No one will talk to me. Everyone left when I got here.
The lines around his eyes deepen as he squints slightly while reading the sloppy script. I scribble a hasty “Erik did this” underneath. His eyes widen with understanding. He looks back at me.
“Maddie, I think you’ll find that you did that all on your own,” he says. His voice is gentle, but my nostrils flare. “Love, simmer down. First, everyone is heading upstairs for our weekly PT. Next, think about it for a second: where did you spend the night?”
The cold shock of realization settles in. I stayed inhisroom last night. And everyone knows. News travels on this ship faster than I had ever imagined.
My face flushes, and I tilt my head down to cover myself with my hands. I hadn’t considered the consequences of staying with him in his room. Honestly, I was just so grateful to get out of my damned room and away from those nightmares, consequences be damned.
“One of the crew saw you go to his room last night,” the cook continues quietly. “It's been all anyone can talk about this morning. They don’t trust you.”
A silent huff escapes me.
Gods, that makes horrible, terrible sense.
Of course, they are afraid of me. The crew is terrified of him, and now they think we are sleeping together. I let out a loud breath and look up to see that Jean Luc has crossed around the bar. He places his hand around my shoulders and pats lightly. It’s a comforting gesture and one I’m not used to.
“This trip will be over soon enough. We don’t have much more than a week before our estimated arrival in the Gates of Hell.” Jean Luc’s familiar, lilting accent comforts me.
He has become a friend.
But I don't want to hide away anymore. I don't want to be written off as the captain’s lover… or whore.
In two clumsy movements, I grab the paper and write:
I need to do something to fix this, and I need your help.
He eyes the note and then looks at me warily. “What do you mean?”
The corner of my mouth curls despite my roiling stomach. Clutching the pen, I start writing.
* * *
Humans tendto do one of two things in Aranthium; they either worship at the feet of other races, clinging to them for their wealth and power, or hide out. The world is dotted with human settlements where they do gods-know-what. Since coming aboard this ship and reading that same book from the mysterious crew member, Henry, I have learned they have book presses.
The only thing that the Northern Courts care about is that these groups of humans hate us. In the centuries past, there had been a joint effort to weed these little hate-filled groups out and exterminate them. New treaties imposed upon the world have made that illegal.
This was when the Northern Courts separated their government from the rest of the world, built a wall, and took matters into their own hands.
As far as I know, there are no more humans to speak of in the North. Either that, or they have gotten better at hiding.
Living with Erik's crew has been an almost anthropological experience for me. The most unsettling discovery is that humans can crave pain and revenge to the same degree as the Ice Mer.
While they laugh at my jokes and tolerate my presence, it is easy to see that not all of them welcome me into their ranks. And now they think I slept with their captain. I’m sure my presence in Erik’s room only confirmed the suspicions that several had the moment I stepped onto this ship.
Today, I will show them what I am capable of. I will use these gods-forsaken legs to carry me to victory. The weeks of strength training in my room will pay off; I will demonstrate how easily I can dismember them limb from limb.
Erik locked himself in his office early this morning. Jean Luc told me he had informed the captain that today would be the crew's weekly PT.
Now, on the flat surface of the deck, I stand barefoot. I’m grateful that some sort of artificial plastic coats the deck instead of wooden planks. It’s amusing, really. Such a modern ship for such a dastardly pirate.
Pant legs and sleeves have been cut off my clothes to create acceptable fighting attire. The men already have their own exercise clothes. The smell of warm Lycra mingles with the salt of the sea.
The sun shines overhead with burning ferocity.
A makeshift fighting ring is marked by the crates, and the ship's railing isn’t far away. The thrill of such a dangerous setting crackles in my bones like lightning. I am already in the ring, ready to begin.
The rest of the crew listens to Jean Luc’s instructions. Some eye me warily; others watch me with scowls or an unspoken hunger.