriving with a pair of warm socks, since Hettie didn’t bring any. I bite my tongue before I can blurt out that, technically, she didn’t bring anything.
“No,” Hettie says. “Thank you,” she adds, and I nearly choke.
Hettie being polite? That’s something you don’t see every day.
“My room’s just down the hall if you need anything,” Rhat replies, “but I wouldn’t recommend leaving the cabin with that storm rolling in.” He strolls backward toward the door, nearly tripping over the edge of my trunk. He recovers nicely, his face showing the barest hint of a blush.
I decide I like him. Anyone who can put up with Hettie must have a kind spirit. Though I don’t know what that says about me.
“Good night then,” he says, closing the door behind him.
I notice Hettie staring at the door a moment longer than necessary. She catches me watching her and glares at me. Without a word, she climbs over me and takes the side of the bed next to the wall.
Great. Now if someone’s going to roll out of bed, it’s going to be me. And that’s if Hettie doesn’t kick me out of it first.
But the storm has me too unsettled to sleep, so once I hear Hettie’s breathing settle, I pull out Aris’s journal again.
How are you supposed to overcome a curse that isn’t yours? Does it taint me as I stand here? Will I be the same as my father? Is it already too late? Are all sons destined to repeat their father’s mistakes?
I’ve put out to sea in the hope I can avoid it. I don’t need the manor life anymore. My mother can’t stand the sight of me. I remind her too much of my father. It’s my eyes, she says. If only I didn’t have his eyes.
Now that I am away, I’ve found the sea has given me respite. Its waves crash endlessly against the hull. They’re the only thing that helps me sleep, that chases the nightmares away.
I cross from ocean to ocean and back again just to keep those nightmares away. Every time I sleep on land, the dreams come back.
On the darker nights, I set a course for Lagonia, toward the only person who might understand. But if she’s been locked away, she’s probably no better off than me.
And yet I still fight the urge every time we near that coast to pull in and march up to the palace and demand to see her for myself.
Maybe she’s found a way to keep the nightmares away permanently. Maybe she’s found a way to overcome it all.
Hettie rolls over, knocking into me. I quickly close the journal and shove it under my pillow. Thankfully, Hettie doesn’t wake, and I blow out the candle and snuggle down farther beneath the covers, reveling in the fact that Aris has been thinking about me. He doesn’t see me as a curse, but as someone strong enough to help him.
Though the moment my head hits the pillow, thoughts of Aris are replaced with Captain Skulls. If I close my eyes, will I see him in my dreams again? My stomach churns. I’d slept fitfully last night, nightmares waking me more often than they had at the palace.
Above my head, rain pelts the window. Tendrils of wind scrape across the glass looking for a way in. The ship pitches, causing Hettie to roll back into me, but I’m glad she’s here for once. Constantly shoving her back to her side of the bed keeps me awake.
The books on the shelf whisper back and forth.
The ship dips again and Hettie crashes full force against me. The blow sends me spiraling off the edge of the bed, and I land on the wood with a thump. Hettie doesn’t even wake up. She rolls back to her side as the ship tilts in the opposite direction.
When I make it to my feet, lightning illuminates her sleeping form. In the few moments of my absence, she’s taken over the bed, lying spread-eagle in the middle. I sigh and contemplate shoving her once more. But I’m too tired for that fight.
And if I wake her up, I’ll never hear the end of it tomorrow.
I decide air is what I need after being stuck in the stuffy cabin all day. I know Rhat said not to leave the cabin, but nothing too bad can happen if I only step outside our door.
I slip into the darkened hallway. Either the lanterns haven’t been lit or the bursts of wind let in by sailors going in and out to the deck have extinguished them. I decide it’s the second reason when the ship jolts, causing a small puddle of water to trickle over my feet.
At least it’s cool here. And quiet. I relax against the wall.
I rub my side, where Hettie’s already kicked me twice. There’ll be bruises in the morning. They’ll probably be as deep purple-gold as the circles under my eyes will be if I don’t find a way to sleep.
I rub my neck.
The water running over my feet has gone from comforting to cold. I’m about to head back into the room and force Hettie to move when I notice a light down the hallway and hear hushed voices.
I can only imagine they’re talking about me. What else on this ship is worth talking about in the dark in the middle of the night?
I creep closer to the shaft of light, careful to spread my weight out so any sharp dips don’t send me crashing into the wall and give away my presence.
The hallway on the other side of the door is darker than where I’m standing. It’d be easier to hide in, but I can’t risk darting past the door.
I stay well back from the door and peer forward. I can only make out the back of one of the men inside. It’s Rhat. I can tell by his hair.
I relax. I bet he’s mooning over Hettie. That I don’t need to hear. I almost turn back, but Royce’s voice freezes me in place.
“. . . part of the plan all along.”
I catch sight of his hands through the crack in the door. He’s weighing a coin in his hand. A gold coin. It must be what he was rubbing between his fingers when I first saw him.
“Get her out of the palace and see what she can do.”
“It’s so risky,” Rhat replies. “You don’t know why she was locked up. Killing her would be the easier option.”
My heart stops.
“Unless the rumors are true,” Royce says. He tosses the coin back and forth between his palms as he continues. “The princess would be worth more alive then.”
I clench my hand over my mouth to stifle a gasp. My shoulder knocks against the wall as the ship drops beneath me.
The coin stills in Royce’s hands. Rhat turns his head halfway toward the noise, but stops when he hears nothing more.
I’m surprised he can’t hear my heart thudding against my ribs. It’s all I can hear. I don’t know how much longer it has left to beat. Not long if Royce decides I’m not worth keeping alive.
I scan the hallway. Not only is it too dark to see the doorways that line it, but I don’t know which one is Aris’s. I can’t risk barging in on another group of sailors, of Royce’s men.
I fight the urge to flee to my room, but this isn’t a dream. The danger won’t disappear come morning. I quiet my breathing. If I’m going to figure a way out of this, then I’ll need to know what they’re planning.
I’ve missed part of the conversation.
“There’s always ransom,” Rhat says almost gleefully.
Royce scoffs. “There hasn’t been money in years.” He moves some heavy object I can’t see.
Would Uncle Pheus even pay the ransom if we did have it? He can’t. As much as he may care for me, I’m no use to anyone there.
“What do we do with Aris? We can’t risk him getting back to Lagonia.” Rhat pauses. “I know he was your friend once.”
“Was,” Royce replies. It’s the most chilling word I’ve ever heard. “All that’s left are the usual choices.”
Somewhere to my left, a floorboard creaks. My head snaps in that direction, but it’s impossible to see anything in the dark.
I’m not the only one who heard it. Once again, Rhat’s head cocks toward the door. One more sound and I know he’ll come out to investigate.
I hold my breath.
Silence.
The conversation continues.
“Murder or being marooned on an island?” Rhat shakes his head. “That’s not much of a choice.”
“He didn’t leave us a choice once he brought her aboard, but we’ll deal with that when he becomes a problem. I want to figure out how he’s . . .”
Creak.
This time the noise is too loud to be ignored.
Inside the room, chairs screech across the floor, and then I’m running. Heavy footfalls pound after me.
I take off down the corridor and blindly race toward my room, praying the darkness conceals me. But with my skin glistening ever so softly, I know I’m visible to whoever’s behind me.
The ship heaves, and I crash into the wall. The railing digs into my back. As the ship rolls back to the other side, I’m thrown again. I wind up on my knees with water seeping through my nightgown.
The footfalls grow closer. My heart feels like it might beat out of my chest.
I stumble toward my door and throw it open, rushing inside. Half woken by the noise, Hettie snorts and rolls over.
I ignore her, heaving my weight against the door and sliding the bolt into place. The wood bites into my palms braced against it.
One set of footsteps goes past my room.
Another stops outside.
I hold my breath.
The boots scuff closer. I close my eyes, willing my heart to slow down.
Finally, the shoes scrape back the way they came.
I exhale. I lean back against the wood. My head throbs, and it won’t be long until the bruises I acquired tripping down the hall do the same.