My hand flies to my head. Indeed several strands have been cut. “What are you doing? I’ll kill you for that.”
“It’s best to leave the lass alone, Enwen,” another man says. It’s Kearan. “Has a thing about people touching her.”
“It needed to be done,” Enwen says. “I tell you, red hair’s good luck. Keeps you from getting diseased an’ all.”
I recognize now that Enwen is the tall man who helped carry my things down yesterday.
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard,” Kearan says. “I hope you get sick tomorrow. You need to set your head right.”
“You just wait. Next time a plague hits, I’ll be strokin’ this hair while you all will be coughin’ and dyin' and such.”
“I need a drink.”
“Nah, Kearan. It’s too early for that.”
“If I’m to survive the day, I’ll need to start early.” He pulls out his flask from one of his pockets.
“What is this?” I ask as I stand and stretch out my neck. I can feel a couple of cricks in it. And I smell worse than I did yesterday. Blasted floor.
“We’re your guards, Miss Alosa,” Enwen says. “First mate says it’s wise to have someone watching over you at all times.”
I eye Kearan. “And I take it that neither of you volunteered.”
“That’s the truth of it,” Kearan says.
“Oh, I was happy to do it,” Enwen says. “Ever since I saw you yesterday, I’ve been wantin’ to get my hands on that hair of yours. Very rare, it is.”
“I can assure you, it has no magical properties,” I say, angrily fiddling with the patch of hair that is now shorter than the others.
“Not magical,” Enwen says. “Just good luck.”
“I get sick as often as any other person.”
“What?”
“You said red hair wards off disease. I’ve got a whole head of it, yet I get sick.”
“Oh.” Enwen looks troubled for a moment. He hunches over my lock of hair, staring at it. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t work on you because it’s your own hair. It’s got to be taken from someone else for the luck to work.”
“So if I steal it back from you, will it work for me?” I say sarcastically.
Kearan laughs, choking on the rum in his mouth. A few drops fall to the floor as he coughs. He sighs. “Bloody waste, that.”
I sit on my chair, all too aware of the grime and slime that coat everything in the cell, including me. I need to change, and I need some water to clean myself off. I’m about to ask for the latter, when I hear someone coming over.
It’s Riden, of course. He carries with him a tray of food and a dangerous smile. At the sight, I feel my stomach growl. I’m fairly certain that’s a response to the food and not the smile.
“Enwen, Kearan, you’re relieved while I question the prisoner. But you will return to this post once I’m done.”
“Aye, Master Riden,” Enwen says. Kearan nods, looking bored. The two leave.
“Hungry?” Riden asks.
“Starving.”
“Good. I managed to swipe you some eggs.” Riden unlocks the cell and puts the tray on my table, keeping a close eye on my legs. I’m certain that’s because he’s wary of me kicking and not because he simply wants to stare. He shuts me back in, standing safely on the other side of the bars.
I start eating at once, cracking the boiled eggs and adding a bit of salt before chewing. I wash each one down with some water from the cup on the tray.
Riden seems to be in high spirits once again. It appears that there are no hard feelings for last night.
“So, what’s it to be today?” I ask. “More talk of my father?”
“Yes.”
“Hoping I’ll unintentionally reveal where the keep is? You’re wasting your breath.”
“What you unintentionally reveal is up to you. What I wish to discuss is your father’s reputation.”
“Whatever you’ve heard, it’s probably all true.”
“Nevertheless, let’s discuss it anyway.”
“I want some water,” I say, wiping at a spot of dirt on my arm.
“I’ll refill your glass when we’re done.”
“No, I want a bucket for washing. And a rag. And soap.”
“Don’t you think that’s asking a bit much for a prisoner?”
“And,” I say, practically singing the word, “I want a new one of each every week.”
He scoffs at first. Then he thinks it over. “We’ll see how our conversation goes today. If I like what I hear, I’ll make the proper arrangements.”
I cross my legs and lean back in the chair. “Fine. Let’s talk.”
Riden pulls a chair out and sits. He’s wearing a hat today. A tricorne with no feather. His hair is bound at the nape of his neck. His shirt and breeches fit nicely. White on top, black on bottom.
“I’ve heard rumors of Kalligan’s dangerous deeds. He’s said to be able to take on twenty men at once in battle. He’s traveled every inch of the sea, fought off all manner of sea demons, including a shark, which he fought underwater with his bare hands. He makes deals with the devil and encourages evil in others.”
“So far, you’re not wrong,” I say.
“He’s even said to be the only man to survive an encounter with a siren.”
I snort at that.
“He even bedded her,” Riden continues. “Used the creature’s own tricks against her. Now it sounds to me like our dear king is, at best, a manipulator and a wild storyteller. Perhaps he’s not as honest as his new laws demand.”
“He can hardly help what other people say about him.”
“And what would you say about him?”
“He’s my father. What more needs to be said?”
“There are different kinds of fathers. Those who love unconditionally, those who love on condition, and those who never love at all. Which would you say he is?”
For the first time, I feel Riden touching at something I’d rather leave alone. “I hardly see how this line of conversation is helpful to you.”
“Hmm. You’re deflecting the question. On condition it must be. For if he never loved you, you wouldn’t hold him in such high regard. So tell me, Alosa. What sorts of things have you had to do to earn your father’s love?”
“The usual. Cheat. Steal. Kill.” I throw each response out offhandedly. I hope he doesn’t detect the distress I feel.
“He’s turned you into something. Trained you to become something no woman should ever have to be. You—”
“I am what I choose to be. You speak ignorantly. I think we’re done talking.”
Riden stands, comes close to the bars. Then, thinking better of it, he backs out of my reach. “I meant no insult, Alosa. Consider yourself lucky. It is better to have a little love than it is to have a father who never loved you at all.”