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She searches my eyes, assessing me for a second before she nods. “Deal. The rest of the jobs on the ship are split between us all except for the cooking, which we have cooks for who don’t like our help. I’ll explain more later.” She turns but then spins back, her voice low. “Chaos will flip for this, but our kind…don’t make deals with anyone. Our deals are like magic. Words have power, just as much as blood. Vows are the more serious words to avoid on this ship. Do you understand?”

Her warning settles into my bones. “Yes.” I reach to stop her from leaving, only to pause, remembering her powers. She stops anyway. “Can I trust Draven?” I ask her. “One woman to another, should I be…should I be terrified of being on a ship alone with men like them? Because I know what men do in the darkness, and I’d rather be dead in the sea than let that happen to me here.”

It’s the truth. What happened to my mother once…I can’t. My mind flickers back to that one time, the one time I walked home too late. The one time a man jumped out of the alleyway and I fought for my life, barely escaping with it before he could take anything that I didn’t want to give. The day my parents… I knew if I hadn’t fought like a hellcat trapped in the sea, I wouldn’t have gotten out of there with my dignity, with anything at all. I hear the horror stories of men, and I know that sometimes they are far more dangerous than a watery death. If I have to choose to trust a man or the sea—the sea would be my choice.

I don’t know if the fear flashes in my eyes, but she looks right at me. “They aren’t those kind of men, but you should be careful for other reasons, Miriam. Don’t leave this room. Draven’s warning everyone as we speak not to touch you or look your way.”

Relief floods my body. “Okay, I won’t leave,” I tell her, feeling like she isn’t going to leave me here unless I say it. Where can I go anyway? Freckles smiles brightly at me before turning and actually leaving this time. I hear the doors slide shut with a click, and I breathe in deeply. I’m alive…and I survived today with the map. I should be celebrating and happy, but all I feel is numb to it. I miss Rowe already. He always wanted to go on a ship with me; he dreamed of it and told me one cold night.

I shut the washroom door next, heading to the small circular window that’s letting light in here along with the lantern hanging from the corner, giving a dancing pinkish glow to the room from the stained glass the flame is encased in. When I turn around, I see myself in the mirror and almost wince. My hair is knotted and a crazy mess, black locks falling everywhere, and bits of it are burnt around my face. My face is covered in ash, and I look like I’ve walked through a fire. I guess, in a way, I did. The dress is so filthy, burnt, and damaged I can hardly see the shape and color of it anymore. I tug at it, ripping the fabric down the middle until it just falls off my shoulders and puddles at my feet.

My breath hitches as I look in the mirror at my body. The map is all over me. It goes across my chest, and it goes down my breasts, down my stomach, only stopping right at my hip bones. I turn around and see it goes around my hips, all the way up my back, all the way to the top of my neck and down the back of my arms. It’s so dark against my skin, full of constellations and islands as well as seas I don’t know. It’s huge and makes no sense to me whatsoever.

I recognize the one bit on my arm as Havenward Island, but the rest of this is madness. There is an island with ten moon shapes around it right in the center of my spine, and my eyes focus on it for a second before I turn back. For a minute, I almost start to hyperventilate, panicking until I’m frozen to the spot. I read so many books, studied so many maps of the world to try to learn where this map might take me, and now I feel like I am clueless, completely and utterly clueless.

I feel the tears run down my face before I look up, seeing the perfect drops making lines through the ash on my cheeks. You don’t cry in front of your enemies, and I certainly will not cry in front of him or anyone on this ship.

I know I’m not really hearing my mother, but her words echo in my ear like she is at my side. I lift my chin and I think of Rowe. I can’t cry and give up now. I try to imagine what Rowe would look like healthy, and that image alone gives me strength and renews my determination. I will get that wish for him, one step at a time. And right now, my next step is to get clean and rested.

Since I could feel the map marking me, I don’t think it will wash off, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. I plunge a hand into one of the buckets and yank it back out. My hand is cold now, but the map is still there, only clean now. I get in the freezing cold salt water to wash off all the ash. After dunking my head under, I come back up, knowing that I’m going to fight for this gift that the gods have given me, and fuck anyone that gets in my way. Draven can have his gold, and I will have the magic.

Scrubbing my skin more to get rid of the ash, I also soak my hair until it feels soft, thanks to the strange soaps that smell amazing. I think they smell like lemon. I stand and carefully pour another bucket of clean water over me, rinsing all the ash and suds away. Then I get out, drying off with one of the soft towels hanging on the wall.

I wrap my ribs with what I was given by Clark before getting into the clothes, which are loose and surprisingly comfortable and very soft. I haven’t worn anything new since the dress in a long time and nothing that feels as good as this. The colors are all a deep, rich blue, the top stopping at my wrists and doing a good job of hiding the map.

I brush my hair as much as I can, but eventually, I’m too tired to keep going, and my ribs are protesting with each stroke. I’m done. I need to lie down before I pass out on the floor. I open the door and nearly scream when I see Draven sitting at the end of the bed, pulling off one of his boots, which he chucks across the room and it lands with a thud next to the door. “Hello, Map, you look less like a scrawny mortal who somehow managed to survive a blessing from the gods, and more like…” He closes his eyes and shakes his head like he’s trying to shake away his thoughts.

Was that a compliment? I don’t know if I should be flattered. The way he is glaring at me like I’ve done something wrong by cleaning up makes me think he wants me to take it as anything but a compliment. “What are you doing in my room?” I ask.

“She didn’t tell you?” He laughs low, running his hand through his hair. “Freckles has quite the humor. This is my room. You’re my guest. I’m sleeping there.” He points to one side of the bed. “You’re sleeping right there where I can see you.” He points at the other side of the bed. “I don’t trust you enough to let you out of my sight, Map. And I don’t want to hear any fucking complaints.” My heart is racing as I look at him, at how huge he is, how hard I would need to fight to escape.

Freckles must have lied…she said they wouldn’t be those kind of evil men, but here he is, demanding I sleep in his bed. Draven cocks his head to the side, and it’s like he can read my mind. Maybe everything I’m thinking is written across my face. “No, I’m not going to have sex with you. I’m not interested in mortals.” The way he says it is with so much disgust, like sleeping with me would be the same as throwing up.

“You’re mortal too,” I bite with flushed cheeks.

“You don’t have a clue what I am, Map, but I am far from mortal.” He rises to his feet, towering over me. If he isn’t mortal, then what? A witch? The stuff of legends, lies and nightmares? I don’t dare ask. “You try to leave this room, I won’t be nice and I’ll tie you to my bed for the rest of this trip. Now get some sleep before you pass out.” He takes off his other boot, dropping it right next to the one he threw, before walking past me into the bathroom. A sudden groan of frustration erupts from Draven, followed by cursing. “Map! You used up all of my clean water!” He slams the door behind him, and I jump.

I look at the bed before my eyes dart straight to the door, where I can hear him grumbling about the mess. Fuck this. I’d rather sleep on the deck. I put my middle finger up at the bathroom door before running right out of his room.

Chapter

Six

Irun through the open room, past dozens of pillars as unfallen tears make my eyes burn. This is all too much. My heart is racing so fast I can’t hear anything but the heavy drum, and the taste of my panic and fear on my tongue won’t go away. I keep going, keep moving, knowing that he’s not going to be far behind me when he sees that I’m gone. I can’t run from him, and I fucking hate it.

I feel eyes on me, people staring at the stupid girl running away, but I don’t pay attention to them; I only see the next step and the one after that. I never intended to be a prisoner, to be taken and used for the map. But that is exactly what I’ve become. I’m Draven’s prisoner, and even if he doesn’t want the magic or the chance to stand in front of the gods, he is still using me—for things I know about and things I don’t know about, I’m sure.

I just need to get away from him, from this ship, from it all. The sea doesn’t even sound that bad. I’ve fallen into the sea a hundred times, mostly by accident but sometimes when I’ve had no choice but to hide in the water when a thieving job went wrong. I know I’d die quickly in the sea, this far out, with no chance of land for miles. There isn’t anything but two weeks’ worth of sea between Havenward and any other island. Two weeks stuck on this ship, and he thinks I’m sleeping in a bed next to him? I know almost nothing about him, and what little I do know only makes me detest him.

I’m barely even registering where I’m going until I get to the staircase that runs down to the bottom of this ship and the peaceful darkness waiting down there. I throw myself down the steps, running as fast as I can, and I’m in a little less pain thanks to Clark.

I rush straight across the crates, right to the crate that I crawled out of, and I throw myself in it without a second thought. The hay is scratchy against any bit of bare skin it can find, and I suck in a deep breath, holding my head to my knees. My fingers find my locket, stroking its edges, and I silently scream and scream and scream until it makes me feel better.

“Are you okay?”

I jump out of my skin and look out of the crate, seeing a little boy sitting on a pile of logs, his back resting on crates piled high and tied with rope to the walls of the ship. The sounds of the bottom of the ship come back to me, the waves hitting the sides, the whistling of the wind. And him. He’s got to be about ten, if not older than that, and my heart pangs as I think of Rowe. The kid doesn’t look like Rowe at all. Actually, he looks like Clark. He has the same silvery wisps of hair that fall all over his face, and he needs a haircut desperately, the tips so long they hang into his eyes that are the brightest blue. There’s a lantern next to him, and he’s got a small wooden guitar resting in his tanned hands. “Do you speak? You can nod instead if you wanna.”

“What are you doing down here?” I mutter, clearing my throat. My cheeks are wet, and this kid has seen me cry, and I don’t like being that vulnerable with anyone.