Asta

All I’ve ever known is pain.

The pain of being an outcast, a nobody. The needle sharp bursts of it whenever a whip carved its bloody trail into my skin. The hollow feeling of the dragon caged inside burning me in its refusal to live.

Crank dumps me unceremoniously on the brig floor, slamming and locking the door behind him when he leaves. Groaning, I roll over onto my side. Harold’s sitting in the cage, gagged and bound. Thrown against the wall like a sack of grain. He’s the only prisoner Rover took.

Serves him right.

I try to sit up, only for white hot agony to rip through my chest, sending me crumpling over, gasping for breath.

I think Crank might have broken a couple ribs, if not quite a few other bones. All I remember is Piper and Isabeth healing my wound, then Crank coming. They had an argument, then Crank took me and beat the bloody hell out of me. I can still feel his hands clamped around my wrists, hoisting them above my head, and his other hand raining blows, smashing into my chest with the force of a moving Drake. The door creaks open, soft footfalls pattering on the floor, breaking my train of thought.

“Hello, father.”

Mary

My father’s been thrown in the very same cage I was, wrapped up in rope like a trussed chicken, eyes bulging. He says something, but all I see in his jaw move up and down.

“Look at you, all tangled up in a mess you tried to fix.” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. He yells something back, gesturing at something behind me with his shackled hands. I turn, a sinking feeling crawling into my gut.

Asta’s laid out on his side, his face completely covered by his obsidian black hair. Blood has begun to pool around him, staining the wood deck floor a dark crimson. Several of his ribs press outward in unnatural angles under his pale skin. I take the key Rover gave me out of my pocket, fingering it.

“Do it.” Asta’s voice is rough, like someone scrapped the inside of his throat with sandpaper. I look over my shoulder at him. He’s looking up at me with one singular, pain-filled ice blue eye.

“You okay?” Stupid question. Of course he’s not okay, he just got beaten to a pulp. Asta’s visible pupil shrinks then goes back to normal.

“I’ll live.” He says, inhaling sharply. A tremor passes along his limbs, causing him to whimper.

“I can get Isabeth, if you want.” The words come out even though I didn’t want them to.

“Do what you freaking want. Seems everyone in this world gets to decide what they do except me.” There’s a bitter note in Asta’s words.

“What? I never said that!” I finger the helm of my jacket, trying to smooth out the lump in it. Asta closes his eyes, sighing. I turn back to my father. His eyes are blazing, twin embers of brown fire set deep into a face that’s seen too little sun. I unlock his cell and step inside. Harold grunts, sitting up straighter. I rip out his gag with zero gentleness.

He doesn’t deserve it, for all the lives he’s ruined.

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“Really, daughter?” He barks.

“Shove off if you want to eat.” I hold up the bread loaf I pocketed from Rover’s cabin. I had a feeling the pirate wouldn’t miss it. Bending over, I shove it into Harold’s mouth, letting him figure out how to eat it with hands. He manages it, eating like a heron with a fish.

“How’s life in a cell?” I ask.

“Better then being a slave.” Harold gestures to Asta with his chin.

“Sorry. What?” I blink.

“You know what I mean.” He says.

“No. I really don’t.” I snap, crossing my arms. Harold scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“Our world, daughter, is built on trade. The Drake trade, and,” he gestures to Asta again, “the slave trade. And everyone knows how valuable a Dragonweaver is.” I remember Rover and Ven talking about it, how valuable Asta was. I sigh. Why were pirates so complicated?

“Yeah, sure. Say I believe you. Then what?” I step outside the cell and shut the door, relocking it.

“You kill me.”

Asta

The words are out of my mouth before I can think.

Why else would I say them? Maybe so I don’t have to suffer anymore. Maybe so I can stop putting my life in other people’s hands, and let them decide how to weave it.

Dragonweaver.

That’s all I am to people: a tool. Not a living, breathing creature with thoughts and fears and emotions.

“Why?” Mary asks. Why. What a simple word. Too simple to hold so much power. I don’t answer, letting my silence answer for me. Mary sighs, then does something I wasn’t expecting.

She kneels next to my head.

I groan, perfectly aware of how close our bodies are.

“Can you tell me?” She whispers.

“Too painful.” I mutter back. Much too painful.

“What about you being a Dragonweaver?” A sudden anger burrows through me.

“I didn’t chose this life. No one ever does.”

“Oh. I thought with you being a pirate and all-” She drops off.

“No. I was raised by slavers.”

I don’t remember falling asleep, only that cold, uncontrollable fear took root in my spine when I realized that I was alone in the dark. I sat up, the rustle of chains following my movement.

What?

Rover had had Crank put shackles on my wrists, not my ankles. So unless someone had come and added them. Mary was gone, and instead of bloody wood, I was laying on chiseled stone.

A door creaked open, throwing a beam of light across my face. I try to throw an arm up to shield my eyes, when I realize that the door was made of stone, and the man standing in it wearing a military uniform. If I’m not on the Scarecrow, then . . .

The man smiles, a sharp half moon of perfect white teeth. And when he speaks, his voice is the sound of snapping bone and shattering ice.

“Welcome, Drachenjunge, to Ladia.”

Mary

I didn’t know that Draking ships had alarms.

But a high pitched wining fills the hull, echoing off the brass cannons.

“What the hell is this noise?” Edward yells, hands clamped over his ears. James shrugs.

“Don’t know, but it sure is annoying.”

We all get thrown against the starboard hull, colliding into each other.

“Oof!” I grunt, my jaw ramming into Edward’s shoulder.

“Get yer bloody asses up!” Rover pokes his head out of the framework built between the hull and mast. James rights himself, helping me and Edward.

“Sorry, sir.” He says. Ever the soldier, James.

“What happened?”

“Rumpfbruch!” Isabeth snaps, eyeing us with narrowed green eyes from around Rover’s shoulder. James blinks.

“Hull fracture?”

“Ja.”

“Don’t ask how. Ask why.” Rover says.

“Alright. Why?” I say, sizing up Rover. He tightens his jaw.

“Couldn’t say. I’ll show ya.” He whirls and stomps off, climbing the rickety stairs to the next deck.

When we get there, men are running back and forth, swinging around buckets of sea water. We head towards the stern, water splashing with every step. Soon my feet and ankles are soaked. Rover throws his weight against the wood door.

Asta’s door.

It opens, Rover nearly falling into the rust-colored water. Harold sits in the cell, eyes wide, cheeks and face bright red. A hole the size of a covered wagon barred with wooden planks covers the starboard wall, water leaking through.

“We’re going to have to find a port.” James says, coming up behind me.

“Aye.” Rover rubs his stubble, deep in thought. I spot a blood stain on the floor. Bending down, I see a cord of leather looped around part of the plank.

“Hmm.” Curling my fingers around the cord, I yank it free, ice creeping into my bones when I see the three pale blue feathers hanging from it. James looks at Rover.

“What do we do now?” I note that he includes us all, pirates and prisoners.

“The only logical choice left to us, I’m afraid.” Rover eyes the boarded hole in the hull.

“Which is?” I say.

“We go to the pirate stronghold,” Rover puts his hands on his hips, “Hankscrew.”