Captain Neelan looks around, surveying the crew, probably trying to gauge whether he can get away with this egregious breach of the Pirate King’s law.
Before he can decide, Locke throws down his knife. “Enough of this!” he bellows. “The decision doesn’t belong to any of you—or toyou, Captain. Because I outrank everyone on this gods-damned ship.”
He tears off his bandana and his eye-patch. Drags his loose shirt over his head. He steps forward, and the light of a nearby lantern catches him in its glow—ice-pale eyes, black hair streaked with white. The tattoo on his back seems to ripple under my gaze—the beautiful moth, with the crown above it.
“What’s this now?” begins Tir, but Captain Neelan throws out a hand for silence. His face has gone taut and gray.
The tattoo on Locke’s back shifts. It doesn’t vanish, but shadows unspool from it and weave themselves into a shape, a spiked circlet—a crown.
The crown settles onto Locke’s temples and solidifies into something real, something tangible and brutal and powerful. It’s not an exact replica of the crown on the pirate’s flag, but it’s close.
Pirate, and king.
Pirate King.
My whole body is shaking. My mind blazes white with the realization, unable to hold any other words or thoughts except—Locke is the Pirate King.
Locke is the Pirate King.
37
A shuddering gasp races through the crew, and they collapse to their knees, all of them, an avalanche of obeisance.
“What is the meaning of this?” Captain Neelan’s voice is sharp and thin.
“From time to time I like to check in on the newer captains who join my fleet,” says Locke. His tone is the smooth educated one he uses when he’s around me—his true self, resurfacing. “There’s only so much you can know about a man unless you’ve sailed under his command. You’re not the first captain who has hosted me unawares. But you are the first whose entrails I’ve wanted to hang from the rigging.”
I can’t see Locke’s face, but whatever expression it holds must be terrifying, because Captain Neelan shudders and sinks to one knee. “Begging your pardon, sir. Decisions made at sea are sometimes difficult, and I—”
“Shut up, and get up.” Locke’s voice drips with malevolent scorn. He snaps his fingers at Captain Neelan. “Cut her loose and give her your robe.”
My mind is spinning, everything I know about Locke rearranging to fit a new reality. Yet even amid all of that, I can’t help but be impressed by the level of power he wields over these men. He stands alone, with no weapon but a knife, and nothing to identify him but a distinctive tattoo, a white streak in his hair, and a crown. Technically they could defy him, overwhelm him, toss him into the sea. Yet they obey him immediately, implicitly.
“The rest of you,” Locke says. “Show me your marks of allegiance.”
The pirates shift and shuffle, scraping aside hair or clothing. Except for theWending Willowsailors, each man points to a tattoo—markings I’d thought were simply personal adornment. Every tattoo is different—I can tell that much even from this distance. I suppose the shape of the tattoo doesn’t matter so much as the magic infused into it.
Neelan finishes sawing through my ropes and I step free, rubbing my skin where the rough cord chafed it. The Captain takes off his blue robe and holds it out, avoiding my eyes. I fold the robe around my body, hating the way it smells of Neelan, pipe smoke and sickly florals and peppermint.
Locke is speaking to the crew, his voice firm, tinged with rebuke. “Most of you I inked with my own hand, though you may not have known it, since I wear a mask when I perform tattoo magic. Some of you were inked by one of the other two tattoo mages in my employ. But all of you swore dual vows the day you were marked—an unbreakable vow to never reveal the location of Ravensbeck, and a second vow, less deadly, but no less binding—a vow of allegiance to me, your lord and governor.”
I inhale deeply as I finish untying my gag. So Locke does have some sway over these men, through the magical tattoos they accepted and the vows they spoke. They wouldn’t die from breaking his laws, and they don’t appear to be under his control, exactly—but there must be some compulsion to obey him. I’ll have to ask him about it later, when I’m done beating the shit out of him for not telling me who he is.
“You’ve heard tales of how I punish those who defy or betray me?” Locke asks, and an uneasy rumble moves through the men. “I see that you have. Good.”
“Sire, if I may,” says Captain Neelan. “Would you like the girl tossed overboard now, in accordance with your law?”
Foolish of him to interrupt. Even more foolish to suggest such a thing, because Locke would never let me be tossed overboard. He promised to protect me. He—
My confidence falters as he turns and looks right at me with eyes like shards of ice.
Then he glances at Neelan. “Where in the law does it say to kill the women? They are to be left on the looted ships or sent to sea in boats, not slaughtered. I’ll decide what to do with her in the morning. For now, Captain, take her to your cabin, which is now my cabin. You’ll bunk with our navigator Mr. Dolomon.”
Captain Neelan’s face goes tight with rage, but he only nods and hustles me along, down the forecastle steps and across the deck. Locke is saying something about whippings and punishments, but I barely hear him. Dozens of eyes are focused on me, gazes pressing heavy against my shoulders, heating my cheeks.
Neelan shoves me ungraciously into his cabin and begins to collect his personal effects. “Cunning little shrew, aren’t you?” he hisses. “You think you’ve won, but I haven’t climbed this high to be knocked down by a pair of spotted tits.”
“For a while I thought you might be decent enough,” I say. “But you’re a real asshole, aren’t you?”
