The Wayward's Heir

The hours crawled past, slow as rats along the floorboards. She lay still, thirsty, chained to the ship’s hull. Water lapped at her ankles—quiet, creeping. Above her, distant hammering thudded through the beams, tools clattering in a rhythm that sounded like a grim litany.

She didn’t know how long she’d been there. Delirium had begun to fog her thoughts. She clung to any memory that might pry her out of that damp, black pit. The old tavern. The flickering candle trapped in a smoky lamp. The cramped room that had felt like a palace only because Leda had been in her arms. Her warmth. Her lips brushing hers. Their muffled laughter under the sheets after they made love.

The way Leda stroked her ankles afterward. How she tickled her, knowing Deirdre hated it—and loved it.

For a moment she almost felt that touch again. A faint smile ghosted across her lips.

Then pain ripped her out of the memory, sharp and sudden as an axe.

She screamed. A rat had latched onto her ankle, chewing through the numb flesh. She jerked her foot with what little strength she had left. The vermin skittered away through the bars, leaving a thin ribbon of blood behind that swirled in the brackish water.

The stench hit her next—rancid, cloying, glued to her skin like a shroud. She turned her face away with a groan. Every movement was agony in her stiff, aching muscles.

Then she saw it.

In the next cell, one of O’Malley’s men sat slumped, staring at nothing. His eyes had gone glassy. His skin had turned blue, like the sea had hollowed him out from within. Beside him, another sailor lay chained, either unconscious or already gone.

Where are the others? she wondered as she scanned the row of empty cages.

“Psst… psst…” she rasped, trying to call out.

Nothing.

“Jay!” she hissed, louder this time.

The man stirred. His eyelids fluttered open slowly, like someone dragging himself back from a long, dark place. He blinked before his gaze finally found her.

“My officer…” he whispered, voice thick and sluggish.

“How long have we been here?” Deirdre asked. Speaking hurt. Her lips were cracked from salt and thirst.

“Don’t… know…” Jay managed, each word scraped raw. “They take ’em… upstairs… don’t come back.”

His eyes rolled shut again, seized by a heaviness deeper than sleep.

Deirdre tugged at the chains, her wrists raw from the rusted iron. There was no escape. But something in her—rage, stubborn and burning—refused to die.

A dull thud. Then a crash. The ceiling shuddered. Dust sifted down through the grating above.

A dark shape sprawled motionless across the slats.

Something thick and warm dripped through the cracks—straight onto her face.

Blood.

The metallic rot clawed into her nose and throat. She tried to turn away, but the shackle around her neck held her tight.

Her empty stomach clenched. She spat up a bitter foam that burned her tongue. Sweat slicked her skin. Her eyes fluttered shut.

Darkness swallowed her.

* * *

She woke to the sound of groaning wood. A rhythmic rumble, growing heavier. The chains overhead rattled with every jolt, each link groaning as if it sensed the end coming.

“He’s coming…” Jay whispered, voice hollow.

The hatch slammed open. Footsteps descended—slow, deliberate, like a funeral march. The water had been drained. Mendoza stepped down, smiling. His men followed, armed and alert.

His sleeves were rolled up. The wound she’d carved into him had healed into a pale scar.

“How…? That cut was deep,” she muttered, stunned.

Mendoza stopped in front of her cell and simply stared.

“Get him up. Get him ready,” he ordered, nodding toward Jay.

Two men entered Jay’s cage. He barely made a sound as they dragged him out—limp, writhing, desperate.

Then Mendoza crouched in front of Deirdre. His shadow washed over her, heavy as a curse. He reached out and touched her face.

She tried to recoil, but the rusted stocks clamped her in place.

“It’s time to serve me,” he said softly, “or die.”

She tried to speak, curse him, spit at him—anything. All she managed was a ragged breath. Her green eyes, dulled by suffering, still held a spark. A thirst. For vengeance.

Mendoza pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the shackles. The iron groaned, as if it resisted letting her go. Pain spiked through her joints as blood surged back into her limbs.

His grip was rough as he hauled her up. Her legs trembled, but they held.

Deirdre was still standing.

Even if every part of her burned to tear out his throat.

Sunlight struck her face—hot, blinding. The crew jeered as they shoved her forward. She stumbled into a filthy sailor whose grin showed black, rotted teeth. Rough hands pushed her into the open deck where a circle waited.

Her vision swam. Voices drifted around her like echoes from underwater.

A shove brought her to the center.

Jay stood across from her, wide-eyed, frantic. To the left, Peter O’Malley knelt with a pistol pressed to his skull. His jaw was clenched so hard it trembled.

“Silence!” Mendoza roared.

The sea went still. No waves. No gulls. Just breathing—heavy, terrified.

Deirdre squinted against the harsh light.

“It’s time to swear allegiance,” Mendoza announced. “Fight. Whoever survives… lives.”

He let the moment stretch.

“Refuse, and I kill the old man first. Then…”

He dragged a finger across his throat.

From the crowd, two daggers clattered onto the deck—one at Jay’s feet, one at hers.

The blade before her gleamed—watching her, daring her to move.

Jay bent, picked up his weapon. Hands trembling.

She nudged her dagger upright with her foot.

The chant began—low, hungry.

“Death… death… death…”

Jay swallowed hard, cornered and terrified.

She shook her head.

“Don’t do it, Jay. They’ll kill us anyway.”

For a heartbeat, something human flickered in his eyes.

Then it vanished.

He lunged.

She slashed sideways, driving him back. They circled—two starved rats trapped in the same cage.

Sweat. Growls. Steel—quick as lightning.

“Death… death… death…”

“Jay,” she hissed, dodging a thrust. “If we fight together, maybe we can take Mendoza down before we die.”

Jay answered with two vicious stabs. She dodged the first. The second nearly caught her, but she grabbed his wrist. They grappled. Hands slipped. The deck spun.

He knocked her down. Her back slammed against the planks. Her dagger skittered through a crack—gone into the belly of the ship.

Jay straddled her. The blade came down. She pushed. Muscles screamed. The edge kissed her skin.

“Death… death… death…”

Her strength faltered. Hunger, thirst, despair—all choking her at once.

Give up, a voice whispered. Let go.

No.

Not without fire. Not without vengeance.

She twisted. The blade missed her chest but plunged deep into her arm. She screamed. Blood poured hot down her side. With a savage roar, she bit down on Jay’s hand—hard.

Bone crunched.

Jay shrieked. He stumbled back, hand mangled, one finger hanging loose.

She sat up, vision tilting. The dagger still buried in her arm—she ripped it free. Pain ripped a howl from her throat.

Jay was sobbing now. A child in a man’s body.

When he looked up, she was already on him.

The blade slid between his ribs, quiet as a sigh.

His eyes widened. No pain—just shock.

She knelt over him, panting, her face twisted with fury and grief.

“Shhh…” she whispered. “Think of the sea. It’s over.”

She held him as he died, the dagger still buried in him.

Jay exhaled once.

And didn’t breathe again.

“Death!” the crew roared.

“Take her to my cabin,” Mendoza ordered.

She cradled Jay’s body until rough hands tore it from her grasp. A tear cut down her cheek.

Strong arms lifted her. She tried to stab one of them, but a fist twisted her wrist until the blade clattered to the deck. Jay’s body disappeared over the rails with a splash.

When her eyes opened again, she was inside the captain’s cabin. A breath later, sailors dragged Peter in. They forced him to kneel before Mendoza’s desk, where the captain sat rolling a bitter-leaf cigarette.

He cocked a black-smoke pistol and leveled it at Peter’s head.

“Esteban. Come here,” he said without looking away from Deirdre.

A boy—no older than twelve—sat huddled on the bed. He flinched, then stood on shaking legs.

“Now!” Mendoza barked.

The boy stumbled forward, biting his fingers, staring at Deirdre with fear and something else—curiosity, maybe.

“It’s time you learned what real power looks like,” Mendoza said.

“What did we ever do to you?” Deirdre spat, her voice cracking with pain and fury.

Mendoza bit his lip, rubbed his tattooed scalp, sweat shining across it. He inhaled slowly, like dragging the words out cost him something.

“Revenge,” he said, pointing the lit cigarette at her. “Now take your clothes off.”

Deirdre glanced at her father. He gave a tiny nod, jaw clenched, the pistol grinding into his skin. She tore off her shirt, blood from her arm dripping in dark lines onto the floorboards.

“The pants,” Mendoza added, flicking ash.

Pig, she thought.

Her heartbeat hammered in her skull as she unbuttoned her trousers.

Esteban looked away instantly.

Mendoza grabbed him by the neck and forced his head forward.

“By Father Mare’s cock—look. Don’t turn away.”

The boy obeyed, eyes wide, face emptying into something dark and numb. He didn’t understand what he was seeing—but he knew it was wrong.

“Look close,” Mendoza said. “She’s mine now. She does what I say, when I say it.” He blew smoke toward the ceiling, utterly pleased with himself. “And if she doesn’t… I kill the old man and pass her around the crew.”

He stared at her like she was stolen treasure.

Deirdre bit her tongue until she tasted blood. If she spoke, she’d lunge at him. And they’d kill Peter.

“Wash up,” Mendoza said, pointing to a basin. “You stink.” Then he turned to Peter. “Get to work.”

He slid the pistol into his pocket, leaned over Esteban, and whispered loudly enough for them to hear:

“Don’t leave her side. If she tries anything—tell me.”

Esteban nodded slowly. He looked at Deirdre not with fear, but with something new: a fragile urge to protect her.

Mendoza walked to the door. At the threshold he paused, glancing back.

“Eat something. Then get down to the cellars. There are still leaks. Fix them.”

He barked the order at her as if nothing had happened.

And left.