Page 17 of The Lost Child

Jagger leaned in toward me, one hand hanging over the wooden post above us. “You just admitted you were with the creature. No one’s allowed down there except the captain.”

Nerves and anxiety welled in my stomach. “Whatcha gonna do, tell on me?” I taunted him, regretting each time I’d used him. I knew I was giving him ammunition. I knew I was handing him the keys to take me down.

“For doing what, precisely, Mr. Scott?”

Both Jagger and I froze as my father’s shadow fell over us. Oh, fuck. I was in for it now. Jagger flinched along with me. The question was a test; who would Jagger stick up for? Me, or my father?

The choice was laughable.

Father crossed his arms over his chest, the thick leather of his coat squeaking. “Now. Or the boy gets sent to the brig.”

My mouth dried out even as Jagger sputtered in fear next to me. The brig meant total isolation, locked in the darkness of the jail cells in one of our oldest ships, buried deep enough in the sand that no one would hear you scream.

“P-please, I’m the one who snuck down to see C—the weapon,” I stammered out.

Jagger may be getting on my nerves, but no one deserved time in the brig. I’d never been sentenced there myself, but I’d seen others who had. They always came back with a haunted look in their eyes. That is, the ones who came back. Plenty didn’t.

Dark eyes rimmed with kohl glared at me. With a twitch of his fingers, Father dismissed Jagger, who nearly tripped in his hurry to put as much distance between himself and the captain as he could.

That left me alone to bear the brunt of my father’s anger.

But he didn’t strike me or threaten me. Instead, he turned to go, beckoning me to follow him back to his office with a slight curl of his fingers.

I shut the door behind us, accustomed to it. I tried not to breathe out in relief as he gestured for me to sit, rather than bend over his desk, as was customary.

“Are you fascinated with my weapon, Nerissa?”

His hands were steepled under his chin, blue eyes narrowing in an assessing, critical gaze.

I had to take a moment to school my expression, and keep my hands from shaking. “I just—”

“Don’t. Lie.”

Terror squeezed my heart. “I wanted a closer look,” I admitted because that was true enough. “You hid him well all these years. I can’t help but imagine the impact he’d have during a raid.”

My father relaxed back in his chair, and drummed the fingers of his left hand on the worn, wooden desk. “I had Gerrick check on him after he was causing a ruckus. He reported Canavar had healing paste on him, and his chains were loose.”

I sucked in a breath involuntarily. “I—I did leave the paste for him. He was injured and hungry.”

His eyes narrowed further. “You didn’t feed him, did you?”

I couldn’t lie. He already knew.

“Yes,” I breathed out. “I’m sorry.” I bowed my head to my chest, praying the punishment would at least be swift if it was going to be painful. “It’s just that I couldn’t leave him like that. Wouldn’t he be a better weapon if he had his full strength?”

I’d likely earn a few more lashes for my impertinence, but I couldn’t help it. Treating Canavar that way my father did made no sense.

The corner of his lips curled into an indulgent smile, throwing me off. “This is why there won’t ever be a pirate queen,” he taunted, throwing my earlier arguments back in my face. “Women have too many feelings. You can’t see the bigger picture.”

I kept my mouth shut. A verbal lashing was preferred over a physical one.

“That thing down there is a monster that needs to be controlled. If I feed him properly and kiss every boo-boo, where’s his anger? Where’s his motivation to fight?”

I understood him perfectly, but that one small, desperate part of my brain didn’t want to believe that my father was purposefully starving a living, breathing creature.

Who was I kidding? Just because he was my father didn’t mean he was a good man.

“So, I finally deem you old enough to share in a few of my secrets, and the first thing you do is try to sabotage my weapon.”

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