My power slips away the more I sing. It feels similar to the way hunger creeps up on a person between meals, leaving them small and empty. It’s infuriating how fleeting my abilities are.
When he returns once more to his senses, Vordan says, “You killed every man I had at the inn with me. For all I know, you killed the little boy who gave you up, too.”
I didn’t. I don’t slaughter children. Especially when they have no fault save choosing the wrong man to accept food from. But I remain silent. Let Vordan think I’m so cruel.
“And now you know about all of the rest. You’ve taken everything. When you and I could have been so great together.”
“No, Vordan. I could have made you great. You are not the sort of man who could ever achieve greatness on his own. You are ordinary, and you’ve accomplished nothing.”
He laughs, a quiet sound meant for himself as he rakes his fingers through his hair.
“You’re right,” he says at last. “I have only one card left to play, Alosa. A bit of information to exchange for my life.”
“There is nothing you know that I want.”
“Not even if it’s a secret your father keeps from you?”
I keep my face still, refusing to react to anything he says. He has nothing left but lies now.
“I overheard many conversations between you and Riden back on the Night Farer,” he continues, smirking in Riden’s direction. “Do you remember the talk the two of you had about secrets? You were trying so desperately to learn where Jeskor had hidden the map, preying on Riden for any information he might have. You even told him some lie about hidden floorboards in your father’s rooms where he keeps secret information. As if by telling him something of your father, he might tell you something of his.”
Vordan smiles at the memory, and I can’t believe I hadn’t noticed him sneaking about more.
“But you and I both know,” Vordan says, “that your father has a secret study in his keep.”
Yes, I do know. It’s my father’s private room. The one place in the keep where only he is permitted to enter. I spent much of my childhood trying to find a way in, curiosity getting the better of me, and suffered dearly for it.
Vordan says, “I sent my best spy at the keep inside, Alosa. Would you like to know what he found?”
I open my mouth to tell him no. Lies will not get him anywhere. He cannot manipulate me. Not anymore. I am not his prisoner. He has not won this time.
But none of that comes out. Instead, I ask, “What?”
A grin takes over his face, and I get the urge to punch him. That physical manifestation of him thinking he’s gotten the upper hand on me.
“Will you free me if I tell you?”
“I can get it out of you with my powers or without them, Vordan. Your choice.”
He grits his teeth. “Fine, but don’t you forget it was I who found out for you.”
I’m about to open my mouth and start singing, but he cuts me off.
“Have you not always found it odd that your father is unaffected by your abilities? Do you know why?”
“Because his blood runs through my veins. That connection protects him.”
“Is that what he told you?”
“It’s the truth,” I bite out through clenched teeth.
“Wrong.” Vordan seems to savor the word as it leaves his lips. “He found something on that island where he met your mother. A weapon. A device that protects him from the sirens. A device that lets him control them, should he find them again. A device that lets him control you. He’s been manipulating you since you were born.”
His words are ludicrous. I’ve been defying my father since I learned to control my own limbs. I don’t always listen. That’s why my whole body is covered in scars.
As if sensing my doubt, Vordan adds, “Think about it. Think about all he’s done to you. The way he’s beaten you. Tortured you. The way he hurt you just to prove a point. He’s been crueler to you than any other person alive, and yet you still serve him. You always go back to him. You always, ultimately, carry out his orders. Does that sound like something you would willingly do? You may try to rationalize it, Alosa. He’s your father. He’s only ever tried to make you strong. To make you a survivor. But do those sound like your own thoughts in your head? Or his thoughts bringing you back to him yet again?”
My blood turns cold. Air vanishes, and my vision blurs. No. It can’t be.
“You’re lying,” I snap once I find my voice.
“Am I?” he asks. “See for yourself.”
I do. I call forth a song so swept up in emotion, I can hardly breathe out the notes. But even as I listen to Vordan’s truthful response, his story doesn’t change. He’s telling the truth. Or at least what he believes is the truth.
His spy is deceiving him.
He has to be wrong.
I flee from the brig, needing space from the two men within more than I’ve needed anything.
*
I wish I had simply killed Vordan and not bothered to question him. His words follow me wherever I go.
He’s been manipulating you since you were born.
I cannot doubt my father over one sentence spoken by his enemy. I won’t.
And yet I cannot forget the words. Because they did not change even when I used the power of my voice to demand the truth from him. There is an uncomfortable tightness in my gut that I must ignore. Because if I were to examine it, to admit what the name of that feeling is—it could ruin everything I know. Everything I’ve worked for my whole life.
So I suffer silently, not daring to pull out that doubt and investigate it.
Journeying back to the keep will take a month. That should be plenty of time for the sensation to be extinguished. For me to remember exactly where my loyalties lie.
I tamp down those needling thoughts as I push myself through the rest of the day. I’d forgotten entirely about the promise I made to Roslyn about having a celebration, but it would seem Roslyn took matters into her own hands, because the revelry starts without my having to say so.
Out on the main deck, Haeli, one of my riggers, pulls out a lute and begins playing a jaunty tune. Lotiya and Deshel dance together, arm in arm. Other girls clap along or join in the dancing. Wallov and Deros take turns twirling the girls about. Enwen soon joins the fun, but Kearan sits alone in the corner with his drink.
Roslyn, noticing this, takes a break from the dancing and tiptoes over to him.
“What do you want?” Kearan asks.
I can tell by the way she tips her head that she’s surprised he heard her. “I watch you from above sometimes. You pull out that flask a lot. Does rum really taste so good?”
Kearan turns to her then with strangely sober eyes. “Doesn’t need to taste good. Only needs to be strong.”
“Can I try some?”
Kearan shrugs and offers the flask. Before I can step forward, Sorinda is there, yanking the flask from his grasp. She upends it on his head.
Kearan sputters, “Damn it, woman! Do you delight in anything other than soaking me?”
“Idiot,” she says. “You don’t give drink to a child.”
“I wasn’t going to! As soon as it was near her nose she would have handed it back.”
“You couldn’t have known that.”
“You can’t stand to come within five feet of me because the drink is so strong.”