Do they know I can't speak?
I tap the pen against the pad, thinking of all the horrible, nasty things I can write to the King. My face drops when I realize there is no real way to get my letter to him. I have no FaePhone, of course.
I could write something terrible to the captain of the ship. He was so rude to me earlier. I think about him, wondering what kind of man he is. I would like to know if I can conjure up the exact words that will make him feel as small and helpless as he made me feel today.
Just then, my door clicks open. I turn to yell at whoever it is, telling them to respect my damn privacy. All that comes out is air. My shoulders bunch up, and anger floods my frozen skin.
The irritation melts away when a pair of bright blue eyes, tanned skin, and beach-blonde hair greets me. I recognize this male from when I first got to the ship. He was talking to the captain. My first thought is that he looks like a surfer.
I can’t help when my lips tilt up. He smiles back, turning on what he must think is languid charm.
Oh, this is very good.
Ancient legends told to babies and small children claim my kind are murderers for our habit of entrancing sailors and drowning them in the sea. Perhaps I can revive the legends… after he helps me escape this place.
As much as I like my uncle, I don’t want to be monitored every second I am with him. I would much instead visit the Gates of Hell without my armed escorts.
“Sun is down,” the surfer drawls, “do you know what that means?”
My smile freezes in place, and I must fight the urge to roll my eyes. As sweetly as I can muster, I shake my head.
His smile grows wider. “So, it is true. You don’t speak.”
I don’t give him the courtesy of attempting to reply. Not that I can, but still.
After a few more moments of regarding me thoughtfully, he says, “Well, it means that it’s time for dinner. I trust you’ve unpacked all of your things, Madeline. Would you do me the honor? My name is Conrad, by the way.”
Conrad’s voice is like rancid oil, and it slides over my skin, but I play along. I fully intend to use him to my advantage. As soon as my hand slides into his, I walk upright as smoothly as possible. Like a newborn colt, I stumble down the hall and climb up the stairs to the mess hall.
When we arrive, I’m greeted by an incredibly pleasing scene. Large, thick windows overlook the sun setting over the sea. It’s stunning, and the soft, yellow lights that hang overhead bathe the wooden tables in a pleasing glow. The space looks more like a restaurant than a mess hall, even though there appear to be no other females on board. Small lights are embedded in the ceiling, providing a warm light.
Interesting. This boat is so fancy.
Most of the crew is crowded around a cluster of tables that have been unceremoniously shoved together. The captain sits at the head of the table. He’s wearing a black shirt unbuttoned a third of the way down his chest, revealing the soft, black curls that grow there. There is the barest hint of a swirling tattoo peeking out, and I’m struck by the oddest desire to find out what it is. One of his elbows is propped against his armrest, and his legs sprawl in front of him.
One of the other crew members is telling a story, and he watches with a critical expression. The punchline hits, and the room erupts in a roar of laughter. Men slap the table and throw their heads back as the bartender makes trips back and forth with flasks.
The captain doesn’t laugh but releases an amused exhale as his mouth quirks up into a smile.
Conrad notices me watching the captain and leans in to say, “He’s a bit of a bore, Captain Erik.”
Erik.I file the name away with the other information I’m learning and nod encouragingly to Conrad. Is it a first name? Surname? It’s hard to tell. Humans aren’t nearly as efficient at naming themselves.
We are already halfway through the room when Erik notices us. I can’t help but put an extra sway of my hips into my wobbly walk. His joyous expression blinks out like turning off a light.
A hush blankets the room as everyone turns to look at me. I wink at some of them.
“What is she doing here?” Erik asks. He’s scowling at me.
“You told me she needed to be fed,” Conrad says. “The food is here.” He is leading me to the other end of the table. I tilt my head playfully towards his shoulder, and Erik’s scowl turns into a sneer.
I feel completely at ease until I realize there are only two empty spaces. One is at the other end of the table, and the other is across from the sneering captain. Conrad seems important; he will likely take the space at the head of the table. I pray he does. I don’t want to sit across from the captain. My heart speeds up at the thought of having to make eye contact with that dark-haired man sporting a stick up his ass the whole evening. He’s made it clear he despises me.
My muscles relax a fraction of an inch when Conrad touches the chair at the end. Then my stomach drops when I realize he is just taking it out for me to sit. He gestures to the seat, “For our guest of honor.”
One of the men scoffs. I glance at his scrawny, wind-weathered face. A crisscross scar marks his left cheek. The captain clears his throat, a dangerous sound that sends shivers down my spine.
“Apologies, sir, but you know it is bad luck to have a female aboard,” the scrawny man leans across the table as if he can hide what he is saying.