^“You can’t lock me in here forever you crazy, arrogant pirates!” I yell as I kick the door that the said pirates have locked after leaving me in here. Dante pulled me off the side of the boat, and I kicked him in between the legs in anger. I can’t admit that it didn’t feel great when he fell to the floor in shock. But then, Hunter threw me over his large shoulder and threw me in here. I glance around the room; it’s the room I woke up in, but Chaz isn’t here.

What are the chances of Dante being a pirate? The first guy I met other than my father, and he is a pirate?

The first man I have ever found attractive. I can’t even say he is the last man I’ve found attractive; all the pirates are good looking. When I think about it, I know that it’s really unfair that I will need to become like my father and kill at least one of them to be able to escape. He wouldn’t hesitate to kill one of them, to make sure they don’t hurt me. I’m thinking that Hunter is the one I need to get rid of because he is the most dangerous one. Only it’s not me, I wouldn’t know how to kill one of them and not have it haunt me. I just can’t think how I’m going to get out of this any other way, and I just need to come up with a plan. I glance around the room, spotting that all the books on the desk are gone. There is nothing other than a chair that I could use to protect myself. Well truthfully, there is a pillow, but that is not going to be useful to me.

I walk over to the small window in the room and lift myself up on my tip toes, so I can see out of it. The night sky is lit by thousands of bright stars, and they look brighter out here than they did from my house. I wonder what my father is thinking now. I don’t think he will look for me, my father may care somewhat for me, but his position on the council means a lot to him too. No, I know I’m on my own now and the chances of seeing him ever again are low.

The turning of a key makes me jump, and I quickly run behind the door before it’s opened. I lift the surprisingly heavy chair and hold it over my shoulder as the door opens. I swing it down on the back of the man coming into the room, but he lifts one hand and catches the chair. The man, who I haven’t seen before, laughs. A deep, throaty laugh that is nice to hear.

“Now, now, little fighter, that was rude,” the man says with a large grin. He has wavy, dark-blond hair that’s split in the middle and tucked behind his ears. The man’s face is scarred on one side, two deep gashes from his eyebrow down to his shaven chin. The red shirt and brown trousers he’s wearing are covered by a massive belt, which has four daggers clipped in. He has large, leather gloves that stop at his elbows. I can see that his arms are muscular even under his clothes. When I finally look up, his dark-green eyes watch me closely. This man is older than the others and me. I would place him around twenty-five but his eyes look older.

“Well, you shouldn’t lock me up,” I say, and he laughs as he pulls on the chair. I fall with it and smack into his chest, stumbling over my feet. He drops the chair and wraps an arm around my waist. I shiver, not used to anyone touching me. Especially not a man, and I force myself not to focus on how hard his chest feels pressed against mine.

“You have lovely eyes, my little fighter,” the man says, his tone dropping deeper as I look up at him. At this angle, I can see how very attractive he is.

“I’m not your little anything,” I grit out, and he grins.

“Not yet,” he says and lets go. I’m too flustered to reply to him as I take a step back. I don’t know how to handle his comment, so I just decide to look away from him and forget it. I hate how drawn I am to these damn pirates.

They’re pirates, and I have enough problems to worry about. I shouldn’t be wasting my time thinking about them.

“Come on, and don’t bother running,” the man says and walks out of the room, leaving the door open. I’m too taken back to move as I look at the door, did he really just leave me here with the door open? My only thought is how quickly I could run back to the little boat and get the hell out of here.

“Cassandra,” the man says outside the door, and I sigh knowing that it was too easy. I quickly run my hand over my messy hair, feeling all the tangles and knowing I must look a mess. I walk out of the room after deciding that there’s nothing to be done about it. 

The man is leaning one shoulder against the wall of the corridor opposite the door when I come out, his gaze sweeps over my body as I stop in front of him. 

“I forgot to say, I’m Zach,” he says and moves off the wall. I watch as he walks down the corridor, not looking back once. My gaze drifts down the other direction of the corridor, to the stairs which I know lead above deck. I wonder if I can make it to stairs before Zach notices I’m gone. Why would he leave me alone in the corridor to choose? 

No, it can’t be that easy to escape.

I glance down to the way Zach has gone, there’s a door open and light shines out of it. The noise of pots and pans banging can be heard, as well as the normal sounds of the boat creaking, and the whistle of the wind over the sea.

I don’t know what makes me turn down the corridor and towards the open door, but I don’t question it.

I can’t.

I slowly pop my head around the open doorway, I don’t really want to go in, but I’m curious. The room is a kitchen, with many wooden countertops and a pot hanging over a small fire. The fire is built on sand, which is inside a large metal container. There are ten or so barrels around the room. There are also boxes of what look like food piled on the sides. 

The pirates have a lot of food by the looks of it. The people in my town would kill for this stuff.

I glance over at the pirate, Zach. I don’t know what rattles me more, the fact that he isn’t waiting for me to come in the room or how good looking he is. I thought pirates where meant to have black teeth, and the scars on their faces are meant to be scary. Zach’s just make him look more handsome. I move a little closer, so I can see that he’s cutting up a yellow fruit I have never seen. I watch as he peels the skin off and cuts up the soft cream-coloured centre.

“What is that?” I ask, my voice softer than I wanted it to be.

“They are called bananas. I’m making you a toasted banana sandwich. It’s my favourite,” Zach says and doesn’t look back at me as I walk over. 

“Where do they grow?” I ask him as I stop next to him. The only fruit we have ever had on Onaya was apples. The apple trees all died around five years ago when the rain didn’t come for seven months. The council decided they couldn’t waste the water on keeping the trees alive and started using sea water. All the trees died the morning after the water was poured on them. Everly told me that people believed the Sea God killed the trees in anger because the council killed a baby that very morning. A changed one, a little boy. I wish the rumours were true, and the Sea God did decide to kill them all. Of course, the council still had apples. They had their own trees in their gardens, which they kept watered. My father had one, and I loved the apples there, I used to have one a week and give the rest to Everly. I really hope she and Miss Drone are doing okay on the island. I know losing her job would be difficult for them, they relied too much on the food my father gave them.

“Sevten. We trade a lot there, and these grow on the trees,” he tells me. I wonder if I’ll get to see any other islands. I spent so long looking at the maps of our world, wondering about what the islands actually look like.

“A lot of trees have died on Onaya,” I tell him, trying to keep my eyes down on the wooden floor. I glance up as he nods at me. I watch him as he puts the cut-up banana pieces onto four slices of bread, and he puts them on a metal tray that rests over the pot. 

“Some say the changed ones brought the rain and kept the land alive,” he says, and I look at him in shock. I’ve never heard that one before. I know little of the supposed powers of the changed ones. I want to ask him more about what he has heard.

“Others say the changed ones have ruined the land, and we will all suffer,” he says as he turns the sandwiches over with a spatula. My heart bangs against my chest, I have heard that one before. My father said the King told him it.

“Which do you believe?” I ask him, trying to keep my voice neutral, and he turns a little so I can see his smile.

“Neither,” he says.

Zach takes the sandwiches off the tray and puts them on to two plates he has out. He offers me one, and I take it.

“You must be hungry,” he says and opens a barrel. He pulls out an apple and offers me that as well.

“Here, I know Onaya once had lovely apples. These are green and not red, but they are still good,” he says. I nod as I take the green apple off him, noticing how they are slightly rounder than the red apples we had. The apple may only be a small thing, but it reminds me of home, and it’s sweet that he thought to get me it. 

“Come,” Zach turns with his plate and heads out into the corridor. He opens the door on the other side of the corridor. The room is lit by candles, so I can see it and it’s empty. There’s a long, wooden table, with dozens of chairs and pretty flowers in pots in the middle.

A pirate ship with flowers? Everly would never believe it if I told her. I guess I’ll never be able to.

Zach takes a seat, and I take the one on the other side of the table, so I’m opposite him. I take a bite of the sandwich; the taste is so nice, and it’s only seconds before I eat it all. I’m not used to much hot food, even at home.

“You’re the cook?” I ask after we’ve eaten all of our food in silence. 

“Yes. I was brought up on Sixa, and my parents were well off. They were the richest in the town and both of them were on the council,” he starts telling me. I remember reading about Sixa, the island is covered in snow and people are said to live in houses made from ice. There is also said to be massive creatures, completely white and dangerous that live there. I don’t know how much of that is true, but the island is the smallest in our world.

“I used to cook food to give to the poor. When my family found out, they killed twenty people to stop me helping them,” he tells me, as he leans back in his chair. I’m surprised how casually he tells me this, like it’s just something he happens to know and not something that personally happened to him.

“Why would they do that?” I ask him in shock that he would tell me this. It’s shocking that he would tell me something so personal about his life. I’m not shocked that his parents killed that many people. They sound just like the council on Onaya, like my own father.

“I was in love with a poor girl. She was kind and yet, no match for my family. I was locked up while they killed her and all of her family,” he tells me, and it’s the first time I see any emotion on his face, but it’s gone in seconds.

“I’m sorry,” I say, and his bright green eyes meet mine.

“I killed them. Both of my parents. I paid for that and then escaped. The men you are running from saved my life,” he tells me. I finally know why he told me this story of his life, for the ending. I don’t want to admit how much I respect him for killing his parents for the terrible things they did. I could never do that to my own father, no matter how many people he killed. It must have been a horrible decision for him, but I’m guessing it was mainly done out of anger.

“You think I should trust them, trust you?” I ask, and he smiles.

“I believe you already do, my little fighter,” he says, his words soft when he says that little nickname he calls me, and he stands up. I glance over his whole body, noting how big he is, how muscular. The long gloves and high neckline of his shirt hide most of his golden skin from me, and I wonder why he wears the gloves. It’s warm in here, so it’s not that reason. I watch as he walks to the door.

“Go to sleep, and someone will show you around in the morning. You know the way to the room you woke up in,” he says, and our eyes meet once more before he looks away.

I have to take a deep breath before I can say anything. “Wait,” I say, and he stops in the doorway. “Is Chaz ok?” I ask quietly. I don’t want to admit the guilt I feel for hurting him. I know I shouldn’t want to know, but I do. I need to know he is okay.

“Only his ego has been bruised. I’m sure he would rather you didn’t mention it,” he says with a small, cheeky grin in my direction before he leaves.