“Why?” The question burst out before I could stop it. “Why are you feeding me like this? Why am I here instead of down there?” I gestured toward the floor, toward the hold below.
The sailor’s jaw clenched. For a moment, I thought he might not answer, then he said, his voice tight, “Taichou’s orders.”
“But why—”
He shrugged. “Not my job to ask why.” Then he finally looked at me, and the hatred in his eyes was unmistakable. “I follow orders. You should, too.” He spat the words like they tasted foul. “Rest of us eat hardtack and salted meat, but you get this. Fucking whore.”
He vanished before I could respond, slamming the door behind him.
I sat there, staring at the tray, my stomach churning despite the gnawing hunger. The food smelled incredible. My mouth watered, my body betraying me. I hadn’t eaten a proper meal since—gods, I couldn’t even remember.
But this felt wrong. All of it felt wrong. I was a prisoner, a slave. I should be starving in the dark with the others, not sitting in a clean cabin with hot food and blankets.
Why?
My hands shook as I picked up the chopsticks.
They gave me chopsticks?Even that simple act felt foreign. They weren’t sharp; still, the wooden sticks formed a point. They’d just handed a prisoner a weapon.
Nothing made sense.
I told myself I needed to eat, needed to keep my strength up, but the truth was simpler: I was too hungry to resist. The first bite of fish melted on my tongue, seasoned with ginger and soy, perfectly steamed. The rice was soft and warm, better than anything I’d eaten in months. Even the soup was rich and complex, nothing like the thin broth I’d had aboardThe Wormduring my first encounter with thewako. I ate, barely tasting anything despite the quality, my mind racing.
This wasn’t how you treated cargo.
If I’m not cargo, what am I?Where are they taking me, and what will they do—
My heart lurched.
The mainland slave markets.
What kind of buyer paid enough that a slave needed to be pampered like this? I was strong, not unattractive, still young. A noble house or . . . gods, no—
My head swam. The food turned to ash in my mouth.
A prayer flew from my lips, “Holy Ebisu, you guided me home more times than I deserved, protected me from your brother’s anger on the sea. Save me from this fate, I beg you.”
My prayer turned to mist on the wind.
Over the next few days, the pattern continued. Three meals a day, always hot, always substantial. Rice and fish, sometimespork. Where in all the hells had pirates found pork? Fresh vegetables that shouldn’t have lasted this long at sea. Fruit, on occasion—expensive, precious fruit that spoke of careful planning and deep pockets. And always, the same sailor who delivered it would give me that same look of barely contained hatred before leaving without a word.
He’d spoken to me once. He would never do so again. Slowly, I began to understand.
The crew resented me. To them, I was nothing—less than nothing, a piece of cargo who ate better than they did and who slept in comfort while they worked themselves to exhaustion. Only KichiTaichou’s orders kept them in check.
Still, I saw the looks. I saw when they escorted me to the head to relieve myself—always with guards. I caught them glaring. Their eyes followed me with cold calculation, weighing whether thetaichou’s wrath was worth whatever satisfaction they might get from ignoring his orders.
Most days, I tried not to think, tried not to wonder what would happen if Kichi changed his mind or if we hit rough seas and discipline broke down. I tried not to imagine hands in the dark, and screams no one would answer.
On the fourth day—or was it the fifth?—they led me up on deck for exercise. “No getting weak,” the guard muttered, clearly unhappy about the assignment.
I squinted against the brightness, my eyes watering. The sun nearly blinded me after so long below. And that’s when I saw them.
Three others.
Two women and a man, all wearingkimonoslike mine, all being led in circles around the deck by bored-looking guards. They appeared clean and well fed, each holding beauty, a certain light that captivated the eye. Each remained lean, smooth and unmarred by life or lash.
Special cargo. All of us.
