“Bleeding stars,” she muttered.
She wasn’t daft enough to think she could actually hide away on this ship until it made it to the next port. Plus, she had no idea where this ship was even headed. It could just be going to another port along Aksahri. And when they inevitably found her, they definitely wouldn’t keep a woman on board. Since most men, especially pirates, believed a woman aboard to be a bad omen, they would either assume she was someone’s lost property and take her home, or they’d toss her overboard. She needed some kind of disguise. Her heart raced, eyes darting around the room looking for something, anything she could use.
Kamira sprinted to the dresser as an idea began to form in her mind. She couldn’t disguise herself as a man. The first thing they would do if they found a strange man aboard their ship was shoot, and besides that, she was much too tiny to pass for a man—but a boy, that might be believed. She could probably pass for a boy of maybe thirteen or fourteen years of age. She thought of her cousin Zev. He was fourteen and already a few inches taller than she was.
It was crazy, but it might just work.
If they found a lad hiding aboard their ship, they would be more likely to let him stay as an extra hand on board, at least she hoped. Not that Kamira knew a lot about sailing or what was required to run a vessel, but neither would a boy of fourteen. She could learn; it would be hard, she knew, but she would suck it up and do anything and everything they needed if it meant getting as far away from Aksahri as possible. Kamira looked out the window, once again staring off at those distant lights scattered along the shoreline. They looked more like the glowing eyes of a sand lion scaring her away. She shivered at the sight. No, she couldn’t go back there. Not ever.
The voices overhead grew louder and she hurriedly rummaged through the drawers, finding one linen shirt among the rest that was just a bit smaller. In the next drawer, she grabbed a pair of pants, and the smallest belt she could find so that all these men's clothes would actually stay put on her small frame.
Pulling her gown and chemise overhead, she tore a few long strips from the fabric; she needed them to strap her breasts down tight against her chest if she was to pull this off. Her breasts had never been considered a sizable blessing, but they would have been evident to any man if she let them hang free beneath the thin shirt. Most of her curves resided in the lower half of her body. Her hips swelled slightly outward, and her round backside was large for her slight frame. A pair of baggy brown pants would hopefully be enough to hide her feminine curves.
She donned the cream linen shirt and oversized pants, securing them around her hips with a worn black leather belt she had found. A mirror hung securely just above the dresser and she backed up to see her entire body, spinning before it, observing the costume she had constructed. She blew out a breath and glanced down, panicking slightly from the way her backside filled the baggy pants. “Shit,” she whispered. It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do. It was the only option she had. Her eyes traveled back up to her hair and her heart picked up speed once again, realizing what she had to do to complete her disguise.
Kamira’s hair was a thick mane of auburn waves that cascaded down her back, reaching almost to her bottom. It was an instant giveaway to her womanhood, and if she was to follow through with this plan, it had to go. She looked at herself in the mirror one last time before she gripped the hilt of the blade she had swiped earlier.
The knife felt cold in her grasp as she pulled a clump of hair away from her head and brought the sharp blade up with shaking hands to meet it. The first cut brought tears along with it as she watched a large clump of her shining hair fall to the floor, replaced by a tight curl sticking up atop her head. With each slice of the blade through her silken locks, the tears fell unbidden down her face until there was nothing left but a shaggy mess of short curls atop her head, longer on the top and shorter on the sides. She had shorn it as close to her scalp as she could without skinning herself.
She observed her new look in the mirror once more, her normally bright sapphire eyes now rimmed with red from all the tears she had shed.
“It’s just hair,” she whispered to herself. She loved her hair; it had always felt like a piece of her identity, and now, looking at her reflection, she no longer recognized herself. But she supposed that was the point. It didn’t make it any less hard to see and she turned away from the mirror with a sorrowful sigh. At least she looked as close to a young boy as she ever would.
Kamira moved to pick up her heap of auburn tresses but froze mid step to the unmistakable sound of a gun firing overhead. Her eyes widened and the dagger tumbled from her hand to land silently atop the pile of hair. This was definitely not a friendly ship. She had either made a grave mistake and boarded an Aksahrian military ship or this really was a pirate ship.
“Bloody seas,” she breathed. She wouldn’t survive a day with a crew of pirates. This might end up being a very, very bad idea after all. But, it was too late, she was here now. She would rather take her chances on this ship—and hopefully survive another day—than go back to Aksahri and face the gallows. Her palms grew clammy at the thought, her heart picking up speed.
Muffled voices sounded overhead, spurring Kamira into action. She scooped up her discarded gown and chemise along with the heaping pile of her hair and pushed it all through the small circular window. Quickly, she grabbed for the lamp, extinguishing the flame before setting it back on the desk and grabbing the dagger tightly, tucking it behind her back just before the door swung open.
A man stumbled his way into the room, slamming the door behind him with the force of a great wind, making Kamira jump. He held a lantern in hand, but had yet to see her cowering in the corner of the room, his scowl set pointedly on the bed in front of him.
Kamira couldn’t help but notice the limp he had as he walked toward the bed. She brought a hand up to her mouth, biting her lip to hold back a gasp as gooseflesh climbed up her arms. Had he just been shot above deck? Her eyes darted to the floor beneath him, but she didn’t spot any blood trailing behind him. She was certain she had heard a gunshot. Did that mean if she were to make her way up to the main deck, she would find a body lying there? The thought made her shiver as flashes of memory came to her mind—of a body lying on a cold marble floor, blood pooling beneath it. Kamira gulped, biting her lip harder, the pain sending those memories scattering away. If this was a pirate ship, she wouldn’t put it past them to shoot one another over a simple disagreement, and she would have to prepare herself for the worst. Living with this crew wouldn’t be easy, but she was determined to ensure her survival.
Kamira cocked her head, studying the man. She had never actually seen a pirate before, but this man was definitely not what she expected one to look like. She always imagined large, rough, ugly men with great bushy beards, soot and dirt smeared across their faces, and mouths full of rotting teeth. This man was not any of those things. He was young; he didn’t look much older than Kamira herself, maybe in his mid twenties. He was extraordinarily handsome with a tall, thinly muscled frame and brown skin. His hair was shaved almost completely down to his scalp, with just a short layer of black hair on top that faded into the shaved sides. He actually looked quite well-groomed and put together, more like a young naval officer than a pirate.
She watched as he sat heavily onto the bed, setting his lantern on the floor and rubbing at his left thigh, grunting and wincing as he kneaded further down toward his knee. A shadow of black hair stubbled his jawline, giving him a strikingly rugged look that kept her gaze pinned to him. She watched as his face contorted into a look of torture, making her want to call out to him and help ease his pain.
As if those very thoughts called his attention, the man swung his head in her direction, the look of surprise spreading across his features quickly turning into one of pure rage. “Who the bloody blazes are you and how did you get into my chamber?”
3
Doraan
Doraan’sangerboiledlikea volcano ready to erupt. His men said nothing as they rowed the tender through the calm waters of the Awndar Sea, keeping a smooth and even pace with one another. His visit back home had been eye opening—and not in a good way.
By the time they finally made it back to theCursed Soul, Doraan was ready to commit murder. His eyes were glazed over with the red haze of his rage, and to make things even worse, his leg felt as if it had just been freshly severed from his body. Pain radiated throughout his hips and back, all leading to his knee, where he could have sworn an open lesion had torn, dripping blood down his false leg. He knew it hadn’t, and he would find only scarred flesh crudely stitched together with new skin if he lifted his pant leg to check.
As soon as he boarded the ship, he shuffled straight for the steps leading down into the hull. He needed to be alone before he did anything rash. Before he could disappear into the belly of the ship, a soft lilting voice had his skin crawling, every nerve-ending on high alert as it wrapped around him, echoing unnaturally in his ears. He turned, drawing both pistols and turning to face the culprit.
Standing at the bow of the ship with a devilish smile spread across her ruby lips and dark red hair flowing behind her like the wings of a phoenix, was Forcina.
“Well, well, was your visit home not all you hoped for?” Her words were always laced with a stinging poison, both sweet and pungent.
“What are you doing here, Forcina?” Doraan spat, pistols held out in front of him.
“I was curious to see how your birthday had gone.”
He glared at her, nostrils flaring. “How do you think it went?”
