Blood Ties

Chapter 18: Declan

"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.