Daughter of the Pirate King (Daughter of the Pirate King, #1)(11)

“It’s best to leave the lass alone, Enwen,” another man says. It’s Kearan. “Has
a thing about people touching her.”
“It needed to be done,” Enwen says. “I tell you, red hair’s good luck. Keeps
you from getting diseased an’ all.”
I recognize now that Enwen is the tall man who helped carry my things down
yesterday.
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard,” Kearan says. “I hope you get sick tomorrow. You need to set your head right.”
“You just wait. Next time a plague hits, I’ll be strokin’ this hair while you all will be coughin’ and dyin' and such.”
“I need a drink.”
“Nah, Kearan. It’s too early for that.”
“If I’m to survive the day, I’ll need to start early.” He pulls out his flask from one of his pockets.
“What is this?” I ask as I stand and stretch out my neck. I can feel a couple of cricks in it. And I smell worse than I did yesterday. Blasted floor.
“We’re your guards, Miss Alosa,” Enwen says. “First mate says it’s wise to
have someone watching over you at all times.”
I eye Kearan. “And I take it that neither of you volunteered.”
“That’s the truth of it,” Kearan says.
“Oh, I was happy to do it,” Enwen says. “Ever since I saw you yesterday, I’ve
been wantin’ to get my hands on that hair of yours. Very rare, it is.”
“I can assure you, it has no magical properties,” I say, angrily fiddling with the patch of hair that is now shorter than the others.
“Not magical,” Enwen says. “Just good luck.”
“I get sick as often as any other person.”
“What?”
“You said red hair wards off disease. I’ve got a whole head of it, yet I get sick.”
“Oh.” Enwen looks troubled for a moment. He hunches over my lock of hair,
staring at it. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t work on you because it’s your own hair.
It’s got to be taken from someone else for the luck to work.”
“So if I steal it back from you, will it work for me?” I say sarcastically.
Kearan laughs, choking on the rum in his mouth. A few drops fall to the floor
as he coughs. He sighs. “Bloody waste, that.”
I sit on my chair, all too aware of the grime and slime that coat everything in
the cell, including me. I need to change, and I need some water to clean myself
off. I’m about to ask for the latter, when I hear someone coming over.
It’s Riden, of course. He carries with him a tray of food and a dangerous smile. At the sight, I feel my stomach growl. I’m fairly certain that’s a response to the food and not the smile.
“Enwen, Kearan, you’re relieved while I question the prisoner. But you will
return to this post once I’m done.”
“Aye, Master Riden,” Enwen says. Kearan nods, looking bored. The two
leave.
“Hungry?” Riden asks.
“Starving.”
“Good. I managed to swipe you some eggs.” Riden unlocks the cell and puts
the tray on my table, keeping a close eye on my legs. I’m certain that’s because
he’s wary of me kicking and not because he simply wants to stare. He shuts me
back in, standing safely on the other side of the bars.
I start eating at once, cracking the boiled eggs and adding a bit of salt before
chewing. I wash each one down with some water from the cup on the tray.
Riden seems to be in high spirits once again. It appears that there are no hard
feelings for last night.
“So, what’s it to be today?” I ask. “More talk of my father?”
“Yes.”
“Hoping I’ll unintentionally reveal where the keep is? You’re wasting your breath.”
“What you unintentionally reveal is up to you. What I wish to discuss is your
father’s reputation.”
“Whatever you’ve heard, it’s probably all true.”
“Nevertheless, let’s discuss it anyway.”
“I want some water,” I say, wiping at a spot of dirt on my arm.
“I’ll refill your glass when we’re done.”
“No, I want a bucket for washing. And a rag. And soap.”
“Don’t you think that’s asking a bit much for a prisoner?”
“And,” I say, practically singing the word, “I want a new one of each every
week.”
He scoffs at first. Then he thinks it over. “We’ll see how our conversation goes today. If I like what I hear, I’ll make the proper arrangements.”
I cross my legs and lean back in the chair. “Fine. Let’s talk.”
Riden pulls a chair out and sits. He’s wearing a hat today. A tricorne with no
feather. His hair is bound at the nape of his neck. His shirt and breeches fit
nicely. White on top, black on bottom.
“I’ve heard rumors of Kalligan’s dangerous deeds. He’s said to be able to take on twenty men at once in battle. He’s traveled every inch of the sea, fought off all manner of sea demons, including a shark, which he fought underwater with his bare hands. He makes deals with the devil and encourages evil in others.”
“So far, you’re not wrong,” I say.
“He’s even said to be the only man to survive an encounter with a siren.”
I snort at that.
“He even bedded her,” Riden continues. “Used the creature’s own tricks