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long hair fell around his face in limp strands, and he unconsciously tucked it behind his ears where it only half-stayed. The captain studied the clasp, seeming pleased with it.
    “ Give it back.” Nylan tried not to cry. “Please.”
    The captain raised an eyebrow, the cruel smile flashing once again. “His Highness said ‘please’ to me. We are making progress.”
    “ It’s mine. Give it back!”
    Anger struck him first, followed quickly by the back of the pirate ’s hand. Nylan staggered and fell to his knees, his hands holding his throbbing face, but he didn’t make a sound. His eyes had closed reflexively, and he kept them shut, trying to find his silent center and block out the captain and his mind and everyone else on the ship. Blood filled his mouth and dribbled in a tickling trickle down his chin. The pain distracted his efforts. He wanted to scream—had screamed, in fact, but he’d trapped it in his throat, stopping it before it could escape and betray him.
    “ Everything on this ship is mine, Highness, including you and everything you think you own. You’d do well to remember that.” The anger had vanished already, replaced by a jarring satisfaction.
    The huge, rough hand imprisoned Nylan ’s arm again and a noise escaped him, something between a sob and “no.” The captain dragged him across the tiny hallway, shoving him into the cabin opposite his cell. Nylan stumbled a few steps then caught himself and stopped.
    “ Clean yourself up,” the captain ordered. “There’s water in that tub, enough for you to take a bath. And there are some clothes for you to change into once you’ve washed.” He gestured around the cabin, pointing to the appropriate things. “I’ll guard the door, but don’t dawdle. I’ll be back in when I think you’ve had enough time.”
    The moment the door closed behind the man, Nylan staggered to the tub, grabbing hold of a chair back and the table ’s edge to steady himself against the ship’s constant rolling. Leaning against the tub’s edge, he yanked off the ragged remains of his clothes, and then climbed in.
    The cabin was small but much larger than his tiny cell. He felt rushed and frightened of not being finished when the captain returned, and the clock hanging on the wall, loudly counting off every passing tic only made him feel more rushed.
    As a consequence, he took in very little of his surroundings, but he thought it must be the captain’s sitting room or office or whatever they called such a thing on a ship because a large table piled with papers and valuable-looking trinkets and baubles dominated the dark, wood-paneled room.
    The tub was small and round but big enough for him. The water was lukewarm and chilled him immediately, but after he’d rinsed his aching mouth several times, he washed his face, then scrubbed at his skin, using the harsh soap and rough cloth provided. He ducked his head under and rubbed the cake of soap on his head then did his best to wash his hair. He hadn’t realized he was so dirty, but the cleaner he became, the darker the water grew.
    He climbed out, dripping, onto the cabin floor, and dried off as quickly as he could with the equally rough towel while steadying himself against the tub ’s edge. The water had awakened the scrapes and cuts he’d suffered, and they stung and hurt, pulsing in time with his heartbeat as his nerves took up their duties again. Blood welled up in a few places, staining the skin around the wounds and staining the towel. He could see the bruises on his arms clearly now, and he almost cried then, the fear suddenly choking him.
    How can this be happening? How can Jarlyth be dead? What are they going to do to me?
    Still damp and with drops of water running down his back from the ends of his hair, he pulled on the clothes he ’d been left. They were much too big for him, but he made do, tying the drawstring trousers around his slender waist and rolling up the cuffs. The blouse hung down past his