Chapter 2
Kenna opened her eyes to darkness, and groaned as she pushed herself up off the hard floor. Why was she on the floor? What had happened? And then the feeling of the man's body falling on hers, the sounds of his last gurgling breath came rushing back to her. She heaved, though there was nothing in her stomach, and moved to put her head in her hands. The smell of blood, still thick on her fingers, caused her to jerk away and retreat from them as if she were not attached to the source of the offending scent.
She sat in the dark, unable to see her blood-soaked hands before her face. The smell was different, the sounds of the ship were unfamiliar, and the very air seemed to hold a greater weight. As the realization began to take shape, Kenna shivered—she was aboard the pirate's ship.
How long she sat there, cold and frightened, she couldn't say for certain. When footfall sounded outside the door she turned her head in the direction of the sound, hoping for anything to break the darkness around her. She saw the orange light of a lantern through the cracks in the door and the sound of a key against the lock. Then he was there, his towering form unmistakable despite it being only her third viewing.
He stepped forward, hanging the lantern above and setting a bucket down on the table. Kenna spared a glance at the room and deduced she was in the captain's quarters, the heavily-framed bed against the far wall sat threateningly in the shadows. The man gestured for her to take a seat and he placed himself in one facing her.
Kenna contemplated resisting the order, or at the very least ignoring it, but quickly came to the conclusion that she would gain nothing from rebellion. She moved to stand, swaying a bit as her head swam. She moved towards the offered chair but before she could sit he stood up, crowding her. She pulled back instinctively and continued until the wood met her back. He pursued slowly, languid movements infuriating her as her heart pounded in her chest. Bile rose in her throat again as her sticky fingers met the wall.
His hands came to the ripped collar of her coat and he did away with it more deftly than the man who'd caused the initial damage. Next came the white shawl at her throat. Once it was removed she could see how grotesquely stained it was and knew the rest of her clothing would not have been spared. She grasped his wrists, her hands unable to encircle them. His voice was low in the dark, and the lantern at his back meant she could barely see his face as he spoke. "Your dress may not show it, but it is soaked in blood and must be removed." She sank her nails into his skin as he continued to undress her, but it did not hinder his progress. Not one bit.
She shook as he pushed the dress from her body, revealing dark stains on her lighter undergarments. He moved to undo the laces of her stays and it served to snap her out of the impassive trance she'd been in. She released his wrists and stepped to the side, holding her hands out to stop him before slowly reaching to do it herself. She wanted the garments off of her, the smell of death as far from her as she could get it.
Her shaky hands fumbled with the knot as she unlaced herself and dropped the stiff corset to the floor. She found with dismay that the shift below had not been spared and found herself at an impasse. She couldn't take it off with nothing to exchange it for and a quick glance at her captor showed her no replacement would be provided. She stiffened and looked back at him, silently declaring herself done.
He gestured to the seat again. Kenna slipped past him, turning as she went to keep him in front of her at all times, her eyes locked on his face. He settled in his chair once again and dipped a cloth into the bucket, sloshing a bit of water out of the rim. He took her arm, making her jump at the sudden contact and began to slowly wipe away the blood that covered her skin.
His hands were surprisingly gentle as he went and Kenna was conflicted by it. With all that had happened today, all that was still happening, she felt dangerously close to collapse. Her nerves felt frayed, and every swish of the cloth sent a jolt of fear through her. What was she doing aboard this ship? Why had he brought her here? Her jaw ached as she loosened the muscles there, driven to speak for the first time since the attack.
"Are you going to kill me?" The fear of the answer was vastly outweighed by the uncertainty that ate at her.
He didn't answer immediately, instead choosing to continue his thorough cleaning of her arms and hands. If he was surprised by her decision to speak he did not show it, which irritated her further. The blood had dried in the grooves of her nails and he began to work on them with the damp cloth. She couldn't bring herself to speak again, unsure if it would incur his anger. Instead she watched his face, looking for any crack in the smooth apathy of his features. Her hands began to tremble as she came to the only conclusion that made sense to her: he was going to execute her for killing the captain.
He noted her shaking with a firmer grip on her fingers, and little else. When he was satisfied that he had done the best he could on her left arm he dipped the rag back in the bucket and reached for her right. She didn't protest or try to pull away despite the dread rapidly building in her chest. How did pirates execute people? It must be worse than what the justices did back home, though she couldn't imagine how.
"No," he said finally as he moved the rag over her skin, pulling the red stains from her body. It took her a moment to comprehend that he'd spoken, or that what he'd said had answered her. Relief was brief. If he hadn't brought her here for execution then why? That answer was far more terrifying.
"Why then?" She asked anyway, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Again he chose not to answer immediately. The quiet in the cabin weighed on her. Her shaking did not subside. She cursed her weakness and lightheadedness when she needed to focus.
But her silence had been broken and fear worried her jaw. "You cannot mean to ransom me, as my dress attests I have no husband and can be of little worth to my family. There were other passengers of many more means than I and it seems unlikely that a pirate would be in the business of ransom as it would mean putting themselves into close contact with civilized ports in order to correspond with their victims' families. Then again, pirates are not meant to attack merchant ships sailing in naval waters, so perhaps yours is an unconventional crew. But it still serves to question why. Especially given the rubbish about a siren and fortune tellers. Though perhaps I am not equipped to fully comprehend the complexity of the pirate mythos, it does seem to be incrementally over the line of sense even for sailors." She was babbling, she realized it, but the silence had felt far worse. Though once she'd broken it she wasn't so sure that was true.
