Daughter of the Siren Queen - Tricia Levenseller Page 0,34
are being hunted. What do we do?
She abandoned me.
No—
I tamp down the thought.
Don’t think of anything else, Alosa. Your crew is counting on you.
“Kearan!” I say. “Find a suitable port to deposit our extra passengers.” Riden and Draxen are not part of my crew. The king isn’t hunting them down. There’s no reason to drag them into this.
But then you might never see Riden again.… A glimmer of feeling tries to sneak through the cracks. I board them up, let nothing but the numbness enter.
In a voice loud enough for all to hear, I say, “I brought the pirate king after us. There’s nothing I can do to change that now. But we can survive this.”
“What’s the plan, Captain?” Niridia asks.
“My father is so feared because he has nearly every man on the sea under his employ. If we’re to bring him down, we need to take that away.”
“Pirates are loyal only to whoever has the most gold to pay,” Mandsy says. “Present company excluded, of course.”
“Exactly. We have copies of all three pieces of the map. We’re sailing to the Isla de Canta and taking the sirens’ treasure for ourselves.”
Sorinda, who stands behind Kearan’s shoulder, says, “Then starts the reign of the pirate queen.”
“Rah!” cheers the crew.
Though I’m certain I have the support of all, I add, “If anyone has a problem with the plan, they can leave when we drop off our prisoners.”
A headache starts to pound between my eyes. My carefully built walls will crumble soon. I can’t keep them up forever.
“Kearan, keep us steady. Niridia, come get me if a ship follows us out of the keep.”
“Aye, Captain.” She comes to my side. Quieter, so no one else can hear, she adds, “We should talk about what just happened, Alosa.” She calls me this when addressing me as a friend rather than my first mate. I know she means my mother leaving, but I’m barely keeping it together as it is.
“Later,” I say, though I’ve no intention of discussing it. “Right now I need a moment. Alone.”
“Do what you need to. I’ll see that everything runs smoothly.”
She always does.
I finally get a door between me and the rest of the world. And the walls come tumbling down.
My breathing turns to rasping. I grind my teeth and glare at everything in sight. My drapes. My glass-framed pictures. My bed. There’s this pressure building inside me, as though I will explode.
I don’t know how to let it out. I don’t think I’ve ever been so furious in my whole life.
A knock sounds at the door.
“Get away if you don’t want your head bashed in!” I shout. I punch a feather pillow on my bed. It’s not enough, though. It doesn’t do anything to let out the pressure. I need to hit something hard. Sturdy. Something that’ll push back. I want to scream, but the crew will hear that.
I’m so distraught that I don’t realize my door has opened and shut until a hand comes down on my shoulder. I spin around and thrust the low part of my palm outward, connecting with—
Riden’s chest.
He rubs at the spot but doesn’t complain. He won’t take his eyes off mine.
“I heard what happened,” he says.
“I told you not to come in.”
“I didn’t listen.”
I send an elbow at his gut, but he turns sideways and catches my arm.
“It wasn’t an empty warning,” I say.
“I know.”
“You’re an idiot.” I swipe his legs out from under him. “You haven’t fought against me before.”
He takes a few moments to find his feet. I think I knocked the wind from him. “We’ve fought many times,” he rasps.
“Aye, and I was going easy on you.”
“Then do your worst now, lass.”
I do. At first. I move like an unbreakable current, forcing wave after crushing wave upon him. My legs lash out, my arms strike, even my head connects with him at one point. But he doesn’t come at me with his own blows, only tries to deflect me as best he can.
“Fight back, Riden.”
“No,” he says stubbornly.
“Why not?”
“It wouldn’t be right.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You’re hurt.”
“I’m not the one who will wake covered in bruises tomorrow.”
“Not visible ones.”
I backhand him. It sends him to the ground. As soon as my hand makes contact, I regret the decision. I’m abusing his body. He is not here to be my whipping boy, yet that’s exactly how I’m treating him. I can’t strike my father. Or my mother. The woman who made me feel so loved and then left without