“You can’t be a cabin boy anymore, Veronica.” The commanding tone creeps back into his voice. “I have claimed you.”
“So I’m to sit in your cabin and go mad with boredom?” I lurch free of his arms before he can stop me. “I can’t do that. My mother used to shut me away in the dark—I won’t be that girl again.”
His eyes widen as if I struck him. “She shut you away in the dark?”
He rises suddenly, striding away from me across the quarterdeck. He leans both forearms on the railing and his head bends, black hair falling around his face.
Black hair with one white streak.
I’ve heard that people’s hair can turn white from terror or trauma.
Was Locke born with that strip of white, or did something happen to him?
He told me once that he came from “somewhere dark and deep.” I sensed then that he didn’t want to discuss it. But now I desperately want to know about his past, and it’s not just an idle curiosity like I might feel about Cook’s past, or Dez’s past. Ineedto know everything about Locke. I must know what events and people transformed him into this person—this powerful, savage, thieving killer—this passionate, principled, intelligent man.
I follow him to the railing. We’re far enough from the helm that we can speak at normal volume without being overheard, but I still keep my voice low, because the things I want to discuss with him are private, and sensitive.
“I wasn’t completely in the dark,” I say. “I had lamps, of course. But no sun. As a small child my mother let me run around outside, but the older I got and the thicker my freckles grew, the more she fussed about bonnets and hats to keep the sun off my skin. It was too late, of course. These spots are part of me.” I rub a finger across the mottled skin of my arm. “The more comments people made, the more frantic she grew about it. When I was around fifteen I was forbidden to leave the house except for social promenades, and even then I had to cover every inch of skin and wear a huge hat and gloves. And I had to carry a parasol, too. Every night the maids put me through a treatment regimen to lighten the freckles. They tried to scrub and sear them off, treat them with acid—thankfully they tried most of the remedies on my arms first, not my face. I still have a few scars though.” I point to the shiny, slightly wrinkled patches just above my elbow.
“Why in the goddamn hell would they do all that to you?” Locke growls.
“A woman’s unblemished skin is highly prized in Ivris,” I explain. “No matter what the shade of skin, dark or light or in-between, flawlessness is considered a mark of high breeding. My face has always been that of a common farm girl. Which means the good matches my mother wanted for me never materialized. That’s why I started taking pleasure from the men she pushed at me. I knew they wouldn’t propose, so I had my fun where I could.”
His forearms are still propped on the railing, and as I speak, the sinews harden while his fingers curl into fists. His knuckles glow white through his tanned skin. “Those men used you.”
“No, I usedthem.”
“I’d like to rip the dick off every bastard who was stupid enough to reject you.”
I scoff lightly. “Weren’t you the one who said you didn’t want the sly minx with the bloody magic? No one ever wants me, not once they learn more about me. To be honest, you know more of my secrets than anyone else. And I know so little of you.” I edge closer to him, till my bare arm brushes his. “You told me once that you come from somewhere dark. Will you tell me about it?”
He draws a long, shuddering breath. “It’s a wretched tale.”
“I’d like to hear it.”
His pale eyes flash up to mine. “Why?”
“Because…” I hesitate, looking away from him, past the foam-crested swells below us and out into the sparkling distance. “Because I think telling it might lighten your heart.”
“I don’t talk about it.” He shoves himself away from the railing. “Not to anyone. And if we’re parsing words, Veronica—you claimed you didn’t want me first. And I don’t blame you. If I told you my past, you’d want me even less.”
He strides back to his seat and gobbles the cold stew quickly. When Dez comes up to check on me, Locke hands the bowl off to him.
“Veronica will no longer be serving in the galley,” Locke announces coolly. “Please inform Cook that he is not to assign her any work. If he does, he will answer to me.”
“Yes, my lord.” Dez bows and skitters away. He seems rather more energized and less lazy since the regime change aboard ship. Since his cousin is no longer captain, Dez is probably eager to make himself useful and amenable to the Pirate King. His new attitude reminds me of how I felt during my first weeks as cabin boy.
Maybe Locke expects me to protest his ban on galley work, but I have no more spirit to spar with him today. I wander back to the captain’s cabin and amuse myself with a couple of Neelan’s books. After an hour or so, I hunt through his shelves and cupboards for more reading material, and I find a sheaf of pages poorly sewn together, depicting people in various stages of coupling. In every pairing, one of the partners wears an anguished expression, as if the joining is a forcible thing. My stomach hollows out with sick dread at the images. I carry the papers out on deck and drop them into the sea.
Night has fallen, and the men have gathered around a bonfire, built in a sand barrel to prevent accidents. Locke has apparently broken out the best rum, because everyone is shouting and laughing heartily, swaying and jostling each other the way men do when their heads are hazy with drink. A roaring song begins, packed with vile words, and they belt it out with matchless gusto.
Shaking my head, I return to the cabin. It’s a smart move of Locke’s, breaking out the drink. He punished the crew, and now he’s soothing the sting, showing himself to be a benevolent ruler. Against my will, I admire his manipulative genius.
I don’t expect him to come in until very late, so I lock the cabin door and take advantage of the time to strip down and give myself a thorough cleaning at the washstand.
I’m just about to put on the flimsy nightgown Locke brought up with the other clothes, when the cabin lock snaps under a full-body blow, and the door pops open.
50
