Page 32 of A Queen’s Betrayal (Legends of Worldbinders #1)

Night came quicker on the ship. There were no lights from shops or buildings, no sconces nailed to stone walls. Only the moon, the stars, and the sea remained. But darkness had its perks, allowing Arenna to see thousands of stars scattered across a blue-black sky.

It was mesmerizing, looking up at the stars—knowing who painted the night for her. Her mother and Faylen were together again, hopefully resting in the Seven’s Realm. She felt them in every breath she took, in every move she made.

The hollowness in her chest from their absence might never fade, but she would learn to live with the pain. She might never see a day in true peace, never stop wondering if Jaksen lurked around every corner. But there was comfort in knowing he would never hurt Faylen again.

Arenna glanced down at the faded purple rings still wrapped around her wrists. Even after all this time, the shackles long removed, her fair skin had never returned to its original shade. She brushed her thumb over the area of phantom manacles, her skin still tender.

She quickly winced and tugged her sleeve back down.

Her fingernails dug into the wooden railing as she closed her eyes.

It had been years since Jaksen placed her wrists in chains, but the weight of them and their chill still lingered.

She felt them with every movement, every time someone touched her wrists.

He knew exactly what he was doing when he fastened them—just tight enough to cut into her skin.

You’re not in the dungeon. He can’t hurt you anymore.

Arenna repeated those lines over and over until her body stopped trembling and her heart ceased its pounding. She inhaled deeply, pulling in the salty tang of the water. It took effort not to think of Jaksen every time the wind brushed the back of her neck.

But she was here, and he was not.

She needed to remember that. Even though she had left only a week ago, Arenna was no longer the same woman. Healing would take time, but she would never again cower at Jaksen’s feet.

Molten power thrummed in her veins, and she would never let him hurt her again.

Even if she felt cowardly down to her bones.

The breeze picked up, blowing the hood off Arenna’s head and sending her black hair billowing behind her. Gasps erupted behind her, pulling her attention from the horizon.

Over her shoulder, she spotted at least a dozen crew members frozen on the deck, some clutching weapons, buckets, and ropes, while others had dropped whatever items they held. All shared the same expression: wide eyes and open mouths.

Arenna’s body stiffened, heat flooding her cheeks.

“ Oi , lads, this isn’t the first lass that’s boarded the ship, and it certainly won’t be the last.” A man with shoulder-length, cinnamon hair approached, a large sack slung over his shoulder.

“Quit gawking and get back to work.” He tossed the sack onto a pile before turning to face the still too-stiff Arenna. “Don’t mind them, lass.”

She followed him as he walked toward a smaller pile of burlap. “Did I do something to upset them?” Arenna called out.

“Not at all. Some of them still aren’t used to sailing with women.” He hoisted two burlap sacks onto either shoulder, his copper skin glistening beneath the oil lamp.

Feeling silly for following him like a lost dog, Arenna grabbed the smallest sack she could find and hurried to catch up. The steps leading to the ship’s berth were old and worn, creaking beneath their weight.

Slightly out of breath but happy to contribute, Arenna set down her small stack where he had dropped his. “I didn’t realize it was uncommon to sail with women.”

“No, it isn’t common,” he leaned closer, lowering his voice to a whisper, “because it’s cursed to have a lass on board.”

“ Cursed? ” Arenna suppressed a chuckle. She remembered hearing something similar when she was younger from a group of men whispering about beautiful women in the sea.

“It’s said having a lady on board brings nothing but bad luck. Makes the crew distracted. Maybe even envious of another crewmate if he finds himself lucky enough to spend a night with her.” The man winked at Arenna, prompting her to smile and shake her head. “It gets lonely out here, ya know.”

“I’m sure it does.” Arenna folded her arms across her chest, laughing. “That might be the most ridiculous tale I’ve ever heard.”

He shrugged. “I don’t make the rules, lass. Makes no difference to me whether you’re here or not. A helping hand is a helping hand, no matter what’s hanging between your legs.” He winked again.

Arenna placed a hand over her mouth, trying to contain her laughter. His boldness surprised her; aside from Koltin and Isabella, no one ever spoke to her like this in Brookworth.

“Don’t worry about any of it, alright? Just be helpful, do what you’re told, stay out of the way, and no one will bother you.” He extended his hand in her direction. “Thomas. Thomas Meeless.”

Arenna stretched her own hand out, and Thomas slapped their palms together before squeezing. “Iris,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. It felt strange to pretend to be someone else, to fabricate a life she had never lived.

“Good to meet you, Iris.” Thomas picked up a burlap sack and hung it over the side of a barrel, slicing a blade up the middle.

Potatoes of all shapes and sizes tumbled out.

“Care to help me?” he asked. “I’m the only cook on the crew, and the lads upstairs are far too busy to help prepare their meals. ”

She hoped Thomas didn’t notice the blush creeping into her cheeks. Arenna had no idea how to prepare food for a crew, let alone cook it. But she grabbed an apron hanging from a nail on a post and threw it over her neck. “Where should I start?” She grinned.

Thomas smiled as he slapped a potato into her hand, then handed her a small knife.

“Peel and chop.” He had a rugged handsomeness, with years at sea etched into his copper skin.

Freckles adorned his face, and lines formed around his eyes when he smiled or furrowed his brows.

He was tall and lean, with thin lips that curved into a charming smile.

Turning away, Arenna focused on the potato she held in one hand, and the small paring knife in the other.

She felt her brows squeeze together in confusion as she combed through the memories of cooking with her mother in their home port.

Had she really lost that much touch with reality that she could not remember how to prepare potatoes?

Thomas nudged her in the elbow. “Everything alright over there?

Feeling her cheeks flush, she let out a small laugh. “I’m embarrassed to say I have no idea what I’m doing.”

The smile the ship cook gave her warmed some cold part of her chest. Thomas knew nothing about her, yet did not hesitate to offer a hand when she was lost.

“Here,” he said, reaching for her. “Hold it like this.” Thomas adjusted her grip, guiding her hand into the proper position. “Now, start at the top. Press just enough to get under the skin, then follow the curve of the potato.”

Arenna mimicked his movements, the blade scratching lightly as she began to peel.

“Good. Keep the strokes steady and even, like you’re coaxing the skin off, not forcing it.” He watched as she worked, guiding her with gentle corrections. “It should come off in one long strip if you do it right.”

As the final strip of potato skin tore free, Arenna felt a smile spread across her face. She felt like a damned fool, but even that could not contain her excitement.

“You okay, lass?” Thomas asked, voice laced with concern.

Arenna smiled again, laughing. “I will be.”

Just weeks ago, she had been the Queen of Serpents—abused, tortured, emotionally and physically broken. And now, she was Iris, a free woman peeling potatoes on a ship.

* * *

Days later, Thomas knelt over the slow-burning fire, melting butter in a pan large enough to hold the four dozen eggs Arenna had spent all morning cracking, embarrassingly enough. Especially when the day before Thomas had cracked double that in less than an hour.

After spending time preparing multiple meals with Thomas, Arenna realized that though this crew was small, their appetites were not. Even this many eggs would only feed half of them before they had to start on another batch.

The cook mumbled about a storm on the horizon, claiming the water was turning red. Arenna tuned him out as she cracked more eggs, her gaze drifting to the chamber door on the opposite end of the berth, seeking the man who lay within.

In the short time aboard the ship, Kayson had kept to himself.

He helped the crew on deck and often spoke with Captain Danny, but when he wasn’t occupied, he retreated to his private quarters.

He hadn’t spoken to her, and she hadn’t initiated conversation either.

That was perfectly fine, as his presence became more agonizing with each passing day.

A part of her was curious as to why he pretended she didn’t exist. They didn’t know each other, but they had faced gruesome obstacles few people ever encountered. Arenna had assumed that would spark at least one conversation, but the emissary seemed to avoid her like a contagious illness.

It gnawed at her that he didn’t seem as closed off and cruel to everyone else as he did to her. He was helpful, kind to the other crewmen, often laughing and bantering alongside them until he caught sight or sound of her. Then his anger-fueled persona would resurface.

It unnerved her more than she cared to admit. But he kept her secret. At least, she thought he did.

“Everything alright, Iris?” Thomas asked for the third time, sweat beading on his brow as he hovered over the pan.

“Everything’s great,” she lied, forcing a grin.

“Alright.” He eyed her for a moment, then turned back to his pan, spooning the now-cooked scrambled eggs onto a plate. “Grab a few more plates, would ye?”