All the Stars and Teeth(51)

“If you touch me again,” she says, “I will tear the hands from your body and rip your throat out with only my teeth.”

Bastian goes to speak, but I stop him. I imagine Vataea has had enough of men for a lifetime.

“We want to get you out of here,” I say.

Her steely eyes—previously glued to Blarthe—whip toward me. There are heavy, tired shadows beneath them. She’s smart enough to piece the puzzle together, probably because of his sweaty skin and the blood crusting around his lips. Though she smiles thinly, her words are cold. “And take me where? To another island, only for me to be imprisoned and used again?”

“We don’t intend to kidnap you.” I make sure to hold her stare, though the way she watches me is like a constant challenge. My lips dry, unsettled. “We need your help.”

Vataea’s head falls back, and she laughs. It’s a delicious sound, sweeter than honey cake. It sends a warmth through my body that spreads through my cheeks and settles into my belly.

“My help?” she echoes. “I’ve never heard it called that before.”

I open my mouth, but Bastian pushes forward. “We need to borrow your magic. I have a ship. In exchange for your assistance, we’ll get you out of here and will release you once your help is no longer needed.”

“So you want to take me and use my powers?” Again, she smiles, thin and lethal. “How does that make you any different than Blarthe?”

She has no reason to trust us, and I don’t blame her. Whatever Vataea’s been through has made her cold and harsh. And yet I can see the smallest shimmer of hope light her face. She wants this to be a better option, and to get as far from Kerost as possible.

Her question causes Bastian to falter, but I want Vataea to trust us. “You’ll be well compensated for your time. Lend us your magic—and nothing more—for no longer than half a season. After that, we’ll drop you off wherever you wish, and you’ll be free to do as you please. As the Princess of Visidia, I give you my word.”

She leans back, assessing me. “You’re the daughter of the High Animancer?”

“I am.”

Blarthe responds before she does. “The mermaid belongs to me.” His once crisp voice goes hoarse, thick with rage and bile. “You want her, you buy her.”

I reach into my satchel to retrieve a handful of bones and skim them along the blood that sits on the tip of Bastian’s sword. I smile back at Blarthe. “And you belong to me. Consider yourself lucky if the only payment you receive is a spared life.”

Blarthe’s damp skin turns ruddier by the moment, fists clenching at his sides as he looks between me and the mermaid. Wrinkles begin to wither the smooth skin of his forehead while the surrounding men look on, no doubt wondering whether there will be another fight.

Bastian readies his sword while I lean closer to the fire, holding two bloodied finger bones.

Blarthe looks away, shoulders sagging with defeat.

Vataea’s grin could only be wider if Blarthe was on the floor struggling for his last breath—or maybe if this entire town was burning to the ground. I’ve no idea what she’s gone through, but my imagination tells me she has every right to want this man dead. I motion for Ferrick to bring her closer and she comes willingly.

She’s taller than I am by an inch or two, and I can practically feel the challenge roiling off her as she approaches.

Up close, Vataea is even more gorgeous. My throat closes and my palms sweat as she sizes me up.

“What do you say?” I have to choke the words out. “Do we have a deal?”

I stretch my hand forward, and the mermaid snatches it up. Her skin is smooth, hands so soft they make mine seem overworked.

“Your father was good to my people. He protected them when I could not,” she says. “I will agree to those terms. Half a season.” Her words are a song I could listen to all day, yet I force myself to clear my throat and turn my attention back to the situation before me. We got what we came here for, so it’s time to get off the island and back to Keel Haul. Preferably without dying.

I turn to Blarthe’s men. “Walk down the hall and wait there until we say you can move.”

The moment I step away from the fire, we’ll lose our leverage. Because of this, I have Bastian fetch me a rag from the bar, and douse the material with a bottle of rum. I wrap it around a poker that leans against the hearth, feed it to the flames, and watch my torch ignite. If they come after me, I’ve the fire I need to not go down without a fight.

I turn to Vataea and the others. “You three, start toward the door. And keep her safe, she doesn’t have a weapon.” I point to the exit. Both boys stare at me as though I’m a hydra’s third head.

“Bastian can take her, and I’ll stay with you. We’ll go together,” Ferrick argues.

He means well, but I fix him with a dangerous look until he caves and starts for the door. Slowly, holding the makeshift torch in front of me, I inch my way after them.

The men behind me stir against the walls, restless. They whisper their plans, and I try not to listen because the last thing I need is fear slowing me down. I take a swig of the rum, but don’t swallow.

“Get me back that mermaid, and I’ll return all the years you’ve ever lost,” Blarthe tells his men, too loud to ignore. “Don’t let them get away!”