“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 against her. Now it sounds to me like our dear king is, at best, a manipulator and a wild storyteller. Perhaps he’s not as honest as his new laws demand.”

“He can hardly help what other people say about him.”

“And what would you say about him?”

“He’s my father. What more needs to be said?”

“There are different kinds of fathers. Those who love unconditionally, those who love on condition, and those who never love at all. Which would you say he is?”

For the first time, I feel Riden touching at something I’d rather leave alone. “I hardly see how this line of conversation is helpful to you.”

“Hmm. You’re deflecting the question. On condition it must be. For if he never loved you, you wouldn’t hold him in such high regard. So tell me, Alosa. What sorts of things have you had to do to earn your father’s love?”

“The usual. Cheat. Steal. Kill.” I throw each response out offhandedly. I hope he doesn’t detect the distress I feel.

“He’s turned you into something. Trained you to become something no woman should ever have to be. You—”

“I am what I choose to be. You speak ignorantly. I think we’re done talking.”

Riden stands, comes close to the bars. Then, thinking better of it, he backs out of my reach. “I meant no insult, Alosa. Consider yourself lucky. It is better to have a little love than it is to have a father who never loved you at all.”

I know Riden speaks of himself now. But I’m still irritated. I feel as though I need to set him straight. “Everything my father did, he did out of love. He made me strong. He made me something that could survive in his world. Doesn’t matter what he did to get me here. I’m a fighter. The best.”

I don’t need to block the memories. That’s all they are. Memories. They can’t hurt me. They’re done. It doesn’t matter that my father would have me fight boys older and stronger than me every day while I was growing up. Now I can beat them all. It doesn’t matter that he shot me once to show me the pain of a gunshot wound, to have me practice fighting while injured. Because now I can do it. It doesn’t matter that he would starve me and weaken me, then give me tasks to complete. He taught me endurance. Now I can handle anything.

“What about you, Riden?” I ask. “What has gotten you to where you are? You claim to be the one to have killed your father, yet Draxen is captain of this ship. Was Draxen your father’s favorite? Or was he simply the oldest? Either way, why would you let him take something you earned?”

Riden’s face hardens. “Draxen is older. And he was Father’s favorite. Not that it matters now. You were right earlier. We should have stopped talking. I don’t suppose you wish to tell me where your father’s keep is now?”

“No.”

He nods, unsurprised. “A storm’s coming, and we haven’t quite reached our destination. Be prepared for a rough night.”

“I always am.”

I clear my mind rather than replay our conversation. I’m exhausted from being out so late, so I return to the floor and doze. It’s not as though I have anything better to do.

A loud ringing sound jolts me awake, sending my heart racing for the second time today. Someone kicked at the bars of my cell.

When my eyes focus, I spot Draxen standing before me, hands at his belt, plumed hat upon his head. He watches me as though I’m some prize he’s won. Or some new tool he’s received. I suppose he sees me as both. But I don’t care. In the end, I will be the tool that ends his life.

My father couldn’t simply take the Night Farer by force. The map could easily get ruined in the struggle should he gun the ship down. He had to send one person aboard to search it. But when this is all done, I will lead this ship straight to my father so he can kill them all. The pirate king wants no competition when searching for the Isla de Canta.

“How are you liking your accommodations, Alosa?”

“The floor’s rough and the cell stinks.”

“Fit for the princess of thieves and murderers, don’t you think?”

“Still could do with a bed.”

“You’re welcome to ask one of the crew to share. I’m sure any of them would volunteer.”

“If I’m sleeping in anyone’s bed, it’ll be because I’ve killed him and taken his property as my own. Haven’t you lost enough crew members, Draxen?”

“You’re too sure of yourself. I think I should order Riden to add some beatings into his sessions with you. Might do you both some good. Stars know, he could use it.”

Since I doubt I’ll be able to finish my nap, I rise and take the chair, though I’m far past bored with the confrontation. Draxen has nothing interesting to say. He’s hoping to see me squirm with fear. He’s a man who feeds off of others’ pain. So far, none of his intimidations have worked.