"You should have told us you were a prince," said one of their captors, whom Declan thought he'd heard the other men call Harry. The man's scraggly beard and faded felt hat covered his face, only showing his beady eyes, which peered down at them from the cargo hold as he shoved a panel aside. "Get up."
Declan hid his knife. "Why should I have informed you? Would it have induced you to let us go?"
Harry laughed, his unwashed stench making Declan hold his breath. He'd smelled worse, but he wouldn't lie and say that he was completely insensible to foul odours. "A prince and his whore? No, but we could have fetched a higher price for you."
At his side, Nadia stiffened at being called his whore. Declan clambered up first, and then when the captor was waiting for Nadia to do the same, stabbed him in the heart. Harry spluttered and pressed his hand to his chest as Declan yanked out the knife, cleaning it on his trousers before he turned around. "Well?"
He extended a hand to Nadia. Uncertainty swam in her eyes before she took it, allowing him to pull her up out of the cargo hold. "Thank you."
Had she thought he would leave her here on this slave ship? He may have given off the impression of a heartless man, one roughened and honed by the trials of this world, but she was an asset to him. And she was... perhaps, more than that, but he wouldn't dwell on it.
Not when the rest of their kidnappers would be barrelling toward them at full speed when they learned that their accomplice was dead.
"We need to get off this ship," he said lowly. They stepped over Harry's body, his eyes still open, waiting for the crows to peck them out. Hearing footsteps, he and Nadia ducked behind a tall stack of crates.
Her breathing shallowed, the veil still covering most of her face. The men had tried to take it from her, but she had struggled, resisting. It was a double-edged sword that they hadn't found out about her curse. That might have either scared them into leaving her or convinced them to sell her at a higher rate to some second-rate travelling circus.
Two men passed them but stopped short when they saw Harry's corpse. Declan gripped the rope that had once bound his wrists, a long cord of it. Nadia caught sight of his movements and understood him perfectly, giving an imperceptible nod.
"It's Harry!" One of the men knelt and checked for a pulse. Clearly, he was not the smartest of the bunch. To his surprise, Nadia dashed forward, audacious or fearless or just as stupid as the man, and kicked him in the head. Hard.
When he reacted in surprise, reaching for his weapons, and the other man realized exactly who had killed Harry, they were two against two. But Nadia was hardly a trained fighter, only armed with her fearlessness and with the curse, the wounds that turned to gold.
She socked a man in the nose. It was a stunningly good maneuver, as he seemed entirely unprepared and had likely underestimated her. Declan looped the rope around his neck, grateful for his enemy's shorter stature as he twisted the gritty cord until he felt the man's breathing give out, his body slumping to the floor. The man that Nadia had kicked in the head and punched in the nose looked dazed as he staggered against the railing, watching her shake out her right hand, clearly unused to violence.
Priestess, what have I done to you?
Though he wasn't naive enough to believe she was a true innocent. A bit idealistic, perhaps, but he wouldn't say that she was innocent. No, everyone had the potential for great and terrible deeds. The most virtuous among them even more so.
Declan gave the man a heavy shove, and he fell overboard with a scream and a splash. He waited for a moment to make sure he was dead. When he heard the smack of his back against the water and the man did not resurface, he seized Nadia's hand and they began running for the gangplank.
They made it there, out of breath, and hauled themselves over the boards, back onto dry land. He found his weapons belt in a heap by the gangplank and threaded it through his belt loops as he ran, having performed this action many times.
When they made it to the relative sanctuary of a small restaurant closer to the docks than he would have liked, both dishevelled, Nadia cast him a knowing glance. "Do you often dress while escaping a ship?"
"Not while escaping a ship... more often while escaping a tent... or a brothel..." he said.
She raised an eyebrow. "Very upright of you."
"You are the one who asked, priestess. Do not pose questions that you don't wish answered," he said, as a barmaid came out of the restaurant and asked them if they planned on loitering or paying for something to eat. "We're eating."
Nadia scowled. "I'm not hungry."
"You haven't eaten since this morning. It's almost evening now," he said, pointing toward the moon that rose over the Vytian skyline.
"We don't have time. Our ship could be leaving at any moment," she said.
"It's eat or be eaten," he warned.
She rolled her eyes and entered as he held open the heavy wooden door for her. They ducked under the entryway and entered what appeared to be a den of vice. Lavish purple curtains draped over the walls, not only covering the windows and blocking out light, but also providing a soft, almost sensual atmosphere with their velvet fabric. Small lamps radiated golden light on each of the small, squat tables, which were held up by marble pedestals. The scents of saffron and incense, cloying and thick, wafted over to him from burning censers set around the room. It was like being in a very extravagant cave.
Nadia wrinkled her nose. "I feel as though I'm in a brothel. Is there even any food in here?"
"If it is a brothel, I must say it's one of the more proper establishments I've set foot in," he said. "Usually there's more nudity and far less... tea-drinking."
"Hmm." They sat at a table, his knees knocking against hers under the amber, cloth-covered surface. "Is there food in this place?"
The barmaid that had rudely told them to eat or leave scampered over now, looking more well-mannered. "Can I get the two of you anything to eat?"
Declan ordered for them before Nadia to speak, making her glower at him. "I'm perfectly capable of ordering for myself."
"You've never had Vytian cuisine, I was ensuring you only received a sample of the finest," he said with a dry smile.
Her lack of faith in him was logical, yet somehow irritating. "Are you going to poison me?"
"I would have left you in that cargo hold if I wanted you to die, Nadia. I would appreciate if you were not to think so lowly of me or my motives," he said, drumming his fingers on the silk tablecloth. Silk? How did they have such a fine substance being used as a tablecloth? Back home in Astroia, it was reserved for the clothing of the finest ladies at court. Then again, Vytia was populated with numerous silkworm farms, especially Lyona. "I ensure you, if I longed for your death, it would have happened when we first met."
Nadia smirked. "I had you flat on your back when we first met."
"You and half a dozen whores, sweetheart, you're hardly special."
The server set down three dishes on hammered copper plates. "Your food, sir, madam."
There was braised eggplant, stuffed with shrimp, then steamed chunks of chicken with mushrooms and lily flowers, and finally, fragrant rice with stir-fried peanuts. "Thank you."
"I didn't hear you order any of this." Nadia eyed him.
"I speak a little Vytian," he admitted.
She bit her lip, staring down at the spoon in her hand. "Did you know what the sailors were saying?"
"They weren't speaking Vytian," he lied. He'd heard every word that their captors had said, but he didn't want to repeat their coarse words to her. Hypocritical, perhaps, since he'd just said so many vulgarities to her, but... It was different. She was shaking a little, and he remembered then that her entire life, her whole world, had been overturned not just with the attempted kidnapping, but also with the destruction of her home. Her temple. "I didn't catch it."
"Oh." She spooned some rice and eggplant into her bowl. "Are these your favourites?"
He nodded, watching her eat. "Do you like it?"
Nadia chewed slowly before answering with a shrug. "It's alright."
Something in him clenched up, closing up tight as a fist. "Just alright?"
"What do you want to hear, Declan? Because I won't say it," she said.
"Dishonest to a fault, just to spite me," he said with a smile. "I knew there was a reason I liked you."
"Like me or not, you're stuck with me," she said. "Because I'm a weapon to you. Right?"
He took another bite of food. "I won't deny that I find you fascinating and useful." And lovely, not in a delicate, innocent sort of way, but in a way that is entirely different from any other girl I've ever known. "And you certainly took out that man well by kicking in his face."
She laughed. "I did, didn't I?"
"I was very impressed, I'll admit." He scarfed down more rice with chicken and ignored the warmth spreading through his body that had nothing to do with the food or the cozy atmosphere and everything to do with the sound of her laugh. "Someone must have taught you to fight."
"I taught myself," she said. "I used to sneak out and watch my guards train."
Her guards. The memory of the one he'd met in that pub was a distant recollection, faint but still there. "And why did you have them?"
"My curse." Still, he didn't quite believe it. If that were the case, they would have cloistered her in a tower with a mound of pillows for the rest of her life. Instead, she had also been at the Spring Festival. There had to be something more. Something else.
But what?