Page 68 of Captive of the Pirate King
If I couldn’t help him, I should have found someone who could. And failing that, I should have killed him myself, years ago.
The instant the thought coalesces in my mind, my stomach revolts, twisting with pain and nausea. I close my eyes and breathe through the queasiness.
It’s not as if I haven’t entertained the thought before. But I can’t let myself dwell on it too long. My brother, my own brother.
I force myself to drink the rest of the tea, and then I tuck the cup near my pillow and slide down into the bed. It can’t be long until sunrise, and then Locke will be out on deck again. He’ll be in his role of captain and Pirate King, and this night of intimacy will be over. I’ll have to strut and simper, while he treats me with the fierce possessiveness he displayed today. Not that I mind so much, if I’m honest. Something about the way he grabs me when he’s in that mood is more intoxicating than rum.
The next day I spend most of the time in the captain’s cabin, reading and resting, until the cramps fade and I’m able to walk around the deck. Locke is up in the rigging, shirtless again, helping the crewmen with a problematic bit of sail. Apparently now that he doesn’t have to hide his tattoo, he avoids shirts like the plague. I don’t mind, because that means I get an eyeful of his gleaming skin and sinewy torso whenever I look up at the ropes.
Locke hasn’t been wearing his crown either. It still sits on the desk in the captain’s cabin. I suppose it’s not a comfortable thing to wear when you’re working. How often does he wear it in Ravensbeck? He must go shirtless a lot there, too, if people would know him by his tattoo. The arrogant bastard probably thinks everyone’s dying for a chance to ogle those abs, those luscious abs shining with sweat…
Biting my lip, I tear my gaze away.
My dress is longer today, with a bit more coverage for my legs, but the neckline is just as low. When Neelan passes me on his way to the fore-peak, he takes a long, deliberate look at my breasts. Let him stare. Thanks to his new tattoo, he can’t forcibly take me or anyone else for the rest of his life.
I allow myself a defiant smile in return, and Neelan’s leer darkens to a scowl before he strides away.
Bored, I wander to the navigator’s cabin, where Dolomon stands at his worktable with the door wide open to the sea breezes.
“Would you mind showing me our route?” I ask.
He hesitates, then nods. “Of course, milady. Come, take a look here.” He points to several tiny landforms sketched on the map. “Here’s where we’re headed, the Scarab Archipelago. An impoverished set of islands, not much in the way of resources, and the soil’s mostly too rocky for farming. They do a bit of trade, but it’s mostly fishing and such. We should make port there sometime tomorrow.”
“And then to Ravensbeck?”
“Yes, milady.”
I scan the map, my eyes skipping from port to port. I had no idea there were so many islands in the Shorn Seas. “I don’t see Ravensbeck.”
“That’s because we ain’t allowed to mark it on any map,” Dolomon says. “In case a spy of some king happens to lay hands on one. And I can’t show you where it is, either, because of my tattoo. You’ll be marked as well, once we reach Ravensbeck.”
Startled, I frown. “You think the Pirate King is going to tattoo me?”
“Those that don’t want the tattoo must stay in Ravensbeck. So if you’re looking to leave for elsewhere at some point, you’ll be marked, same as the rest of us.”
“And the mark keeps me from saying anything about Ravensbeck’s location?”
“That’s right.” Dolomon holds out a dark brown hand. Around his wrist I can make out a chain of metal links and leaves inked onto his skin. “You can’t talk about it, write about it, lead someone to it, nothing. And if you try to push through the magic, or break it, you die.”
“Gods.” I inspect the tattoo more closely. “Does Locke—I mean, does the Pirate King choose the design?”
“Usually each person chooses their own tattoo,” Dolomon explains. “There are two other tattooists besides the Pirate King, but no one knows who they are. All tattoo mages wear masks when they work, you see, to protect their identity. A tattooist who places a magical tattoo can also remove it, or so I’ve heard.”
“Is it common knowledge that the Pirate King is a tattoo mage?”
“I believe most know of it, and if they didn’t before, they will after this voyage.”
“But there’s still no telling who inked each man aboard with his allegiance mark,” I say. “And without knowing the tattooist’s identity, no one can force the removal of the mark.”
“Exactly, milady.”
Mentally I assemble what I know of tattoo magic so far. Locke—and presumably the other tattooists in his employ—can control people through tattoos, in a limited way. He can bind someone to a specific vow through the mark. It seems as if he can control the strength or intensity of the vow, as well. Some vows carry a penalty of death—like the vow to protect the location of Ravensbeck. But other vows, like the promise of allegiance to the Pirate King—Locke said that could be overcome without penalty. The pirates still have free will in that respect. An important distinction, and one that comforts me a little when I start to panic inwardly about the power Locke wields.
“So how long until we reach Ravensbeck?” I ask in my sweetest tone.
“A few days after we leave the Scarab Archipelago,” Dolomon replies.
Quickly I scan the landmarks around the Scarab Archipelago, trying to gauge approximate distances and guess where Ravensbeck might be. I don’t plan to betray Locke, ever, but knowledge is a precious and powerful currency. I might need the information someday.
