Vengeance (The Prince's Games Book 1) by Rebecca Grey (electric book reader TXT) 📕

There's probably alcohol in some of those crates. The thought comes too quickly. Now that's something on this ship I might be tempted to touch. My only downfall would be attempting to read the labels and sorting what's safe for Human consumption and what drinks I should stay away from... like Elfish wine. Elfish wine gets you a different sort of drunk. And I know from the tales that it never ends well for Humans.

On the other half of the room, small pallets of blankets are laid out and hammocks are hooked to the ceiling. None of the presented options look comfortable.

"This is where the crew sleeps?" I question.

"Yes. Lower deck." He watches me for some sort of reaction. "Supplies on one side, crew quarters on the other."

"And this is where I'll sleep?" I lift a brow. It'd be like sleeping in a den of lions, and I doubt I'll wake well rested. But if this is what it takes to earn the power to help Humans rise up again, I'll do it. Someone has to.

Juilliard snorts. "No. You'll sleep in the Captain's quarters. You think we'll leave a fragile little Human like yourself to stay down here with the crew that only gets their kicks when they come to dock for a few days by the Pleasure District?"

So he is well versed in the different areas of The Bend. Interesting, considering he looks just as proper and noble as Marcello.

“I’m sleeping with…Marcello?”

The rush of stomping boots descend the stairs. And speak of the devil, Marcello grips the exposed boards above his head and leans forward on the bottom step. Whatever dead thing that was behind his gaze when we were on the top deck is gone now, replaced with a glimmer of excitement.

"Oh, I do love my name on those lips!" Marcello crows, with the hat he stole from Captain Balander still on his head. He shifts on the steps. "You make it sound like such a bad thing. Would you rather sleep with the ruffians then? Do you find me worse than them?"

I've known this man less than twenty-four hours of my life and it's already been twenty-four too many. An attitude like that would cause you more strife in The Bend than anything else. He thinks himself so high and mighty. Maybe I should try my hand at sleeping with the crew, just to get a break from his overwhelming self-assurance.

The more I learn about him, the more I'm certain he's from The Oasis. He couldn't survive for long on this side of the wall, and luck like his doesn't last a lifetime. Not only does he have to be from The Oasis but I'd even go as far as to say that he lives near or within the castle grounds. Perhaps high nobility? An earl... or say... a duke? Does Marcello know the prince? And better yet, the question of why he is choosing to participate in the Games still remains unanswered. Glory? Had his demeanor and playful ways gotten him stripped of his inheritance and he saw this as his only fighting chance?

"What sort of arrangements are we talking about in your quarters?" I lift my chin just a fraction.

"I'll show you." He slaps the boards above his head, giving his friend a cheerful nod before he spins and jogs sideways up the slender set of stairs.

When his boots are gone and I can hear him tapping his foot impatiently on the top deck, I grit my teeth together and follow. It's imperative that I keep my wits and sanity about me leading up to and into the Games. I make sure to take my time as I join him in the heat of the day. I've gotten my quick tour of the upper deck already, there isn’t much to be seen, so I don't know exactly where the Captain Quarters might be hiding.

"Watch closely now." Marcello beckons me to follow again.

He stops where the deck rises up to where the helm sits. He's careful to move around my trunk and when he reaches the shade, he starts tapping his knuckle against the wooden boards. Tap. Tap. Tap. The insistent knocking grates roughly against my nerves, and my shoulders rise tightly up to my ears.

"Ah," he smiles as the sound of the rapping changes and he presses a finger into the groove of wood. This door moves silently, the hinges greased and well-maintained. Had Balander shown Marcello how to enter his quarters before he hatched his plan to take over the ship?

Matching the lower deck, small emerald prisms sit in the windows on either side of the room and bounce the light around. There's a small desk, messy with papers and scrolls rolled up and stuck into the tops of a dozen different glass bottles like corks. It sits in the corner, away from the rest of the room that appears to be more geared toward relaxation.

A full-size bed is pushed into the opposite corner. A few hammocks rock from the ceiling with blankets stuffed inside them. A couple bottles of liquor, many already empty, are scattered across the floor next to a small tray with the butt of a cigarette in it.

"You smoke?" I ask Marcello. He seems much too high and mighty for that. Maybe it isn't even his cigarette, it could very well be Balander's. I stay away from those habits myself. Arron had warned me often enough of the diseases they could cause Humans, and healers in The Bend were too hard to come by for me to even think about risking it.

"No. Filthy habit." He adjusts his coat around him, then the large hat.

"Nah, that's all me." Juilliard squeezes into the room around us, going for what is left of his smoke. He picks it up and pulls a match from his pocket.