“Sit back down, girl,” Quicknon said, reaching for her arm.
She ignored him, snatching her arm out of reach. She fled, hurrying to her room before anyone could stop her.
She locked the door. In the morning while they slept in, she would get off the dreaded luxury liner. She would travel for a time so she wouldn’t be available for her neighbors to call upon. It was a game of avoidance and retreat. To win, she must escape.
She didn’t remove the silky gown because she worried Quicknon might pay a servant to unlock her door during the night. She didn’t want to be caught in a shift that could be torn away easily. Claiming her body and reporting the union as consensual would be the quickest way to take possession of her permanently. Others might help him with false statements. At the moment, no one could be fully trusted.
She lay down under a light blanket, still in the expensive jeweled layers. She wished again bitterly that she’d taken action sooner, long before Gissandre ever went to walk by the sea after curfew.
* * *
Zawri woke to a handover her mouth. She screamed against it and fought, but strong hands dragged her up.
No! No!No!she screamed in her mind, struggling hard to free herself. She kicked and scratched like a valley cat.
In the end, she was bound within her sheet and something earthy and cylindrical was forced into her mouth and secured, rendering her mute. A length of fabric wound around the lower half of her face, muffling her furious sounds.
She vowed to kill Quicknon when she got the chance. He might rape her, but he wouldn’t kill her. And that would be his mistake.
She was swung over a shoulder and jostled as she was carried. Certainly it wasn’t Quicknon carrying her. Predictably, he’d hired men to do the physical work he required. She swung her legs, trying to dislodge herself. A sharp swat on her backside gave her pause.
The feel and sound of rushing air startled her. Why were they in the hold? Only the captain could launch a pod to the surface. It required permission. Was Quicknon planning to abduct her and force her to marry him? Had he paid the captain of the vessel to launch a pod?
Her eyes adjusted to the low light, and she became still. She was not in a pod. She was being carried through a retractable docking hall. The legs of the man who carried her were long, muscular, and covered in stretch-weave. Quicknon and his friends never wore skin suits. They claimed it was because it was worn only by the lower classes, but she suspected the real reason was that they were too fat and soft or too thin and self-conscious to wear the fabric that revealed without mercy how fit a man was or wasn’t.
A metal door slid open at the end of the temporary docking hall. Entering a ship, she stared down at the braided metal floor. The design would have been excessively expensive on any private ship other than that of a kinsman to a craftsman who could work the metal in such a fashion.
With a sinking stomach, she realized what that must mean. She’d been kidnapped. By pirates.
