Page 1 of The Lost Child

One

“Count.” My father growled out the word, the belt in his hand ready.

TWACK.

“O-one.” I flinched and dug my small fingers into the wood in front of me, my body stretched out over the desk so my bum was up in the air. I was eleven, but it already felt like I’d been coming into my father’s office to be punished for an entire lifetime. The leather of his belt sang as it flew through the air, and I tried to relax. The first one was always the worst.

TWACK.

I hissed but didn’t otherwise jump. It burned, but it was bearable.

“Two,” I gritted out through my teeth.

TWACK.

“Three.”

TWACK.

It all started to fade into heated nothingness as I adjusted to the pain. I tried to focus on the cobwebs in the corners, or to count the holes in the rotting wood planks on the floor. I was grateful for the darkness of the office, with nothing but a single candle lit on his desk. The he couldn’t see my face twisted with misery.

“Four.”

TWACK.

My fingers were white from grasping so hard at the edge of the desk. It was almost over.

“Five.”

My father backed away, breathing heavily. He wouldn’t start up again until after he lectured me, so I relaxed, but only a little. That was his pattern—five hits, and then words. Five more hits, then more words. This would go on until he felt satisfied. Sometimes it was ten. Once it was thirty. It still maintain it hadn’t been my fault he’d left his dinner out on the table for anyone to scoff up. It was finders keepers on this island, even if he was the captain.

The next time I’d hide it first, then eat it later.

I knew this session might rival that one; father had caught me swimming naked in one of the small grottos near the cave.

“No clothes! Wantonly swimming where anyone could have stumbled upon you! You shame me! Do I have a bloody whore for a daughter?”

Oh. He was really pissed this time.

Apparently, every pirate on this island had the right to dance around naked whenever they wanted except for me. I saw other women only occasionally. They were always older than I was and always looked afraid or drunk. Then again, this island didn’t exactly have a great reputation.

My father’s methods were brutal, but necessary for raising a daughter in a den of pirates. He’d been very clear from childhood that I was supposed to be a useful asset like everyone else, with no special treatment. Eleven years ago, he’d left the island to hunt down a sea witch. Apparently, he was successful, and nine months later he retrieved me. He’d always wanted a sea witch for a daughter, someone who would be able to control the tides and even the winds. A boon for any fleet.

Yet it quickly grew apparent that I was born without a scrap of water magick in me.

He never spent much time with me after that, and I accepted it. As a pirate lord, he had much better things to do than wipe my runny noses.

But he always made himself personally available to punish me.

I accepted that too. I knew that if I worked hard enough, one day Father would see I was still an asset despite my sex and without my magic. He would see I was worthy to be his daughter and finally give me the praise and approval I so desperately craved.

The belt flew through the air and smacked down on me harder than before. I gasped with pain, not expecting another hit so quickly, but obediently kept counting. If I didn’t, he’d start over.

TWACK.

“Six!”

It wasn’t just my lack of magick he couldn’t stand. It was everything about me. My mother was supposed to be a sea witch, but I couldn’t control the tides. The water didn’t obey my whims. My hair was a dull brown, not blonde like sea witches. My eyes were a muddy mix between green and brown, and not the clear blue-green of the sea like they should have been. In essence, I was the furthest thing from a sea witch it was possible to me.

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