Safire willed herself to calm. Jarek was dead. She was commandant now.
She could handle this.
“Behave yourself in there, princess.”
Safire cringed at that word, thinking of their last conversation in her bedroom three nights past and the things Eris accused her of.
Despite what this girl thought, Safire had no claim on the throne. She wasn’t a draksor—not wholly, anyway. Her mother had been a skral. A slave. And even though the skral had been freed from their bonds in Firgaard, most draksors still didn’t see them as equals. Didn’t see her as equal.
In no world would Safire ever sit on that throne. Nor did she want to. It was Dax’s throne, and she intended to keep him on it.
“It must have been nice, growing up in a palace. Having servants to dress and feed and bathe you. Having guards to protect you.” Eris said this with bitterness. Like the thought of it—of Safire—sickened her.
Safire thought of her childhood. Of how she was never allowed near her family at formal events, how she was forbidden to touch her cousins, how she lived every day in constant fear of Jarek and his cruelty.
“Actually,” she said softly, “it was a nightmare.”
Eris paused, studying her.
Safire stared straight ahead.
Finally, Eris opened the door and pushed her inside.
The room she stumbled into lay at the stern of the Hyacinth, full of light that flooded in through the portholes. An ornate desk loomed before her, its sides carved with images of ships and waves and sea monsters. On its surface were a familiar pair of black boots, crossed at the ankles. Just beyond the desk, that same black raven perched in a gold filigree cage, staring at Safire with its eerie eyes.
“Eris.” The captain uncrossed his legs and lowered his feet to the floor, looking from his Death Dancer to Safire and back. “What are you doing?”
“Saving you from a grave error.”
Jemsin frowned, leaning over the desk and setting aside the stack of papers he’d been reading. “And what error is that?”
Eris shoved Safire closer. Safire had to plant both palms on the surface of the desk to stop herself from tumbling over it. She scowled over her shoulder.
Eris ignored it. “Your men are brutes. They’ll accidently kill her before they get anything useful out of her. I want you to put me in charge of her.”
Safire shot Eris a look. Huh? Hadn’t she just told Remy she was taking Safire on the captain’s orders?
Jemsin’s weathered face showed no hint of emotion or decision as he looked Safire up and down.
“If you give her to me,” Eris continued, “I’ll find out the Namsara’s location before tomorrow morning.”
The captain’s brows lifted. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “And if you don’t?”
“I will,” insisted Eris. But then she shrugged. “If I don’t, I’ll give her back to the boys.”
The captain steepled his fingers, thinking.
“We don’t have time for that.” He shook his head. “If she doesn’t cooperate—if she doesn’t give you the Namsara’s location before midnight—you’ll give her to me. And I’ll send a very clear message to every corner of the Silver Sea.” He fixed his eyes on Safire, speaking directly to her now. “As of midnight, for every hour the Namsara doesn’t come for you, I’ll take something. Starting with those pretty blue eyes of yours.”
Safire held his gaze even as a cold fear spread through her. In that moment, she hated this man even more than Jarek. At least Jarek was loyal to something. Jemsin was less than that. He would use someone’s loyalty against them.
Jemsin leaned forward with both hands on the arms of his chair, about to push himself out of it. To Eris, he said, “Bring her back to the brig.”
“I don’t want her in the brig,” Eris said.
The captain paused.
“I want her in my quarters.”
Safire nearly choked. She turned, horrified and fists clenching. “I think I’d prefer the brig.”
A slow smile curled the captain’s lips. But Eris’s expression remained neutral.
The captain looked back and forth between them. “Are you sure about this?”
“Trust me,” said Eris, her voice quiet. “I can handle her.”
Nine
Strong hands plunged Safire’s head beneath the icy water of the barrel and held it there. Her fingers gripped the rim, struggling against the strength of those hands. Fighting to lift her head above the surface.
Her lungs were on fire. She was drowning. She needed air.
And then, just like all the times before, her torturers let her up.
Safire gasped, gulping in air, her chest heaving as she clung to the side of the barrel, her wet hair plastered to her face.
Eris paced back and forth in front of her, footsteps agitated.
One of the two men who held Safire in place asked, “Again?”
Eris stopped, staring down at Safire. “I don’t know. Are you ready to tell us where your cousin is?”
Looking out of the porthole, Safire could see the sky growing red.
Sunset.
Safire would never tell them where Asha was. But the thought of going underwater again filled her with dread. And if she didn’t give Eris the information she wanted, Eris would hand her over to Jemsin, who would simply kill her.
She needed to buy herself enough time to escape and warn Asha.
“Send them out,” said Safire, her breathing ragged as she looked to the two brutes on either side of her. “And I’ll discuss terms.”
Eris arched a brow. “Terms? You think this is a negotiation?”
Remembering the conversation she’d overheard in the Thirsty Craw, Safire didn’t back down. “I think you’re more desperate than you let on.”
Eris’s eyes flashed. She stared down Safire for a long moment, as if deciding her next move, then looked to the pirates holding her captive. “Lock her up. Then leave us.”
The brutes secured Safire’s wrists in cold shackles attached to an iron ring in the ceiling. When the lock clicked, Safire found the chains weren’t long enough to drop her arms. She tugged, but her wrists could only come down as far as her temples.
Eris waved the men off, sending them out of the room. When the door shut and they were alone, Safire said, “You’re despicable.”
Eris walked over to a large table where a map lay unrolled. Reaching for the pack of matches resting next to an unlit lamp, she said, “The feeling’s mutual, princess.”
Safire gritted her teeth. “Stop calling me that.”
Eris removed the glass chimney of the oil lamp, then turned the thumb wheel to raise the wick. “You’d prefer I call you commandant?” She struck the match, lit the wick, then adjusted the flame. After blowing out the match, Eris replaced the glass chimney and turned to Safire. The golden glow illuminated her face as she spoke. “Tell me, then, commandant: Do you enjoy making people do what you want? Does it please you when they unthinkingly follow your orders?”
Giving orders was not Safire’s job. Her job was keeping the king and queen safe. Keeping Firgaard—her home—safe. And looking out for every single soldat under her care.