“I’ll ask an easier question.” I force a grin, my patience waning with every passing second. “Where is your ship headed?”
Her jaw clenches, her eyes saying a thousand words, yet none escape her lips. I could offer her a reward for giving me the information I seek, but that would go against the very fabric of my beliefs. Pirates don’t deserve compromise. Not now. Not ever.
I twist on my heel as the ocean gently rocksTheGilded Hartto a salty lullaby. Three steps and I’m inches from the iron bars, acutely aware of where her hands are at all times. She could quite easily reach me and snatch the blade at my hip.
“Do you have an island stop where your captain frequently visits?” It’s less a question, more of a demand secretly wishing she’ll give me something—anything. It’s like wishing on broken stars though.
Something in her demeanour shifts. With silent ease she takes another step closer to the bars. “Why should I tell you anything?”
“Because it would be wise, if you value your hands.”
Her gaze roams over my face, as if she’s trying to read how truthful my threat is. “They’re the first thing I’d lose, if I could. And it seems no matter my answers, you’ve alreadysealed my fate.”
It’s true. Information or not. I’m going to hand her into the law, at my earliest convenience. Yet, it doesn’t hurt to try and get something from the secrets she holds so closely to her chest.
“How do they choose which ships to ambush?”
Silence.
She’s stubborn, I’ll give her that. I share that same trait. My mother used to say it was a fine quality. My father would say it was a curse.
The corner of my mouth tugs up in an almost smile. I move to the small wooden table located near the side of the ship. A single cup, carved from whale bone, sits idly by a matching pitcher filled with the finest whiskey I carry on board. I pour myself a serving before turning back to face the woman. She glances down at the cup in my hand, her dry, cracked lips falling open ever so slightly.
I lift the golden liquid to my lips, hesitating before gulping it down. It coats my throat with a sour tang. I wipe the back of my hand across my mouth before meeting her eye. Desperation flickers across her features, then it’s gone. Her cup still lays on the floor of the cell. Perhaps the hope of receiving some sort of relief for the dryness clawing at her throat will encourage her to speak.
So I try again. “The ship . . . Do they have someone feeding them information? Do they have a stash of stolen goods?”
Still she doesn’t answer. Instead, she twists on her heel, facing the corner of the cell with her back turned towards me. I grip the cup a little too forcefully, at risk of breaking it. This woman is impossible and this approach is getting me nowhere.
Time to get dirty.
I stalk back to the wooden table, placing the cup down with a solid bang. The sound ricochets off the wooden hull. Then I spin to face her. There must be something I can say that will make her talk. I don’t want to resort to torture . . . Not yet anyway.
“We can play this game all night if you like—I have all the time in the world. But for you, I’d say you have a few days—if that—without more water before your body begins to shut down,” I purr.
Her back straightens ever so slightly, and the smirk on my face widens. That got her attention.
I pace back and forth again, running my fingers along the iron bars, taunting now. “How many people do you think they’ve killed, hmm?”
Her shoulders square.
I stop pacing, her reaction enough to know I’ve got her right where I want her. “More importantly, how many people haveyoukilled?”
With the lightness of a water wraith, she whips her body around, slipping her arm through the bars. I jerk out of the way just as her finger tips graze the fabric of my navy blue linen shirt. The look seared into her eyes is one of pure hate, but it’s hard to say whether it’s hatred for me or for herself.
“Answer one question, and I will get you more water, considering you already spilt my generosity on the floor earlier,” I say, tucking my hands behind my back.
She folds her arms across her chest, glaring at me through gritted teeth. “Fine. One question.”
I stare into the brown eyes that have yet to leave mine, the fire in them burning as brightly as if she were a queen rather than a soaked rat. “What is your name?”
She hesitates. “Odelia,” her voice is barely a whisper, but she says it proudly.
“Now, was that so hard?”
Heavy footsteps sound above us, signalling someone coming down into the hold.
When I told the crew I was heading below to interrogate the prisoner, I made one thing crystal clear—no interruptions. So whoever’s stomping outside better have a damn good reason.
