“Aleksei was my brother,” Kriska said, eyes flashing as his Kravan accent vibrated from the back of his throat. “When you appeared on deck, I sent men down to get him, but he was already dead. Now, what do you think: Am I telling the truth, or lying?”
I simply glared.
Kriska’s mouth parted, tongue calmly prodding his teeth for apple crumbs. “Do you know what it’s like, finding a member of your family butchered?”
I strained to hold my glare, muscles tight.
Kriska let his gaze drift down my shoulder and over my stretched arm. “Business is business,malá ryba. Every honorable pirate deals his fair share in the slave trade. But you killed my brother and sank my father’s ship." He pushed off the tree, voice dropping to a low whisper. “You made it personal.”
Wind whisked my hair and face, forcing me to squint to avoid dust as it flung into my eyes. Kriska dipped his head into the curve of my neck, his breath hot over the shell of my ear. “For a sea witch, you’re a terrible liar. He’ll come looking for you, and when he does, I’ll let you watch as I drain life from his body.Then I’ll sell you like a brood mare and collect my bounty.” He tilted his head to give me a last look, eyes grazing my binds with cruel efficiency, like a mason checking the fit of his stone slabs for errors. Then turned and gave Sero a brutal slap on the hind quarters.
The slap echoed across the ravine. Sero neighed in surprise and shot ahead, disappearing down the trail. The captain watched him go, eyes sharp. From my periphery, the pirates all swung into the leaves of nearby trees, smooth and silent and hidden in the tortured wood like spiders at the edge of their web.
I rested my forehead against the peeling bark.
Bait. He was using me as bait.
It might’ve given me relief—he needed to draw Kye in, which meant Kye was probably unscathed, if his unwelcome appearance threatened the pirates so much they worried he’d follow. But fear coiled in my belly, dark tendrils on a vine. I couldn't move, couldn't call to water, and could only see a narrow section of forest. There’d be no way to warn Kye that Kriska was lying in wait and not simply riding Sero somewhere else.
The pain in my head came and went in waves. Wind throttled my hair, sending sharp bursts down my satin dress and up my shirt like biting fingers, the slit up my side flapping over my hip. Sensation wavered in my arms. My legs began to shake, the uneven roots a poor surface to balance over, and I let myself sag into the tree, eyes closed to shut out the bright sun.
It must’ve been hours later when I snapped awake to find Kriska standing before me, hands on his hips. I caught his scent, tinged with hot metallic frustration. He draped me with his own shadow, the sun’s thin warmth vanishing in an instant.
Maybe Kye was waiting for the sun to set.
Maybe he was too far behind. Kolibri wouldn't let him ride her—if she could walk at all. Maybe she was hurt. Maybe Kye was hurt.
Maybe he wasn't coming.
Swallowing, I lifted my head. It dragged against the tree trunk, too heavy for my neck, and I surveyed Kriska through my lashes. The pirate glanced out towards the sun, now on its way to the western horizon.
Circumspection flickered in his hard gaze as he leaned forward, hooking a finger into my hair and pulling it behind my shoulder, a strange look in his eyes. I knew—before his knuckles connected to my ribs—that the trap he’d set had changed.
If a fish ignores a lure, a fisherman’s only option is to change the bait. To switch it out for something flashier. Brighter. More enticing. Before his arm reeled, before the blur of his fist cracked into my side, before shockwaves penetrated my body—I knew I was about to take a beating for the sake of drawing Kye into the open.
I clamped my teeth together, refusing to make a sound. To shout or cry or beg—or to make any other noise just to lead Kye to us. I’d walk away with every bone broken before I’d let Kriska see fear. To react in any way that might give him an inch of power over me.
And then he hit me.
My diaphragm flattened against knotted wood, lung cavities emptying on impact. I gasped and choked in the absence of air for the second time in hours, eyes welling. His fist snapped back and punched me again, then he kneeled beside me, giving me a moment to catch my breath, one hand patting the side of my arm with cold indifference.
“Scream,” he ordered, eyes scanning the trees.
30
Maren
My arms were dead. I could no longer feel them. Nor would my fingers move, as I tried to twitch one at a time. I ignored Kriska’s order, turning my cheek into the tree.
“Scream,malá ryba,” he said in a tone that implied if I didn’t, he would make me.
I kicked his shin. My leg carried out the task limply, but a soft chuckle of surprise left him. He caught my foot and threw it, the sudden movement sending bright pain between my shoulders.
“Scream,” he said, withdrawing a knife from his belt as he fixed me with a sneer.
“Do it yourself,” I whispered in a snarl. “You screamed well enough when I pulled you below the sea.”
Kriska’s mouth worked in silence; black brows pulled low over his eyes. “Scream,” he said once more, so deadly soft I barely heard him.
