“The horses are good stock, too. Already loaded ’em on the ship,” Quarter continues.
The captain nods and then turns, his eyes finally deigning to land on us. “This many women?”
“Whores, by the looks of ’em.”
This news piques the captain’s interest. He walks over to survey our line, his boots crunching in the sodden snow, his intense eyes taking in every inch of us.
“Hmm, not just whores,” he murmurs, fingering the dress of one of the women. She trembles, her gaze down, eyes buried in the snow. “They’re dressed far too fine for common whores.” He turns to Quarter, and even though his face is still covered, somehow, I know he’s grinning. “These are Midas’s royal saddles.”
Quarter’s eyes widen, and a low whistle escapes him. “Well, shit. Y’hear that, Reds?” he calls out to the gathered pirates. “We’ll be ridin’ some royal saddles tonight!”
A roar of approval rises up, like a pack of wolves howling at the moon in rabid jubilation. Beside me, Polly whimpers.
The captain walks down the line of women, eyeing each of us carefully. By the time he reaches Polly, she’s shaking so hard that I worry she’ll pass out. When he sees her wearing the fur coat, he flicks an impatient hand.
Quarter comes up and takes hold of it, snapping the buttons right off as he rips the front open. Polly lets out a shrill scream, trying to pull it back together, but another pirate comes up and yanks her arms behind her, holding her still.
Now that she’s being held, the captain pushes her scraps of dress away to get a look at her body. “Nice tits. Midas has good taste, at least.” His eyes travel lazily back up from her breasts to her face. “Look at me, girl.”
But Polly has her eyes shut tight, and she shakes her head no, keeping her chin down, keeping her shoulders curled.
The captain’s dark eyes narrow. “Hmm, these royal saddles are a bit stuck-up, aren’t they, Quarter?” he muses.
The bulky man—probably his second-in-command—nods. “Aye. But we can teach ’em some manners, Cap’n.”
Quarter takes a step forward and grips Polly roughly by her blonde hair, wrenching a cry from her as he tilts her head back, her eyes flaring wide. “You ain’t a royal saddle no more, girl. If Cap’n Fane wants a look at ya, then you give it to him. Y’hear?”
Polly whimpers and then her eyes suddenly roll back, her whole body going slack as she passes out. All three of the pirates let her fall, let her delicate body crash into the snow. Not one of them bothers to lift her back up.
Captain Fane makes a tsking noise. “Weak. We’ll have to train them.”
Inside my dress pockets, my hands shake.
Above me, the blanket of night smothers, holds itself over us, keeps me hostage. Far behind, the mountain pass breathes, a yawning divide that would’ve led us to the border, would’ve led us to Fifth Kingdom.
Too far. We were just too far.
What will happen when our party never shows up to Fifth? How long until Midas sends scouts to search for us? Will he be able to find me? Will it be too late?
Guilt, acidic and hot, steams in my stomach, each rising tendril malignant. Is this a punishment? Do the Divine gods and goddesses scorn me for my urge to leave Midas’s cage? Maybe this is a reprimand of the fates, proof that I should’ve been satisfied with what I had, been grateful for it.
The pirate captain steps in front of me.
My gaze lifts up, up, until it settles on his face. A cruel, callous face. White fur. Red band. Brown eyes.
I should never have looked away from Sail’s eyes. I should’ve stayed there, in that look, where it was safe.
The captain runs the same assessing, nearly bored look over me, same as he did the others. But then he goes still. Squints. Looks harder.
My heart pounds.
He snaps his fingers without ever looking away from me. “Light.”
“Light! Get the captain a light!” Quarter hollers, making me flinch.
I hear running footsteps, a shake of glass and metal. But I can’t look away from the captain. I’m stuck in fear, stuck, as if he has a hand wrapped around my neck.
Someone rushes over with a torch, its yellow flame hissing from the snowfall, its center a wounded red, like they lit it from the paws of their hellish beasts.
Captain Fane snatches the torch and holds it close to me, so close that the heat is nearly painful against my frozen cheeks. He lets the light glow over my face, drags it down my gold-threaded clothes. The glimmering leather of my boots. The luster of my hair.