“Of course.”
“Can you believe this? How did he manage to construct such a place?” Claire whispers to herself.
“I do not know,” is my answer. “In fact, I am very confused. How do you and Captain Alphonse know of him?”
“They must have imported for years…”
I wrinkle my nose at her ignoring of me. Yet I have my own questions; who would sell such massive amounts of materials to a pirate? But the thought is caught by an answer I have floating around; men like my father. Men desperate for money.
“Truly though, it is not as unlikely as we might think,” Claire interjects. “He most likely has control over much of the illegal trade market in many cities and ports. He must. He could not be nobody and have this. It’s a miracle that fleets have not been sent to stop his growth here. If left alone he could turn a potential threat.”
“A threat? I doubt it,” I add. “Though he should be disposed of.”
Claire sits up and eyes me wonderingly, as if she understood something, “Yes, but my dear Gia, most likely he has his hold on many prestigious men, and that is how he has been allowed his way for so long. You see it all the time! In governmental officials even. They let men, dirty men like him, prowl the ocean and rob their enemies. For a percentage of the profits, they give access to ports and trade routes. I am sure that is what he’s done.”
“Would they do that?” I pretend to be clueless.
“You’d be surprised…the lengths that people will go to slake their greed.”
The servants return with our food and tea. Claire beckons me to the bed and we eat there rather than the table.
“Ladies,” The Spaniard, Idalgo, enters our room, “I have been sent to deliver a message.”
He is direct, eyes flitting between the two of us.
“Then tell it to us don’t make us wait,” Claire demands, her hands waving about in annoyance.
As Idalgo regards us with the ice of his eyes, we notice that the servant women enter carrying big swaths of fabric. Gowns. They display them on the bed, voluminous and sparkling in the morning light. The first is a glorious red, burnt and glinting. The other is a mysterious amber brocade. They shine and glitter in the candlelight.
“The Captain orders you both to clothe yourselves with those. The red hers, the yellow yours,” he reveals. “For the celebration this evening.”
“What does he want from us?” I ask. “Tell him he can talk to us here. There is no need for a celebration. Tell him that he can come to us himself or we do not leave this room.”
“Funny, he never gave the option,” Idalgo grimaces as he slips right back out the door.
Unbelievable. I throw a hand out and sigh.
“Imbecile!” Claire flings at the doorway.
“What does he think he’ll accomplish by keeping us here? Hosting a ball and forcing us to attend?” I ask.
Claire is wild-eyed.
“Oh, I have a bit of an idea.”
“And what is that?” I ask her argumentatively.
She shuts her eyes as if she is mourning, and her head sinks on her shoulders.
“Listen, we must be in this together. I do not know what he will do with Alphonse, and if the worst happens, I will need someone else on my side. I know you don’t understand…but you must trust me.”
“Your side? Side of what?”
“To…oh,” she draws a sharp breath and looks down at the dresses. “I don’t know how to explain it to you. You’ll think it all insane.”
I give her a confused look. Yes, most likely I will.
“Dress!” the servant woman barks.
We are given no more opportunity to speak.
Alphonse
A heavy wave of water hits me, drenching me and I gasp for breath. They’ve been going like this for a few hours now. I suck in breath when I have the opportunity, all to be hit once again by a slosh of water. Right in the face. My hands are strung up in the air and my feet are bolted to the ground. I am slack against the ropes in the ceiling and groan.
I knew that he would be here. Sitting on this Island like a bag of gold. When Father stuck him in the cave with the Bone Woman, he thought he may have been punishing him, but no, I could see that it would bring him more good than bad. He’s always been a resourceful bastard, I’ll give him that.
“Where’s Vauquelin?” He asks calmly from afar.
It is dark in this place, and when I blink, head waterlogged, I assume he’s taken me to some sort of dungeon. Maybe his own little private torturing hold.
“Why’d you stay, Benjamin?” my voice is croaking, and I spit water as it dribbles down into my mouth from the tip of my nose. “I thought you were better than that.”
I hear the buckets rise and then I am hit once again, doused.
“Where’s Vauquelin?”
“Why do you need to know?” I laugh, shaking my head of the water.
I watch as two of his men step forward. They ram me in the ribs with the hilts of their swords. I buckle beneath the pressure and see bright popping lights. I shut my eyes and gasp, catching my breath again.
“Why do you think-” I pant for air, “Why would I know where he is?”
I hear the men step forward again and they hit me harder. One of their fists meet my cheek and I hear my jaw crack with the effort. The pain splits across my face and chest and I groan. It’s becoming harder to think.
“You’ve spent all these years at sea, building your “kingdom” right? What stopped you from putting that much effort into finding Vauquelin?” I utter when I find my ability to speak.
They hit me again. Harder. I swallow the pain and growl with the anger. I will not break for him. He knows that.
“You going to kill your own brother?” I sag against the ropes and glance up at him.
I can hardly see him through the swelling and the darkness, but I make out where he stands at the back of the hall, resting against the wall. He blinks slowly, agitated. I see his fingers flick out and the men stand back and allow him to pass them. His slow walking makes me want to crush him. Always so fucking arrogant. Now he has the Bone Woman. Now he has this Island. It is what I have wanted secretly, for so long. I laugh a bit in my delirium, knowing that this is most likely a cruel trick of the universe. Well played, I could say.
“Do you want to be dead?” he asks me simply.
“Why would you ask me where Vauquelin is? I don’t-”
Benjamin takes me by the throat, gripping tight.
“I won’t play your game,” he hisses. “I know what you did. What part you played in father’s and Vauquelin’s experiments. She explained. The search for creatures of myth with their immortal blood, the never-ending experiments, the search for Giselle because her soul will free Sidra from her destructive state…whatever the fuck is going on there. And you know something? I really don’t care. I don’t care about the search to cure humanity of mortality. I really don’t. The only thing I do care about?”
He leans forward and grips me tighter, whispering at my ear, “I care about her. And as far as I’m concerned, you were one of the pieces that stole her from me.”
“Now you have her back,” I wheeze, feeling my lungs struggle for air.
“No,” he laughs. “No. Maybe that’s her soul in there. She may look the same. But you know it’s not the same. Now all I want is to kill those that took her from me. I want to end your little game of gods and monsters.”
I shake my head, sucking for breath. He releases his hand.
“Yes, Benjamin. You’re a righteous man, that’s what you are. So righteous you fucked a dead woman for eternal life, didn’t you? Thought you’d justify it in your head. That it was only to keep Giselle safe. I know you. I know how your mind works. You went back to the Island after a few years of staying away with no leads and made it sound right. Bound yourself to her in order to stay around to keep watch. On how many counts am I right?”
“You’re only right on maybe half,” he snickers. “
Maybe you did know me. Maybe you could have guessed what I would have done before. But now?”
He stands and blows out a breath, “I guess you’ll never know.”
I stare up at him, the torchlight morphing his face into that of a demon. I remain panting, slack against the ropes as he watches me.
“You are not as good as you think you are,” I rage, shaking with anguish and bloodlust, “Always so honorable! Prideful. Look at you now.”
He steps back a bit and contemplates this as if it is something he needs to mull over.
“You are right,” he nods. “I’m not good. I learned a long time ago that good and evil are only conjured categories in the mind. A way to fit our world in order. But, basing myself off that scale today I’d say I agree. I lost that mentality when I watched my wife killed in front of me at the hands of murderers like Father. He deserved his death. Just as Vauquelin does. Just as you do. If killing all of you loses me that title, well then, I’ll take it.”
I sigh, limbs and body aching.
“Well then,” I rejoin. “Sounds like you have everything planned out perfectly.”
“I won’t go easy on your because you’re my brother,” he says quietly, iron in resolve. “I don’t care about anything anymore.”
“I don’t expect you to,” I tell him. “Why not kill me now? I’m not going to speak.”
“I’ll bet otherwise,” he shoots over his shoulder. “My men, oh, they are very good at what they do.”
I feel a trill of anxiety in my stomach when I think about what they could do. What they will do. I’ve heard stories. Benjamin has his name for a reason. I am trying to gauge his changes, trying to learn what he will and won’t do. But now, I am unsure. Before he would never have had me beaten. He would have thrown me in a cell and let me starve. This brother is brutal, and I want to know if he has no limits. Is there mercy in him still?
“I don’t know anything!” I bellow at his back.
“You know more than me. Where Vauquelin is, how you found her?” he responds, adding coldly, “I’ll come back later to check our progress. I have a celebration to get ready for.”
__________________
It becomes silent when they leave me. The silence stings just as much as the scrapes and burns that now cover my body. I lie on my side. I knew that this would come. When I saw him all glorified and gloating, acting the part of blackguard, I knew. I know people, generally, and I know the lengths that they will go.
Benjamin, though he thinks that he has ripped out all the parts of him that made him honorable. But what is his reason for torturing me? Something noble. Father killed Giselle and he seeks vengeance for that and only that. He has no higher desires or wants, no, at the top of his list is vengeance for something unethical. It will always be this way for him.
Even in the pain that racks my body, I cannot shake the gravity I feel towards the cave and the deadly woman that lies in wait there. I feel it like a pulse, an unseen force that gives me the shred of hope I need to keep myself calm. I have a purpose. I can still do all the things I set out to do, all of the things I have planned for. I am here.
Gia
They weave pearls into Claire’s hair and small chains of rubies into mine. They tighten our corsets, stiffening our midsections to where we had once slimmed ourselves daily. After days without the constraint of corseting, my breath comes ragged. Having been without the corset seems to have undone the years of accepting it. They paint my mouth a foul red, and my lips resemble drooping red petals, which leave my face a startling white.
The maid-servant deposits a last puff of powder onto our noses.
“Ready, are we?” the older servant says.
When I rise from my seat and turn to face Claire, she seems to be battling something within her, yet she does not speak, and I wish she would so that I do not have to decipher her thoughts. But there is silence between us.
We are led down large passages and then down the rounding staircase until we reach a dance hall cast with the hazy illumination of candle-lit chandeliers. It is filled with men and women already entertaining, already bantering and flirting and dancing and laughing as if everything were okay in the world. They drink heavy wines and wear glamorous garb. It is like they are in a normal place, in a normal world and not on an island in the middle of the ocean with pirates to lead them.
Upon our arrival, many eye us with amusement and interest. We are on display, figures for all to mindlessly peruse.
He is seated on a makeshift throne, crafted of glossy mahogany, upholstered with dark velvet. His eyes follow my movements. I quickly try to find something else for my eyes, but I know that he continues to assess me.
Claire holds her head so high and hard with a nobleness that none can dispute. She looks nowhere yet down at them all; they are beneath her. We are submitted like gifts at his feet, awaiting his reaction. The crowds grow silent so they can listen to what their Leader might say. I look around to see that everyone is watching.
His laughter breaks the silence and sends me reeling. My chin jerks up and I look at him.
“Very good ladies you are dismissed,” he says to our servant women, rubbing his thumb and forefinger on his cropped beard, and then grazes his bottom lip, lost in a world of thought.
He hops down the steps towards us. His dark mane is tied in a tress down his spine and in that moment, the candlelight dancing in his playful eyes, his apparel clean and proper, I feel that I have known him before, perhaps from a night during our stay in some wealthy man’s home. His dark brows lower as he inspects me, and I swear to the heavens that he is wasted in captivation; drunk upon it.
“I will spare you the pleasantries, but that gown…” he is speechless. “I never caught your name.”
I look to Claire and she nods once as if she’s giving me the go ahead.
“Miss Gia Roswell.”
He nods distractedly, “Gia, you are beautiful. I won’t lie.”
“I do not recall giving you the liberty of addressing me so informally Sir,” I retort coolly.
“Will you disregard my compliments always?”
He scoffs sarcastically, circles round me, and waves Claire away.
“Leave us.”
Claire’s eyes widen, stunned.
“I will be alright,” I manage to say, but she stands firm.
“That was an order…Idalgo!”
He calls for the Spaniard and he comes like a loyal dog. A smirk is on his face as he assesses Claire.
“Dance with her?” His brows upturned in askance.
Idalgo is delighted as he whisks Claire, unwillingly, into the thrall of dancers. What can she do? What can she say? There is nothing. Her skirts flower around her and she searches my eyes, instilling courage to me as she is stolen away.
I whip back to glare at him. I notice that he continues to view me at his leisure, until he greets my iron gaze with a slack smile.
“You must not have women around often enough Sir. Have you had yourself good enough of a look?” I ask.
“Dance with me?” he extends his hand, ignoring my remark.
“No.”
“More time to talk, then,” he is brusque, “Follow me.”
He holds out his arm for me to link my own in, and I make no move to comply. I imagine what it might feel like to touch him. He looks so warm and I cannot help but think of the first time I took the arm of a young man at a party like this.
We remain separate, but I follow him now.
He steers me towards the balcony, a large expanse of marble that opens to an overlook of the forestry below. The night is refreshing, and stars glitter radiantly overhead. I am drawn to their valor, and I stare up, reaching out for the smooth curve of the railing. I sense the terse way he watches me now. I want to make him uncomfortable.
“What are your plans then, Brother Death? Have you taken us to kill us or to ransom us?” I turn around and face him.
His lips curls and he crosses his arms over his chest.
I let out a shaky laugh, attempting to be as solid as I am trying to express to him, “Oh. Company. I have known men. I know what that kind of company means. I’ve heard stories. If you wanted that, you would have taken it already.”
He seems amused, and I press further.
“I know that you know Captain Alphonse and Miss Claire,” I say. “I just don’t know who they are to you.”
“And who are they to you?” he asks me, clearing his throat.
His eyes narrow a bit, and he steps forward.
“No one.”
“Why do you care what happens to them? Your Captain? Claire? The plump first mate?” His voice is dripping with challenge.
“I care because it is the right thing to feel,” I snap. “You stole everything from them. Does that make you feel nice?”
He halfway loses his smile and continues his steps forward. They are slow, practically meditated. I feel my heart jerking towards my throat and grip the rail of the balcony.
“Makes me feel wonderful,” he says, face dark. “If only you knew.”
“Tell me then,” I utter. “I have heard I am an excellent listener.”
The crashing of giant ocean waves and swaying trees fills our silence. We stare at one another and he has now come close to me.
I turn white when I see the smile produced on his mouth, dark and malicious as he is. Although I should see him as my captor, this smile also suggests a still innocence inherent to his being. I harden. He is rotten from the inside out. I will not forget it.
“What good does it do you to dress us up like dolls? Hm?” I challenge. “How do you know them?”
“Tell me of yourself, Gia,” he says, sounding as if he’d like to hear every detail of my simple, dejected life.
I want to hurl him off the edge and watch him careen into the jungle. His brows lift in concern.
“Have I said something offensive?” he mutters.
The Bones of Broken Songs: A Historical Mystery Romance (Mortalsong Trilogy Book 2) Page 4