Across the Darkling Sea Page 6

  “Trust me,” he mouthed at her.

  Ling summoned the most disdainful look she could manage and leveled it at Dreskin. Her mother could reduce men and women alike to quivering pudding with a single look, but apparently that skill had skipped a generation. Dreskin simply grinned back. Ling looked away, refusing to let him see her frustration or her fear.

  Dreskin motioned the crew back to their posts, and everyone scattered. He steered her up along one side of the boat to a large door at the rear of the vessel. Fraser slouched next to it, straightening as he saw Dreskin headed his way. He leered at Ling, but she ignored him, studying the rough wood of the door and trying not to think of the rough touch of his hands on her bare skin and the feel of his filthy cock pushing its way into her. She shuddered, unable to suppress the disgust she felt.

  Dreskin gave the door three sharp raps with his knuckles and waited. Ling heard a terse “Come” from the far side of the door, and then Dreskin was pushing her through. Fraser scooted in after her, planting himself just inside the dimly lit room. Dreskin closed the door tightly behind them.

  Ling kept her head low and turned slightly away as she examined the captain. Even though she already knew she didn’t know him, there was always a chance he would recognize her.

  The captain was a narrow man—so tall his head near brushed the ceiling and so thin she wondered he could even hold himself upright. She watched as he walked across the room, his gait rolling the way a wave rolls to shore, and settled himself at a small table, a shaded lantern attached to its top. The chair was average sized as far as she could tell, but the man was so tall his knees practically hit his chin when seated.

  She wanted to laugh at the sight, but his eyes pinned her throat closed. He had dusky skin, like hers, but eyes so deeply blue even the sky could get lost in them. They glinted in the lantern light in a way that made Ling think of the dagger teeth of an adder snake, glistening with poison.

  He was handsome but for the slash along the bottom half of his face that was his mouth. He had a cruel look about him, and Ling felt any hope she’d had of an easy punishment vanish. Her lungs ceased to function. Whatever mechanism kept her body warm came to a standstill as an icy serpent slithered in her guts. Her heart fluttered, and she wondered if a person could die from fear alone.

  I’m not a person.

  The thought haunted her in an entirely new way. She would not just survive the fear. She would live eternally within it.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Sir—” Ling stumbled forward as Dreskin nudged her, almost losing her footing and crashing to the deck.

  She righted herself and retreated from the light of the lantern, still keeping her face lowered as she glanced at Dreskin. His hazel eyes burned in the dim light, and he gave a brief shake of his head in command. She clenched her mouth closed.

  “Sir,” Dreskin said, stepping smoothly in front of Ling. “I expect you heard the ruckus. We’ve a stowaway. Fraser found her in the hold, and there was a bit of a row.”

  “Indeed.” The captain’s voice rumbled deeply in his chest, a sound she imagined a cave-in deep within a mountainside would emit. She could almost feel the vibration of it in her own chest. “What’d he do, Dreskin?”

  “He broke the agreement, sir. I saw it.”

  The captain shifted his eyes from Dreskin to Fraser, and Ling saw the man blanch to an impressive shade of white given his brown skin tone.

  “I didna—”

  “You did, Fraser,” Dreskin interrupted. “Bad enough you lied to me; don’t lie to him as well.”

  Fraser’s face shifted from pale to a deep red, and his eyes boiled with hatred as he stared at Dreskin. Ling didn’t doubt the man would stick a knife in Dreskin if ever afforded the chance.

  Dreskin’s face was impassive as he turned back to the captain. “His insubordination will be addressed as soon as we finish here.”

  Fraser held his tongue, though the rage in his features didn’t diminish. Ling shuddered. She’d picked this tub because the crew had been sloppy, the captain seemingly disinterested given their degree of incompetence. She wondered if she’d chosen poorly after all.

  “Who is she? A whore one of the boatsmyn snuck aboard?” the captain asked, his gaze shifting to stare now at her. His dark blue eyes were flat and unreadable. His cool, emotionless evaluation was far more terrifying than yelling and ranting would have been. She felt her hands shaking, and she clenched her teeth together to keep them from clacking against one another.

  “No, sir. A trader. No doubt running from her pa or running toward some beau who left her home while she or he sailed off to trade,” Dreskin answered.

  “Why are you on my boat, girl?” The deep rumble shifted to the sound of gravel rolling and rubbing against itself in a stone jar. The sound would be quite pleasant coming from someone with a kinder manner.

  Ling glanced at Dreskin. She wasn’t sure if the man expected an answer or if he had asked a rhetorical question. Dreskin gave a tight nod, and she cleared her throat, trying to loosen the wedge of fear that nested there.

  “I meant no harm, sir,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper and her eyes still lowered. “I need to get to Middelhaern. It’s too far to walk.”

  “A trader books passage. She doesn’t lurk in dark places aboard a boat that’s not hers.”

  “I am most sorry for that, Captain. I had no choice. I fled my father, just as Dreskin said. I...I didn’t plan well.”

  Witch had been generous, and Ling had plenty of coin to offer the man. Would he take it now, no questions asked? She doubted it. The crime had been committed, and he’d wonder how she’d come upon so much of it in the first place. No doubt he’d take it all from her as soon as he saw the weight of the pocket and then she’d be left with nothing.

  “Doubly a fool, then,” the captain said. “Flog her. Twenty counts. Then give her to the crew.” He shifted his gaze back toward her and looked down her body in a most intimate fashion. “You may not have been a whore when you snuck onto this boat, but you’ll certainly be one before you find your way back home.”

  Ling could not believe her ears. Prostitution was an honorable profession in Brielle. Those with red lacquered nails at the docks did honest work for honest pay. But they did so willingly. Forcing a person against their will...it just wasn’t done. Ever.

  She heard Fraser chuckling behind her, and she felt echoes of his rough hands on her, his brandy-soaked breath pressing against her face.

  “Please, sir. I have coin. Plenty of it.”

  “Who’re your parents, girl? What’ll they pay?”

  Ling felt Dreskin beside her, his body taught with tension, as she struggled with the question. The man would know her parents should she give their names, and then he’d know who she was. He’d know what she was. She had to find her own way out of this.

  “Answer him, whore!” Fraser shoved her from behind, and she stumbled to her knees inches away from where the captain sat. She jumped to her feet, trying to turn her face back into the shadows toward the back of the cabin, but it was too late. The man’s eyes opened wide in surprise.

  The silence stretched and as the seconds ticked by, Ling could feel the tension building in the room. Outside, a sharp growl of thunder echoed across a wide-open sky. Dreskin shifted nervously beside her. She longed to look at him, but she didn’t dare.

  The captain’s slashing mouth was open in an O of surprise she would have found comical in another situation. From the corner of her eye, she saw Fraser creep backward until his back pressed against the door to the cabin.

  The captain knew who she was, what she was. For the first time, she considered the risks her parents had taken in allowing her to stay among them as long as they had. The risks everyone in Meuse had taken by allowing it to happen. What was the punishment for harboring a creature of magic? She wondered if anyone still living knew.

  “The chancellor’s daughter...” The captain’s eyes narrowed to thin slits and he launche
d to his feet with impressive speed for a man his size. Behind her she heard Dreskin’s breath hiss in a sharp exhale.

  “Abomination!” The captain raised one hand, his finger pointing into the center of her chest. The accusation hit her like a physical blow, and she staggered under the weight of it. “She will destroy us all! Get her off this boat!”

  His eyes blazed in his face and spit sprayed from his mouth as he howled his order. Dreskin stared at her for the space of an instant, regret and a promise in his eyes. Fraser wrapped his arms about her chest, grasping her breasts tightly.

  “Try anythin’ an’ I’ll kill ye, ye betch. Feckin' magic!” His stench overwhelmed her as he began dragging her toward the door.

  She screamed, kicking out at Fraser. She only needed his focus to falter for an instant.

  “Be still, I’ll help...”

  Dreskin’s words were lost in a swelling tide of fear as he grabbed hold of her kicking feet and held her still. She fought, but the two men were strong. They lifted her bodily from the floor. Dreskin struggled to hold her gaze, but she kicked him away.

  The ship shuddered, and a crack of thunder split the world in half.

  The captain loomed large in her vision, his face twisted and purple, eyes wide as if they beheld his doom. She hoped fervently they did.

  Somewhere in the back of her mind she wondered what sort of person could harbor such hate for someone they’d never met. She’d hurt no one. Had done no wrong outside of sneaking aboard a boat for a free ride. How could someone hate a person so completely for what they were?

  Dreskin shoved Fraser aside, grabbling Ling under her arms. “Relax, relax!” Dreskin whispered in her ear. “Stop struggling!”

  But she couldn’t stop now even if she’d wanted to. She screamed again, and all three men flinched as another round of thunder shook the boat. The sky opened, and rain battered the thin timber roof of the captain’s cabin. The sound was deafening.

  “Get her off!” the captain bellowed, the whites of his eyes glowing in the dim light. “Get her OFF!”

  Fraser grabbed hold of her legs while Dreskin kept his arms wrapped around her torso. She struggled as the men wrestled her out of the cabin and into the raging storm. Fraser dropped her legs at the side of the boat and stepped back. Before her mind had fully registered that fact, he pulled his leg back and kicked her in the stomach. The captain joined in, his blows landing on her chin, her cheek, her collarbone. She sagged, Dreskin’s hold on her arms barely keeping her upright as he struggled to put his body between her and the two men. He heaved, lifting her up as he tried to tip her over the side.

  “Please, I’ll get you over. Just stop—” Blows rained down on them, and she felt him falter, her body hitting the deck as he fell to his knees beside her.

  She had no idea how long the beating went on. She sprawled like a rag doll, beyond trying to protect herself from the blows. She could hear Dreskin shouting, but had no idea what he was saying. The rain hammered them, pounding her into the deck. The lightning cracked, each flash showing snapshot images of fear-filled faces and raised fists. The deck hummed with the sound of running feet, and the air rang with screams and shouts of pain.

  She was lifted up once again, and it felt like bones were shifting and moving inside of her as Dreskin pulled her to her feet. “You’ll be safer out there, changeling,” he said gently. “Find me when this is done. I can help you.”

  And then he heaved her over the side. For a moment, she felt a sudden freedom as she hovered weightless, rain pattering against her as she floated in midair. Then she was falling. She hit the water face first, plunging deep into its depths. She felt a wave of relief as its coolness enveloped her.

  She found no respite there, though. The storm had whipped the river to a violent froth, and she was thrust and pulled about ruthlessly, scraped along the river’s bottom and slammed into rocks with unimaginable force. She wished for death, though she knew no respite would find her there, either. She called out to the man who’d made her, begging for him to put an end to her agony. She cried to her father, begging his forgiveness, though she knew not what for.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  She clutched at the two bags that hung across her chest, the grimoire and the money Witch had given her, and waited for it all to be over. The backpack had been yanked from her shoulders within minutes of her hitting the water.

  I will not die, I will not die, she chanted over and over, helpless before the power of the mighty Lisse River. It held her mercilessly in its grasp as it swept her along its watery path. She had no idea how long she spent in the river’s dark depths. Her only conscious thought focused on keeping hold of her book. Her memories. Without them, she would wander eternally, never remembering where or who she was from day to day.

  Eventually the river heaved her up onto a sandy beach. She lay there, eyes closed, breathing deeply through the pain of bones that felt broken and flesh that felt beaten, though anyone who looked at her would find her skin unmarked.

  Soaked, exhausted, and alone, she sobbed against the wet sand beneath her. Nothing in her life, in Evelyn’s life, had prepared her for this. She wanted to give up. To die, beaten and bruised, at the edge of the river. But a betraying voice rose up from somewhere inside. You can’t die, it said. Only magic can unmake you.

  “Get up, get up, get up!” she said aloud, rolling onto her back. Her clothing clung to her slight form. Her hand went to her chest, finding the coin pocket and book still there. She let her hand fall back and watched her breath steam into the last light of the day as the storm clouds thinned and vanished. An entire day had passed. She wondered where Laera and Hanner were. Had they come after her?

  If they had left immediately after the Scarlet had, they could be at the docks even now.

  A sour taste filled her mouth when she considered arriving at the docks of Middelhaern to find the two of them waiting for her.

  She cried, though no tears fell. She wanted to go home, but the truth beat at her as brutally as Fraser’s fists had. She had no home. There was nowhere for her to go but forward. All her choices had been made for her the moment Grag had uttered the words of his spell. Her fate was set. She’d never see Meuse or her parents again.

  From the corner of her eye, Ling saw a dark shadow jerking clumsily across the sand in the growing dark.

  She turned to see Fraser, pulling himself across the beach, his legs splayed uselessly behind him. In the failing light, she could see a dark path leading back along the route he’d taken, a large pool of darkness where his body must have settled, bleeding, after the storm. She could just make out his eyes, glazed and red, and fixed so intently on something ahead of him, he hadn’t even seen her lying there.

  She climbed to her feet and scanned her surroundings. She could see city lights far across the expanse of beach. The river had carried them the last miles to Middelhaern, tossing them aside just before it spent itself in the sea. She hadn’t needed to swim that last distance after all.

  She followed Fraser. His body was obviously failing, and a grim satisfaction spread through her like the warm afterglow from a swig of firewater. She saw the glint of a blade clasped in one of his hands. Above the sound of the crashing surf, she could hear the harsh gasping of his breath, an odd wheezing sound like a blacksmith’s bellow might make had it been rent in some terrible accident.

  All around them lay the shattered remains of the Scarlet Float. Long hanks of rope, the crushed remains of shipping boxes, splintered lengths of the boat’s hull, and bits and pieces of the crew were scattered on the sand. Ling grinned. The Scarlet Float had not just sunk. It had been thoroughly demolished by the storm.

  Fraser was no threat to her, but his single-mindedness made her curious, so she made her way toward the target of his regard. She found Dreskin lying facedown in the sand, blood leaking from a long gash on his head, his left leg clearly broken. He was unconscious and breathing shallowly, making Ling wonder at broken ribs as well. Fraser intended to kill D
reskin where he lay, unable to defend himself.

  She watched the blood seep out of Dreskin’s head and told herself to leave him, to leave all of them. She owed them no favors after what they’d done to her. But her mind kept throwing up images of Dreskin helping her hide, stopping Fraser’s attack, and deflecting some of the blows with his own body as he tried to help her escape the Scarlet.

  Fraser pulled closer. What did she care for these men? She hoped all the others had drowned in the deep darkness of the Lisse River after watching their livelihood sink into the murky depths, and only after being brutally beaten by the storm and the disintegrating boat. As far as she was concerned, they’d earned every blow that struck their cursed skins.

  But Dreskin had been different. He’d tried to help her—had helped her. Like Witch had. She’d been unable to help Witch in return, but she could help Dreskin. She couldn’t let Fraser take Dreskin’s life. Not while he lay unconscious, unable to lift a finger in his own defense.

  Ling walked the short distance back toward Fraser and stopped in front of him, arms crossed tightly across her narrow frame. He was so focused on his murderous quest he didn’t see her until he physically ran into her. It took several breaths for his eyes to focus on her and several more for him to recognize her.

  “You...” he panted, “...betch.” His voice was weak, little more than a breath, really, but she heard it clearly enough.

  “Call me what you will, you disgusting slug, but you may as well stick yourself with that thing if you’re so intent on stabbing someone. You’ll get no closer to Dreskin.”

  It took several long seconds for her words to sink in, and when they did, Fraser’s face sunk in on itself. His face wrinkled up as he began to weep, wheezing horribly with each breath. He’d been impaled with something, and though no trace of what it might have been remained, large globules of blood rolled out of him with every sob. “No right...” he mumbled. “My vengeance.”