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I cannot risk getting to the checkpoint without already having the map to present to my father.
Time to use more of what Mother gave me.
***
Riden comes back with breakfast: more eggs. I eat quickly, then I tell him, “I want to go outside today.”
“Why?” he asks suspiciously.
“Because I’ve been cooped up in here like some child’s pet, and I want out.”
“If you’re out on the deck, the captain will expect you to work.”
“Fine.”
Riden fumbles with the empty dish in his hand but catches it before it connects with the ground. “What did you say?”
“I said fine. Is there something wrong with your ears?”
“I was under the impression you didn’t do anything that involved getting your clothes dirty.”
“I learned as a little girl that pirating means being filthy from time to time. You just have to be rich enough to afford regular bathing and several changes of clothes. Speaking of which, I want a new outfit.”
“But you’re going to get dirty.”
“I know that, but I’ve already been in this one for too many days.” Enwen’s been bringing me new clothes since I was moved to Riden’s room. It’s very thoughtful of him, but I don’t have the time to wait around for him to decide to bring me more. I need to be clean and fresh when I seduce Draxen.
“All right, I’ll go grab you something,” Riden says.
“No, I want you to bring all my things.”
He snorts. “Not a chance. Who knows what else you’re hiding in there? You’ll get one outfit and one outfit alone.”
Enwen didn’t grant that request, either, but it was worth a try.
“Fine,” I say, “bring me the green one.”
“The green one?”
“Yes, you’ll know it when you see it. And I want a fresh blouse and leggings.”
“Anything else? Some undergarments, perhaps?”
“I wouldn’t dream of giving you the satisfaction.”
He laughs. “You can’t exactly stop me, now, can you?”
He leaves much too quickly for me to believe he’s simply doing a lady a favor. Too eager, he was. Perhaps he didn’t want to listen to my arguments. Or it’s the thrill of going through my underthings.
“What is this?” Riden demands some time later. He doesn’t even bother to shut the door behind him when reentering.
“My clothing,” I respond. “Honestly, Riden, have you forgotten the names of—”
“No,” he says, cutting off my rather witty remark. “This is not clothing. This wouldn’t cover a child.”
“It stretches, you dolt.”
“Stretches!” he exclaims. “No. You willnotwear this.” He tosses me instead a wad of purple fabric that he’d been holding in his other hand. It’s a corset, but this one is an over bust instead of an under bust. It’s complete with a hood and short attachable sleeves.
