Her hands are around my wrists before I have a chance to scrabble for the capsule. “Don’t you dare,” she growls, twisting my arms behind my back. “Captain wants you.”
I glance up to find a tall, slim boy in the doorway who’s holding a pistol, horror written over his features. His eyes flick to where the pill landed, then back to my face. There’s a tattoo etched across his cheekbone, but in the dim light of the closet, I can’t figure out what it is.
“Varma, give me a hand here,” the girl says as she attempts to wrestle me to my feet.
I keep my legs limp. I’ve blown my chance at ending my life—the least I can do is make it as hard as possible for the pirates to get what they want from me.
Varma loops one lanky arm around my waist and lifts. “C’mon, shoregirl. On your feet,” he urges.
I twist my head to face the girl holding my wrists, a snarl rising in the back of my throat. She winches her grip tighter, as if daring me to say something. “Have some dignity,” she hisses.
“What’s the deal with your hair?” I spit back.
It’s the last thing she expected. I savor the look of utter confusion that flickers across her face. “What do you mean, what’s the deal with my hair? ”
“Watch it, Swift,” the guy warns.
I hang my head, speaking through my teeth. “Did you get bored one day and hack half of it off? You look like you’ve had a close call with a weed whacker.”
Swift releases one of my wrists and grabs me by the hair. Guess I’ve hit a sore spot. She tugs viciously upward and I cave, bringing my feet underneath me at last as I try to keep her from yanking my hair right out of my scalp.
I glance at Varma just in time to catch him mouthing, “The fuck’s a weedwhacker?”
Maybe it was stupid to goad her, but there’s only so much she can do to me if the captain wants me. She’ll push me around and rough me up, but it’s all posturing, like Reckoners do sometimes when they’re starved for attention. And the easiest way to put a beast in its place is to snap back.
They wrestle me out of the closet and down the ship’s narrow passageways to a pair of elegant wooden doors at the aft. I can hear voices on the other side, voices that stop when Varma knocks.
“Come in,” someone calls.
Varma pushes the door open, and Swift shoves me in before her. She twists her fingers viciously around my wrist and gives my hair one last yank before she releases me, and my skin burns. I wince, but do my best to brush it off. Another rule of Reckoner training: you can’t let them see if they hurt you.
The room is vast, probably once a bar or a lounge before it was torn out of whatever yacht it came from and repurposed. Now it’s a throne room, choked with the pirate crew. They throng around a dais in the back of the room, where the captain lounges in an ornately carved chair.
So not only have I been captured by pirates—I’ve had the misfortune of being taken in by theatrical ones.
And their queen seems to have fully embraced her flair for the dramatic. She’s wearing a crimson evening gown; I almost fail to recognize her as the woman who killed Durga. Gone is the wide-brimmed hat and long coat that cut her intimidating silhouette, but she’s intimidating now in the same way that bonfires are. When her eyes meet mine, I can’t help but shrink back a little. Looking at her is like looking into hell itself.
“Welcome aboard the Minnow, Cassandra,” she says. She must have searched the Nereid ’s file system, must have pulled data to find out exactly who she’s taken prisoner. “I’m Santa Elena. You can call me that, or Captain. Swift here is a big fan of ‘boss,’ but I don’t think we’re quite on those terms yet.”
Everyone in this room could kill me, and most of them look like they want to. Swift and Varma have joined their captain on the dais. They stand next to three others at Santa Elena’s right, and I start to understand the hierarchy on this ship a little more. The pirates that crowd the room are the regulars, the muscle. On Santa Elena’s left sits a child. He can’t possibly be more than ten years old, and I’m stumped about his role until she ruffles his hair, a soft smile breaking over her cruel features. He has to be her son—by blood, it looks like, given the golden brown skin and wide nose they share.
But the five to the captain’s right are different. They’re all kind of young-looking compared to most of the crew, and unlike some of the crowd, their eyes never leave Santa Elena. Something sets them apart—some favor of the captain has elevated them to this position.
It seems like they’re her protégées. It’d explain why Swift is such a showoff.
“You’re quiet,” Santa Elena purrs. She hauls herself upright and stands, the dress falling elegantly around her ankles as she steps from the dais and approaches me. “I’d imagine you’re bursting with questions. Can’t hurt to ask them.”
I’m not going to give her the satisfaction of my curiosity. I wonder why I’m here, why the Reckoner trainer was the only one worth kidnapping on a ship that carried so many wealthy tourists, but the first words that leave my mouth are “What happened to the Nereid ?”
“Depends. If someone responded to the distress call, there’s a very large chance that the passengers will be rescued before the ship sinks. If not … ” She doesn’t need to finish the sentence. The devilish smile that spreads across her face tells me everything I need to know. “And we killed the crew that resisted, of course. We have to be efficient about these things.”
“What did you take?”
I catch the slight twitch of her upper lip, see her resist the urge to sneer at me. “You. Cash, and a few finer goods. Food, to replenish our stock. No electronics—we don’t want anything that could be sending out a signal. The dress is new. Do you like it?”
I draw my lips tight. My wetsuit is drying out and starting to itch, and I have to fight to keep myself standing as still as possible.
“When I ask a question, I’d like you to answer, Cassandra.” She lashes out and grabs the collar of my wetsuit, dragging me toward her until I’m staring up into her deep brown eyes.
I can’t blink. Not now. “It’s beautiful,” I tell her flatly, and it isn’t a lie.
Her fingers go slack, and as she draws back, I notice a tattoo of a small fish over her heart. Santa Elena doesn’t miss the way my eyes travel. This time she really does smirk. “Like it? Every loyal member of my crew has the ship’s namesake inked on their body somewhere important. See, for me this ship is my life, my beating heart. So my Minnow is right here.” She folds a hand over her breast. Her smile turns goading. “Maybe you’ll earn yours someday.”
I don’t have the words nor the courage to tell her that’s never going to happen. I grit my teeth and stand a little straighter, fighting to keep down the question that’s burning inside me. She wants me to say it, wants me to cave to her will, and I can’t let her have her way. I’ve got to show her that no matter how long she keeps me on this ship, she’s never going to get me to bend to her.
One of her lackeys on the dais, a skinny white boy with jet-black hair, relieves me of my burden. “You gonna keep playing with her or let her know why she’s here, Captain?” he asks, and several people in the crowd hiss with surprise.
Santa Elena grins wickedly, and for a second I worry that she’ll pull out a gun and shoot the boy right here to make an example out of him. “Points for bravery, Code,” she says, stepping back up on the dais and settling primly on her throne. “Johan, Yue, bring it on out. Let’s shed some light for our guest.”
Two of the pirates push through the crowd into a back room and return moments later, hauling a cylindrical object the size of a refrigerator. It’s mounted on wheels and covered with a black cloth that sways ominously as it trundles forward. They push it in front of the dais, and Santa Elena leans forward, grabbing the hem of its cover.
She yanks it off with a flourish, and I want to sink to the bottom of the ocean in that instant.
Floating in the tank, lit by warming lamps that cast a brilliant red glow around the room, is a leathery purse, and inside that purse is an unborn Reckoner pup.
6