Dance of a Burning Sea

by Mellow, E. J.

  Alōs stomped out the small flame still eating away at the rope attached to the fur.

  “What is your plan, then?” she asked.

  He straightened his jacket. “I am holding the Mousai’s identities ransom for a pardon from the Thief King.”

  When Niya made no reply, Alōs found her unfocused gaze staring into the corner of the room, a frown on her lips. He knew this was her nightmare realized, for him to finally use this knowledge for his own gain, for her sisters to possibly find out what she had given away to a monster like him.

  If he were anyone else, he might have felt bad for the fire dancer. But Alōs had stopped feeling many years ago. He had sacrificed enough from caring. He was still sacrificing. He had no more decency to give.

  And he was glad.

  Such emotion made one weak, and he had made sure to rid himself of as much fragility as he could.

  “But why do you need me to make such a bargain?” asked Niya after a beat, eyes resuming their hard edge. “Surely you could have made your trade without all this extra work of bringing me here.”

  “It’s to make a point,” he clarified. “We both know the Thief King does not respond well to threats—”

  “He pulls the bowels from any who make them.”

  “Let alone ones from those he already has a bounty on,” continued Alōs. “I knew I had to hold one of his precious pets prisoner for him to sit up and listen. Plus, with you aboard, it stops him from merely blowing up my ship to be rid of me.”

  “You will not get what you want,” declared Niya.

  “We’ll have to wait and see, won’t we? That is, if your dear sisters ever come to rescue you. After all, the Mousai must save one of their own.”

  “They’ll find me.” Niya tipped her chin up, and Alōs studied her in the low lantern light. Her red hair was wilder than before, covering half her face as the green neckline of her dress slunk down one shoulder. It threatened to expose parts of her body many creatures would pay dearly to see, his crew especially. Her skirts were ripped and frayed, and her one bare foot was smudged with dirt. Yet even so disheveled, she remained poised, her gaze holding nothing but confident contempt.

  “Perhaps,” said Alōs.

  “They will.”

  “If you’re so sure, shall we place a wager?”

  Niya’s eyes sparked, and he held back a grin. That’s right, he thought, a pretty gamble just for you. Her identity wasn’t the only secret he knew. He’d watched, more than once in the Thief Kingdom, as she succumbed to her vice of playing fate’s hand.

  “A wager?” she repeated.

  He nodded.

  “About my sisters coming for me?”

  “How about the time it takes for anyone to come for you?”

  “Anyone?”

  “Anyone.”

  Niya sucked in her bottom lip in thought.

  “Have a number in mind?” asked Alōs. “Feel free to make it high, for who knows how long it will take for you to be missed, let alone found.”

  “Three days.”

  Fool, he thought.

  “Three? Are you sure? You do not know how far we might be from Jabari or the Thief Kingdom. And do not forget the Crying Queen has evaded detection this long. We both know how your impulsive decisions can land you in all sorts of jams.”

  Niya’s lips thinned. “Three.”

  “Very well.” Alōs pulled a small pin from the lapel of his coat. He pricked his palm, allowing a bit of blood to pool in the center. He gathered the buzz of his gifts, letting it float forward in his veins, a cold whisper. As he set his intentions, he pushed out a thread of his magic from his cut. “And what do you wager?”

  Niya eyed the green glow of his spell circling his hand, apprehension clear in her features. “Must it be a binding bet?”

  “Against a slippery creature like you? Always.”

  This way I can also keep a closer eye on you, thought Alōs darkly. Binding bets ensured payments were met by allowing the winner to be able to locate the debtor. And neither could kill the other while bound, lest their own life be sent to the Fade as well. Any extra security against the wrath of this lethal creature, Alōs would take.

  Niya remained still, no doubt mulling over the same details, wondering if they put her at an advantage or disadvantage.

  “But if you’re having doubts about your sisters . . .” Alōs began to withdraw his offered palm.

  “No.” Niya stepped forward.

  Alōs’s pulse quickened as he suppressed a grin. That’s right, he silently cooed to her. You’ve taken plenty of reckless chances thus far; why stop now?

  Niya reached for the pin, but Alōs shook his head. “As you pointed out earlier, you can do a lot with a little.”

  She frowned but stuck out her hand nonetheless. He slashed quickly, keeping the cut small. Niya didn’t flinch as crimson began to seep out. She moved her fingers, her orange magic swirling forward to mimic the circle of his.

  “If anyone”—she locked eyes with him—“comes for me in, or before, three days’ time, you will allow us to leave peacefully, sign your silence about the Mousai’s true identities, and destroy wherever you have the knowledge hidden in Aadilor.”

  “That is a hefty payment.” Alōs cocked a brow.

  “It’s to be thorough. I’m not the only slippery creature in this room.”

  Alōs weighed his options for a moment. “All right,” he agreed. “I’ll allow you to leave peacefully, will sign my silence and destroy any knowledge of your identities hidden around Aadilor. But if no one comes for you by the first light of the fourth day, you will serve a year as crew to the Crying Queen.”

  “What?” Niya pulled her hand away. “That’s insanity.”

  “Knowing the Mousai’s identities is practically priceless and the fastest way to remove my bounty,” said Alōs. “I would be a fool to bet for anything less.”

  “But you don’t like me. Why would you want me here?”

  “I don’t like most of my crew, but that doesn’t stop me from enjoying ordering them around. In fact, it makes it all the better.”

  “I don’t know how to sail.”

  “I don’t need a sailor.”

  Niya’s brows knitted together. “I will not be the entertainment.”

  Despite himself, a deep chuckle rumbled from Alōs’s throat. “Why worry, fire dancer? If you’re so sure you’ll win, think of all you’ll regain. My wager should hardly be a threat.”

  “A year . . . ,” she repeated, more to herself.

  “Time’s already falling.” Alōs nodded to their hands. “Make the bet or don’t, but we both know your secrets are not safe with me.”

  She took in a steadying breath and glanced down at their blood-covered hands, where their magic pulsed in reds and greens in anticipation along their skin and reflected in Niya’s eyes, which seemed to hold a thousand thoughts.

  And then . . .

  “Vexturi,” said Niya, shoving her hand into his. My oath.

  Alōs’s dark heart gave a thrilled thump.

  “Vexturi,” he echoed, binding the spell.

  Their individual magical gifts burned bright before intertwining, spinning where they gripped one another. Alōs’s palm felt slippery against hers but stuck as a heat licked between their grasps while the circle shrank, absorbing into their skin with a snap.

  Niya pulled her hand away first as the outline of a thin black band appeared around her wrist. An identical one now marked Alōs’s—a binding bet to be determined.

  It is done, he thought.

  And Alōs was extremely pleased.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Niya wanted to scream.

  Or cry.

  Or both.

  By the lost gods, what have I done?

  Alōs had exited swiftly after their binding bet had been secured, leaving Niya remaining numbly behind, thoughts racing.

  Had she made a horrible mistake? Could she actually win and, after all this time, finally have her a
nd her sisters’ identities safe? Why did I only say three days?

  “I’m here to get you cleaned up and show you around.” A woman’s voice brought Niya back to the small compartment, to where a figure now stood in the shadows by the open door. Her head was shaved save for a line in the middle, and her black skin gleamed warmly in the low light.

  She peered at Niya with indifference.

  “I don’t care to be shown around,” said Niya, turning from the woman.

  “And cleaned up? Captain doesn’t like any on his ship to look like they’ve been dragged aboard from the bottom of the sea.”

  Niya arched a brow as she settled a steely gaze back on her unwanted companion. “But that is precisely what has been done to me.”

  “Doesn’t mean you have to remain lookin’ like it.”

  “Go away,” said Niya, her mood souring further.

  When no reply came, she found the woman had done just that.

  But there, on a crate by the open door, a pile of clothes had been left.

  Niya adjusted the collar of her new tunic. The white top was snug but far cleaner than her soiled dress. The brown trousers fit her eerily well, and while the boots were too big, given she wasn’t wearing any socks, she supposed they were better than remaining barefoot.

  She peered at the small pouch in her hand, brushing a thumb over where she could feel the bump of the seed scoopling inside. It was astonishing this had survived her journey here, hidden inside the pocket of her ruined skirts. More astonishing yet was how that day in Jabari now felt like a lifetime ago. But this little trinket had made it, a strange anchor home that placed a reassuring hope in Niya’s chest.

  Pocketing the item within her new trousers, Niya studied the discarded rags by her feet. Her once-beautiful gown, hand-sewn by Jabari’s top seamstress, reduced to shreds. She sighed, a tiredness gripping her. In fact, in the aftermath of all her rage, Niya felt rather run down. She was exhausted and, despite her now somewhat-clean clothes, desperately wanted a bath.

  And after, she wanted to change into one of her soft silk robes. And Charlotte to hum a reassuring melody as she brushed her hair into soft waves. And she wanted food. By the lost gods, she wanted heaps of food. Niya wanted eclairs from Milezi, Jabari’s best pastry maker, and two-day-soaked brisket from Palmex de V piled onto freshly baked honey rolls.

  But she wasn’t going to get any of those things.

  At least, not anytime soon.

  Weariness gripped Niya once more as she rubbed at the marking of her binding bet. The dim lantern light flickered across the black lines wrapping her pale wrist.

  As the days progressed, the band would slowly fill in, counting down the days left for her sisters to show. If they did not . . . well, Niya could not think of that.

  They will find me. They will. And then this whole mess will be over.

  Suddenly desperate for fresh air, Niya swung open the door. She was only slightly surprised it hadn’t been locked, not that a lock could stop her, but she supposed Alōs found no need to try to cage her when their binding bet was a shackle enough. For her win to count, she had to remain aboard the ship.

  As she stepped into the hall, Niya was met with the woman she had felt waiting on the other side for some time now. “If you insist on remaining outside my room,” she began, “I guess you might as well give me this grand tour you speak of.”

  The woman cut her a dry grin, displaying checkered gold-capped teeth before she led the way down the tight corridor. As they walked, Niya took in her guide more properly. She was tall, with sinewy muscles along her exposed arms, where a ring of five welted burns sat like ornamentation on each bicep. A long dagger was strapped to her thigh, and with her shaved head and more than a dozen gold loops piercing the rim of her right ear, she had the look of those who hailed from Shanjaree in the far west of Aadilor.

  While Shanjaree was known to have pockets of magic, Niya could sense no gifts stirring in this woman. There was no metallic sting to the air or trail of colored smoke one could pick up with the Sight.

  Climbing upstairs, they entered into the light of early morning.

  Niya squinted against the harshness of it, though she greedily breathed in the salty air that pushed refreshingly across her skin, whipping her already-disheveled hair around her shoulders.

  “Welcome to the Crying Queen,” said her guide.

  As her eyes adjusted to the bright day, she was able to take in the massive gleaming ship stretching out before them. Black-and-gold detailing edged banisters, railings, and masts, above which puffed white sails like giant clouds.

  Men and women scurried like rodents this way and that, climbing to reach crow’s nests, tie ropes, and adjust sails.

  Niya had been aboard the Crying Queen before but had never given it much attention. Her mind had been focused on a different task then, a journey she had been on with her sisters.

  At the thought of Larkyra and Arabessa, a bloom of pain and longing expanded in her chest.

  What were they doing now? Had they even noticed she was gone? Were they scared she might be dead?

  Niya rubbed at her sternum, as if that could rid her of the horrid feeling of guilt.

  “This is the foredeck,” said the woman as they walked. “Gun deck is a floor below us. Stern of the ship is behind us, and forecastle deck and bow is at the front.”

  Niya barely listened, instead studying the crew, who seemed to crawl out of every crack to study her. They were made up of every age, licking blistered lips as she passed, forty pairs of hungry eyes gleaming, no doubt seeing her as she had been presented—their meal ticket to their freedom from the Thief King. Pillaging and commandeering vessels were not the only ways pirates made a silver. Blackmail was a familiar pastime for rodents such as these. And while Niya was used to being ogled, usually enjoyed it, today she desperately wanted to be invisible, overlooked, and safely alone with her thoughts and feelings.

  But she couldn’t let these pirates know that. Here she had no flexibility to be vulnerable. So Niya smiled a sharp smile to each and every person they passed, flames erupting to her fingertips as she gave a few a little wave.

  Their gazes clung to her displayed gifts, some stepping back, others returning her bravado with their own cruel grins, colorful curls of their magic seeping from their forms.

  Interesting, thought Niya.

  “What are you mutts standing around for?” barked her guide to the gathering group. “It’s not as if we have never had a prisoner on board. Back to work!”

  Hearing how the woman spoke each syllable with purpose and clarity, Niya’s attention swung back to her, reassessing. More curiosities, thought Niya. While her guide might have had the look of a pirate, Niya knew then she had not been born into squalor.

  “But she holds the gifts,” said a small girl, clear fascination in her tone.

  “And? So do our captain and Saffi and Mika and half of Aadilor. Ain’t nothing special about this one, Bree; now back to the ropes with you.”

  In a blink the girl scampered up a mast, no ladder or rope needed, before she was a small dot standing in a crow’s nest.

  “Best not to flash those gifts of yours so openly,” said the woman to Niya. “There are still a few here that are looking to get revenge for the burns you gave them earlier.”

  “How serendipitous, for I’m still looking to get revenge on those who dragged me here.”

  Her guide tipped her head back and laughed, drawing Niya’s eyes to her bruised nose and the matching discoloration under her eyes.

  “The handiwork of your foot,” explained the woman as she caught her gaze. “So no revenge needed with me.”

  Niya set her shoulders. “I do not think your injury is at all equal to what I have suffered being brought here.”

  “We’ve all got sob stories, and I can guarantee those aboard have worse ones than yours, so don’t be looking for any sympathetic ears here.”

  Niya’s annoyance prickled along with her magic. “You know
nothing of me or my life.”

  “No,” agreed the woman. “But I don’t need to. If what the captain says is true and you’re worth so much as to help us get our bounty dropped with the Thief King, you’re more than expensive—you’re connected. Or at least your family is,” she added, assessing. “And most of our prisoners, like you, have lived cushy.”

  “I can guarantee you,” began Niya coolly, “none of your prisoners have ever been like me.”

  “I suppose none of them have been as troublesome to get on board, but you all end up hog-tied and captured in the end.”

  Niya’s temper flared, her magic spinning around in her gut to show this woman just how troublesome she could be. But she gritted her teeth against the urge. Suspicions were apparently already overflowing on this ship regarding her connections. No use in fanning the flames.

  “Thank you for your lovely tour,” said Niya through clenched teeth. “But I am no longer in the mood for company.”

  The woman quirked an amused grin. “Then you better change your mood quickly, for you’re on a pirate ship, girl, and there’s always unwanted company around.”

  Do not singe off that insufferable smile, Niya told herself. Do not show her what happens to unwanted company when unwanted company sticks around. Do not. Do not. Do not.

  Niya strode from the woman, stopping at the bow, where she grasped the railing.

  The ship cut through the waves far below, churning sea-foam to splash up against her skin, cooling her temper.

  “By the Obasi Sea,” growled Niya as she felt the woman approach. “You truly cannot take a hint!”

  “Before I leave,” said her guide, ignoring her outburst, “Captain wanted me to let you know that if you’re hungry, some of the crew are always eating in the main galley.”

  “Then it’s a good thing I am not,” lied Niya.

  The pirate eyed her for a long moment. “I’m Kintra, by the way.” She extended a hand.

  Niya did not shake it.

  Kintra displayed her checkered grin again. “He’s right. You are stubborn.”

  “He knows nothing of me.”

  “He knows enough to give you this.” Kintra pulled a lumpy biscuit from her pocket and a capped pouch from around her neck. She placed both on the small ledge under the railing by Niya. “He’ll not have you starve,” explained Kintra. “Said there’s no value in the dead.”