Princess at Sea (9 page)

Contessa, who knew what I was capable of, took an audible breath, holding it. Alex blinked. He didn't know I had eight venomous darts in my hair, three throwing knives, and, around my waist disguised as a belt, a bullwhip that would scare a bear.

Three crewmen were approaching, eying Alex's sword with a casual cautiousness. “Aye, Your Royalship,” one said with a mocking respect. “Come take a wee bit of a walk with us, and I'll show ya the boat, I will.”

The man with him chuckled. He reached for Alex's sword arm, and the audacity of someone touching him broke through Alex's shock. “Stay back, Contessa!” he shouted, pulling his sword in a sound that would forever terrify me.

I retreated to protect Contessa, stumbling when she pulled me to kneel beside her.

Laughing, the three crewmen paused at the sight of the slight, bookish prince with a blade in his hands. They didn't see his feet in the first position. They didn't know he had been schooled until there was no fear. They had no clue that the lean muscles under his silk shirt were used to swinging a blade with no effort, and he would react without thinking, his movements instinctive and deadly.

Hunching in anticipation, the surrounding men dropped their hands to their own swords. My stomach clenched, and my hand rose to my topknot as if I was nervous. I plucked several needles, putting one in the dart tube that had bisected my hair like an ornament. The first man to touch Contessa or me would go down.

Duncan fell back to me, grasping my shoulder protectively. From around us came the hooting calls of the crew, most of them turning to watch, apparently eager for some sport.

Mr. Smitty's rough shout came from the wheel, jerking my attention to the stern. “Get his bloody sword away from him and get them the hell belowdecks!” he demanded. “If they jump the railing, you can by bloody God-well believe you're going in after them!”

“Shouldn't take more than a moment, Captain,” a thin, quick-eyed man said, grinning as he came forward, naked blade swinging.

Contessa made a muffled shriek. Looking magnificent, Alex met his strike with his own, twisting to send his blade within inches of the man's side. The pirate leapt back, surprised. Face going ugly, he lunged forward with a yell.

I brought my hand to my mouth and blew a dart at him. It struck him perfectly in the neck, right where his pulse lay. The man took a huge breath as he raised his arm, faltering when the venom hit him. His eyes went wide, and a strangled gurgle came from him.

Alex swung in the instant his attacker faltered. The
thunk
of steel into flesh struck horror in me. I had killed that man as surely as if I had swung the blade myself.

Choking, the man fell to his knees. Alex unhesitatingly followed him down, frighteningly silent as he ran his blade into the man's chest, down between the man's ribs to suffocate him in his own blood. With only a grunt to mark his efforts, the mild-seeming prince killed a man while everyone watched in slack-jawed amazement.

An ugly noise gurgling up, the struck crewman slowly fell to the deck in an awkward sprawl. A dark puddle seeped from under him. Alex gave a final push to his blade. Setting one foot against his downed man, he yanked his sword from him and tossed his hair from his eyes.

“By all that is holy,” Duncan whispered at my elbow, clearly shocked.

He was a prince of Misdev. What did they expect?

With an outraged shout, the surrounding crewmen pulled their blades and started forward.

“Don't kill 'em!” Captain Rylan shouted from beside Mr. Smitty at the wheel, his courtly accent gone. “You kill 'em, and you get nothing! Hear me? Nothing!”

I didn't think they cared.

Alex rolled the dying man over and took the pirate's blade. “Here,” he said grimly, sliding it across the deck to Duncan. The cheat picked it up. He glanced at the length of steel, then shifted his grip tighter, his face drawn and frightened. The two men fell back to surround Contessa and me.
Why?
I thought. We couldn't take the ship. We couldn't save ourselves. But to give up was never a consideration.

“Look out!” Contessa cried, and I spun. Two were coming up from behind us. I downed them with a dart each before Alex or Duncan could kill them. My darts they would survive. Alex's blade they wouldn't. Duncan looked to see them fall, then turned with a shout as a man jumped at him.

Two men had attacked Alex simultaneously. The prince was holding his own, fighting silently but for the sound of his feet and blade. Duncan was sadly lacking, being driven back to us.

“Duncan!” I cried when the tip of a sword found him, ripping his shirt.

He sprang back, fingering his shirt, anger pulling his face tight. “I just bought that!” he shouted, following it up with a curse and a furious attack that beat the man back a step.

I darted a man with a bare blade at the outskirts waiting for an opportunity to enter the fray. Groaning, he fell into his companions. They caught him, their faces going terrified, not knowing what had brought him down. The call of witchcraft went up, and I palmed my dart tube before they could see.

“It's the woman!” Captain Rylan shouted, and my brow furrowed in dismay. “She's got poison darts. Get the woman!”

My stomach twisted. At Mr. Smitty's rough gesture, three men circled to our back. Alex and Duncan were too busy to see, but Contessa trembled and clutched my arm. Her breath came fast, and a small sound of fear slipped past her. Torn between being angry and afraid, I pushed her arm off me. “Don't,” I warned, and one grinned to show yellow teeth in the torchlight.

Taking one of my last daggers, I flipped it, ready to throw, warning him again. He glanced at the knife, then leered, beckoning me closer.

“Prick me with your little knife, love,” he taunted. “I've got my own dagger I'll be sticking you with.”

Repulsed, I threw it, gagging as it hit him in the throat.

I never saw him go down. The other two men lunged, arms outstretched.

I backpedaled. My heels found Contessa, and shrieking, I fell. Feet kicking, I rolled, my hand pulling my whip free from my waist as I rose.

Contessa screamed. Pulse pounding, I spun. She had gone back to Duncan and was unhurt. “You won't touch her!” I shouted, uncoiling my whip and sending it to crack in the air.

A sharp cry from Alex jerked my attention. A man had scored on him, and the prince was down on one knee. “Alex!” Contessa exclaimed, lurching past Duncan. I jerked her to a halt, pushing her to Duncan, then flicked my whip at the two men approaching. They fell back at the sharp sound, their ugly looks worse for the flickering torchlight.

“Tess! There!” Contessa cried, and I followed her gaze to Alex, down with a man grappling with him. Heart pounding, I sent the whip to strike his attacker.

The man howled, rolling off Alex. Duncan swooped forward to drag the prince to us. Contessa knelt beside him, her face pale. I spared them a quick glance. He seemed all right, his words soft and reassuring as he got to his feet, his free hand never leaving Contessa's grip.

I flicked the whip to coil behind me, looking over the deck to find the pirates had fallen back to the limit of my reach.

“You afraid of a woman with a bit of string?” Captain Rylan shouted from the safety of the wheel. “Get them below you sons of chulls. What am I paying you for?”

One of the men took a step forward. I spun the whip over my head and brought it cracking down before him. The man retreated, his face ugly. “Captain?” one called, sounding almost frightened. A satisfied smile came over me. The waves lifted the deck, and I rode the swells easily, my feet spread wide. Maybe. Maybe we had a chance.

From behind the wheel, Mr. Smitty frowned. The torchlight landed on his face, showing me his ire. Never taking his eyes from mine, he spun the wheel.

“Coming about!” he shouted, with enough force to carry over storms.

The pirates sent their eyes to the rigging. I followed their gaze. The sails started to flutter, then rattled as the ship turned into the wind. Under my feet, the deck evened out.

“Tess!” Contessa cried, looking over my shoulder. “Look out!”

I turned. Out of the dark came the boom carrying the bottom of the mainsail. It swung with the force of the wind, unstoppable. Gasping, I ducked. White-hot fire exploded. I cried out, not hearing it. I didn't remember falling, but the deck struck my cheek, cold and bruising.

“Tess!” I heard my sister cry, and the sounds of renewed battle.

A belled boot slammed into my middle, and I caved in on myself, unable to breathe, unable to think, drifting in the neverworld on the edge of consciousness.

“Now that,” I heard Captain Rylan say, “is the proper way to bring down a sea whore.”

I think it was the smell that woke me, a rank, back-of-the-
throat stench that caught in my nose and carried the scent of rat urine and wet moldy burlap sacks to my tongue. The gentle rolling and the sound of booted and bare feet on the deck above me had long ago become familiar—too familiar to wake me. And I knew it wasn't the pain that pulled me from unconsciousness. Pain had been a part of my existence for so long, it no longer had the power to tell me something was wrong.

My stomach hurt, and my lower ribs ached when I breathed too deeply. There was a raw feeling where the air hit my wrists, and when I cracked my eyelids, the dim light hurt them. My neck was stiff, my lips were cracked, and my head was a massive ache of agony. I took several slow, shallow breaths and tried to remember.

It was the sound of the bells tinkling upon Captain Rylan's boots that brought it all back.

My ribs hurt because Captain Rylan had kicked me. My head hurt because Mr. Smitty had swung the boom into me, and I had been too stupid to duck. Squinting, I could see that the skin had been rubbed raw from around my wrists, probably by salt-laden ropes tied about them. They were gone now, and I was thankful for small favors. I didn't know why my stomach hurt, except perhaps because I was hungry. And my neck was probably sore from lying atop a moldering pile of wooden floats and rotting nets.

Wedging an elbow under me, I tried to rise. My head thundered in time with my pulse, and I very slowly lowered myself back down, breathing shallowly and staring at the low ceiling, willing myself not to vomit. There had been a clink of metal, and the heavy weight about my ankle gained meaning. I was chained to something.

“Tess?” warbled a voice from the other side of the low, long hold. “You're all right!”

“Contessa,” I breathed, wanting to look but not trusting myself yet to shift my head.

“You're awake!” she said, hushed but intent. “They hit you so hard. And you didn't wake up. I thought you were dead. And they wanted to kill you. They wouldn't stop hitting you, and you didn't wake up!”

“Contessa,” I whispered, as her frantic voice seemed to scrape the insides of my eyelids and make my head hurt even more. “Please be quiet.”

“Alex tried to stop them,” she said, the sound of tears heavy in her babbling. “It took three of them to bring him down. And they forced him to kneel and Mr. Smitty took his sword. Oh, Tess, I thought they killed you!”

“Contessa,” I breathed, staring at the black mold on the ceiling. “Shut up. You're hurting my eyes.”

She gasped, her next outburst dying. Her breath came out in a sob, and she held the next.

Feeling bad now for having told the queen of Costenopolie to shut up, I tilted my head to find her, wondering why she hadn't rushed over and given me a good shake to finish killing me. Tongue scraping the inside of my mouth for any hint of moisture, I found her sitting in a shifting patch of sun about two man lengths away.

I sat up slowly, the thick mat of nets under me making an uncomfortable surface. The soft clink of metal drew my attention to my filthy bare ankle, wrapped in a shackle that looked as if it was used for wrists, not feet. I followed the length of chain to where it was bolted to the wall, red and white flakes of rust and salt making an ugly knot.

Taking another shallow breath, I tried to clear my head, cataloging my new state with a numbed acceptance. My underskirt was badly ripped, and the overly elaborate dress I had worn to dinner was stained by salt and brown smears of old algae. My shoes were gone, and my hair was down and tangled. Needless to say my whip, dagger, and what darts I'd had left were absent.

The stench of mold and burned oil hung thick in my nose, a black, greasy film covering most of my exposed skin in smears between the bruises. Rubbing my sore palms together, I looked across the low-ceilinged hold to Contessa. She looked better than I felt, her dress still in one piece and her useless boots on her feet. Her blond hair was lank about her face, and it had fallen to hide her features as she sat in her beam of light. A soft murmur came from her, and I realized the monotone of rhythm haunting my pain-filled dreams had been her prayers.