Page 57 of Captive of the Pirate King
The execution of the punishment takes hours, and by the time the tattoos are done, everyone else aboard ship is grateful they didn’t have to endure such agony. Captain Neelan will have to pay a higher tribute to the Pirate King, so all their shares from the voyage will be less. It’s a group punishment for everyone involved in the attack on theLady Marcella, but no one complains, because they witnessed a far worse retribution at the Pirate King’s hand.
The best part is that none of the tattooed men will ever be able to hurt a woman the way they planned to hurt me.
While I watch Tir and Gorm take their lashes, I try to reconcile what I know of Locke in my mind. There are so many fragments and pieces of him—I’m having trouble keeping them all distinct, especially since they’re mixed up with my own emotions.
He nearly tipped me into the ocean and let me drown on that first day. But then he remarked on the boots I’d stolen from theWending Willow’s captain. Did he know that his off-hand comment would pique Neelan’s interest and prompt the captain to spare me?
Locke stood guard for me when I wanted to bathe, though he could easily have taken advantage of the situation and tried to blackmail me with what he knew of my gender. That’s what Jinks did. It’s a mark of Locke’s character that he kept my identity secret for so long without asking anything in return.
He took a whipping for me. Spared me from having to bare myself before the crew. He probably saved my life that day.
And after he told me that he knew my secret, our physical joining was a mutual thing. I didn’t feel pressured or forced. I didn’t fear that he would betray me if I stopped sleeping with him.
When we fought aboard theLady Marcella,he did everything he could to protect me. And he saved my life again last night—revealed his identity and risked the censure of his men so he could keep me safe.
But does all of that make him a good man? He isn’t just a simple pirate, a victim of chance and circumstance and a few bad choices. No, he’s the damnPirate King, a man who built his degenerate empire on purpose. He rules over a vast fleet of pirate ships, an immense network of hideouts and havens.
I’ve never liked or listened to politics much, but back home in Ivris I heard enough courtly gossip to know that the seven kings hate and fear the Pirate King. Before his ascent to power, those seven rulers would bribe various pirate clans to attack an enemy kingdom’s ships. The pirates were just tools, mercenaries really, to be used by one kingdom or another. But the Pirate King has taken all those tools and coordinated them into a sprawling, interconnected latticework all across the oceans. In a way, he commands an army larger than that of any one kingdom—possibly larger than the military might of a few kingdoms combined.
Locke’s ships are responsible for more deaths than I can imagine. His bands of buccaneers wreak havoc, pain, terror, and loss all across the Shorn Seas, and even in the safer coastal waters. The Pirate King might not condone rape, but he encourages theft and permits murder. And it’s all committed in his name, under his flag.
At the thought, my fingers tighten around the edges of my chair. My mouth feels dry, my tongue thick and cottony.
What am I doing here, playing the whore to such a powerful man? How did I get so far off course?
I have to remember my goal. I’m doing all of this so I can locate my brother. Before I ran away to sea, I had nightmares about where Mordan might be, about the atrocities he might be committing without me to hold him back, to soothe and dissuade him. Since I was taken aboard theArdent, I’ve been too dead tired to dream much, so I’ve been granted a blessed reprieve from those horrific nightmares. But that doesn’t change the urgency of my mission.
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At last, the final lashes fall, and the disciplinary session is complete. The men who were punished are released from duty for an hour—not long to recover, but I suppose Locke doesn’t want to appear weak. If his goal was to make the men fear him and think twice about touching me, he has certainly accomplished that.
Even though he has promised not to hurt me, even though he seems to favor me, I find myself shrinking inside as he approaches me. He reaches out his hands—hands that just moments ago were touching the privates of some not-so-clean pirates—but to my relief, Dez steps forward and holds out a tray with a bowl of water and a sliver of soap.
“The things you asked for, Your Majesty,” quavers Dez.
“No need for that title, boy,” says Locke. “‘Sir’ will do. Or Captain, since I’ll be acting captain until we make port in Ravensbeck.” While slathering his fingers with soap, he calls out to Neelan’s first mate Shem, as well as the navigator Dolomon and the crewman Hanschel. Hanschel is the one who whipped Locke on Neelan’s order, and he looks very nervous about being summoned.
“I beg your pardon for those lashes, sir,” he says, bobbing his head submissively. “It was you who commanded me to whip you, sir.”
“I did.” Locke claps him on the shoulder. “I knew you’d recognize the tattoo, so I had to reveal myself to you and trust you to proceed as if I were any other man before the mast. And you performed admirably, which is why I’m promoting you. You’ll serve as one of my first officers aboard ship.”
“Yes, sir.” Hanschel’s voice is hoarse with gratitude. “Thankee, sir.”
“Now what’s this news about a mysterious storm that sucks in ships?” Locke inquires. “I heard a rumor of it when we left the Wierling Isles, but I was only a lowly sailor then and I could get no further information. What have you heard?”
Dolomon shuffles his boots nervously. “Captain Neelan’s the one who heard the report from the islanders, sir.”
“Neelan is resting,” says Locke coolly. “I’m asking you, Dolomon, and you, Shem. What do you know?”
Shem clears his throat. “Not much, sir. It’s a great maelstrom, they say, but it doesn’t move like a hurricane. Stays in one spot, it does, and the winds push ships into it. It’s not far from here, about three days west, from what the islanders told Neelan. And they heard of it from one of our sister vessels under the Crowned Skull, theJasmine Ray. She and her crew barely escaped the pull of the storm, sir. We’d best make straight for Ravensbeck, as Captain Neelan planned, and find safe harbor there.”
“I agree,” says Locke. “Perhaps we may hear more news of this anomaly and its source when we arrive in Ravensbeck. But we’ll be making a stop first, at the Scarab Archipelago.”
The men exchange uncertain looks. “Why there, Captain, if I may be so bold?” asks Dolomon. “It’s a poor place to set in. Nothing but shanty towns and fish. There’s naught there in the way of loot, provisions, or entertainment.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Locke’s voice is a low purr. “You think I’m not intimately familiar with the population, terrain, and exports of every single land mass, large or small, from the Algid Chains in the north to the Nine Pearls in the south?”
“Yes, Captain. I mean, no, Captain, sir, Lord King.”
