I’ve seen foxes in a henhouse before. Bursting in on the poor birds, stalking them when they were just trying to do their job and lay their eggs. The foxes taunted them, tried to make them fly. I’ve seen an entire coop get destroyed in an explosion of feathers and noise and fear.
This dinner is a lot like that.
The Red Raids are the foxes, taunting and groping, trying to see if they can make one of the saddles attempt to fly away in a panic.
But this dinner doesn’t just have foxes. We have wolves too.
Commander Rip’s twelve soldiers take up an entire bench in the dining room. They sit, squeezed together, shoulder-to-shoulder, dark and looming and entirely too big for the space. They’ve taken off their helmets to eat, but they’re quiet. Watchful. Stalking wolves amidst the rabble.
“Not you.”
I get stopped by the guard dog before I can go into the dining room, my hands full with two pitchers of wine.
“What?”
He looks to Rissa behind me and tips his head. “You. Take the pitchers in for her.”
Rissa arches a blonde brow. “I’m already carrying this tray,” she points out.
“Do I look like I give a shit? I said take them.”
Rissa’s lips press together, but she flicks her eyes to me and gestures to the tray full of hard biscuits. “Stack them on.”
I pile the biscuits on one side as best I can, and then set the pitchers on top. As soon as she has it all, her load considerably heavier, Rissa sweeps past us, heading into the dining room where the rest of the saddles are already serving, some of them pulled onto laps, enduring hands slipping up skirts.
I stand awkwardly outside the doorway, shooting a glance at the pirate. “What am I supposed to do?”
My guard dog leans against the outside wall and pulls out his knife, edging the blade beneath his nails to clean them. “Don’t know. Cap’n just said you weren’t allowed in there while Fourth’s men are here.”
Realization dawns like a cold morning. “The captain doesn’t want the commander to see me.”
The pirate just smirks, continuing to clean his disgusting nails.
I look into the brightly lit room, the ship oddly quiet at its continuous standstill. From my vantage point, I can see Fourth’s soldiers at the bench closest to the door. Captain Fane and Commander Rip are at the front of the room, sitting at a small, two-person table where they can look out at the long benches before them, their backs facing me.
The commander has his helmet off, but at this angle, I’m unable to see his face. I can rule out the horns, though. Instead, all I see is thick, short black hair on top of his head.
“I’ll just go grab more stuff from the kitchens,” I mumble, turning to walk away.
Unfortunately, my guard dog follows, so I don’t get a chance to slip away, not that I was expecting anything to be that easy.
When I make it back to the galley, I’m barely through the door when something comes flying at my face. I duck, hearing the splat of a rag landing on the wall where my face just was.
“Get to cleaning,” Cook barks from the other end of the room.
I suppress a sigh before pulling off my one remaining glove and slipping it into my dress pocket. I pick up the wet rag and start scrubbing the long countertop, surreptitiously working on my ribbons all the while.
Finally, with my back hunched over and sweat gathering at my neck, I get a knot undone. My heart races at the small but worthy victory. I chance a look over my shoulder, but the two pirates aren’t looking at my back. Cook is too busy eating his meal alone in the corner, and my guard dog is now picking at his teeth with the same knife he cleaned his nails with.
Head facing forward again, I continue to scrub, continue to unknot. Persistence. It just takes persistence.
I’m almost through scouring the place when Polly comes in, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shiny. “They want more ale,” she says dully, her tone beaten flat like overworked dough.
“What do I look like, a serving wench?” Cook barks at her. “Go fucking get it, then.”
Polly looks at a loss, so I quickly straighten up and toss the rag down. “It’s over here,” I tell her, leading the way.
She follows me to the pantry where I show her the tankard and the last remaining pitchers. I feel her gaze on me, the questions brimming as she glances at me from the corner of her eyes. “Can you use those things? To hurt them? To escape?” Her question is no more than a hum, secrets spoken with barely a breath, but I know what she means.
I don’t dare look over my shoulder at the pirates to see if they’re watching us. “No. The captain knotted them. I can’t get them out yet.”
She breathes out through her nose, a small sound of disappointment, a deflation of hope rushing out.
“I need to bring more ale than this,” she says, voice at normal level now as she hefts the full pitchers in her arms. “Can you carry the other two?”
I hesitate for a moment, but then nod and fill two more. Together, we carry the pitchers out, Cook glaring at us as we go, the guard dog on our heels.
When we’re just outside the dining room, I stop. “I’m not allowed inside.”
Polly looks over at me with a frustrated sigh. “Fine. I’ll send someone else out to grab those.”
She takes a breath before going inside, trying to hold her head up high, trying to keep an easy smile on her face. She barely even flinches when one of them smacks her ass as she leans over to pour for him. A performance. It’s all a performance.
The room is rowdy and loud, the pirates obviously deep into their cups, the food already eaten. I see Polly head over to Rissa, saying something in her ear in passing. Rissa glances over at me before she rushes over to grab the last two pitchers.
“They sure do drink a lot,” I say quietly as I pass them over to her.
“Good for us,” she murmurs with a wink. “If we can get them drunk enough, some of them might pass out. One less bastard to deal with tonight.”
She turns away with a sultry smile plastered on her face, her act ready to appease them, ready to work the room to the best of her ability so she can come out unscathed.
Like she told the others earlier, they’re professionals, and it shows in every smirk, every tease, every sway of their hips. Fawns forced to gratify the predators. To entice them to watch, to appreciate. Persuading them to not harm, not bite.
I just hope it works.
My vision of the room gets cut off when a furious face steps in front of me. Mist’s black hair hangs in limp knots around her, the bodice of her dress sagging, either from the earlier rain, or some attention she received in here. “Typical,” she says with a snort. “The favored doesn’t even have to serve like the rest of us.”
“I’m not al—”
“Save it,” she snaps. “Can you at least take these dirty dishes back to the galley, or are you too good to even do that much?”
My teeth grind. “I understand your anger, I do,” I begin. “But instead of being so nasty toward me, save your energy for them,” I say, nodding toward the quiet soldiers.
“As if you care.”
I do, of course, but she won’t believe me no matter what I say.
She shoves the dirty dishes into my arms before spinning around again. I take my armful to the kitchen, where I stay for the next hour in front of a bucket of cold, barely sudsy water and scrub every dish clean.
The saddles file in one after another, bringing me more to wash until my back is aching, my hands chapped and numb. But I use my time well. I scrub out my frustration on the dishes while my ribbons keep plucking at the knots, inch by sluggish inch. I use the sash to my advantage, hiding their every move.
Keep going. All I can do is keep going.
When I’m finally done washing, the guard dog hoists me up by the arm. “Come on, I want to get up there to see what’s happening.”
I wipe my wet, freezing hands on the front of my dress, feet tripping to keep up with his impatience. He’s obviously bored of being my babysitter.
“Stay at my side and keep your mouth shut, got it?”
With a nod, I follow beside him as we go upstairs to the main deck, where I find all of the saddles lined up in front of me.
Soon, they’ll all be gone. They’ll leave with Fourth’s men, and I’ll be left here. I’ll be trapped, kept without any bars, but no less captive.
I don’t know which is worse. Wolves or foxes. Merciless pirates or enemy soldiers.
I wish Midas were here.
The thought surges into me so violently that tears fill my eyes. I would give anything to see him right now. For him to swoop in, to rescue us, to protect me once more. Just like he saved me from those raiders all those years ago. My vagabond savior. My champion king.
But Midas isn’t here.
He’s not coming, because he has no idea I’m even in any trouble. And by the time he finds out, it’ll be too late. Far, far too late.
