•••

Before Anderson's summons and the exchange with Mr. Pale, the last few hours of Captain Stormholden's life had been spent shackled inside a dungeon Gideon had conjured into existence. The boy had been none-too-happy once he'd recovered from the captain's strike and realized the humiliation he'd suffered at the hands of the man he dismissed as a disease of ink and parchment. Gideon's revenge had come upon the captain like whitewater, the boy's hateful current pulling the captain under.

Stormholden hadn't minded. He'd spent months in dungeons far fouler than Gideon's magical confinement, skirting human excrement as he found solace and refuge hidden in the memories of his time with Matilda, of those many days they frolicked in the forest on the outskirts of her property, where they laughed, embraced and kissed. Surrounded by coldness, conjuring her image provided Stormholden the warmth he needed to live on.

He'd survived because of the thoughts of her, and how despoiled he knew her smile would be if news of his death arrived upon her doorstep. And though he knew the truth of his existence now, he found himself resorting to the machinations of his past, conjuring Matilda's image and remembering all they shared.

Unsatisfied by how composed the captain remained, Gideon had summoned him to his quarters, where the captain was henceforth bound by unseen shackles, beaten by invisible foes, and run through by obscured needles. Over and over again, Gideon lavished the captain's body with pent-up rage and loathing. A lifetime of pain reverberated throughout the captain's bones, but he had gone to the place in his mind where Gideon couldn't reach, where Gideon's magic couldn't upend everything, where Matilda cradled Ire's head in her lap, the sun shining as she ran delicate fingers through his hair and reassured him it would pass.

Storms passed. The captain knew, better than anyone, of this truth. Out at sea, he'd had his share of tempests thrown at him when Neptune's rage crested, and the waters frothed with fury. His ship would rock on the brink of collapse as seawater lashed the deck, as it rose in the ship's bowels and nary a bucket could be found not in use as the crew sped to keep her afloat.

More than once, Stormholden's life had threatened to capsize, but it never did. Like his ship, he'd managed to ride out some of the world's worst and witness the dawning of a new day.

And you'll get what you deserve.

• Both Sides of the Story •

The latest in Gideon's string of tortures struggled before Stormholden, limbs tied to the lofty chairs they sat in. A woman and her daughter, who he discerned no perceivable danger from, restrained, hostages Gideon had commanded the captain to guard. Stormholden had obliged the boy, biding his time as he strategized about his next move. When dealing with a serpent whose strikes were swift and deadly, the boots which sought to crush its head must be swifter, deadlier.

But this task had caught him off guard. Entering a woman's home unbidden, accepting the kindly offer of tea, and striking up conversation only to bind her and her daughter to chairs, gags stuffed in their mouths. Treating them as criminals bound for the Royal dungeons to await death at the end of a noose. Uncouth and savage behavior it'd been, even for a devil.

But Stormholden had avowed to protect these women. If Gideon had any intentions to abuse or endanger them in any way, if they were more than mere hostages for use in Gideon's endgame, the captain would not hesitate to put himself between them and the boy, his every breath dedicated to securing their safety. And if he met his demise, at least the cause was just, and of his own choosing.

Free. A story no longer.

The young lass, a slim girl with lovely dark skin, reminiscent of Matilda's, and piercing blue eyes watched him most intently from her position on the lounger. The bindings Stormholden had affixed to her wrists and ankles sagged, as he had not tied them tight enough to interrupt blood flow or leave a stain upon the skin.

Sensing his gaze as the girl must have, she whipped away from him, her eyes flitted to a strange, square device set upon the window ledge, that seemed to be a type of mechanical devilry, as it had held the girl enrapt when Gideon and Stormholden had entered their abode. When Gideon had taken it from her and turned it off, her face grew dark, as though in mourning over the loss of something vital to one's self.

Stormholden moved toward the dining quarters and plucked a half-full pitcher of water off the table. He brought it and two cups over to the girl. Getting on his knee, removed the cloth from her mouth, poured some of the water into the glass, and held it to her lips.

"My dear child, you must be parched." He tilted it, a drop of water splashing over the rim and running down the girl's chin. She turned, eyes wide as full moons. No voice escaped her lips. Mute from the shock perhaps? Stormholden wouldn't have been surprised. "I assure you," he continued, "this is but water, no poison." He turned to face the mother, who sat in a cushioned chair, fingers digging into the armrests. "Madam, I vow to you on my very life, I desire no harm to befall you or your daughter. Again," he turned back around and hefted the cup before the girl, "this is only mere water. May I?" He neared the girl's mouth with the cup and though reluctant at first, she parted her lips and drank. Water dribbled down her chin as she took steady gulps, before shaking her head and signaling to him she'd had enough.

He moved to the mother, extended her the same offer. She stared him down, gaze an unwavering, unimpressed brown like the harsh, uninhabited tundra found north of Prisidiam. Gooseflesh stormed up the captain's forearms. He recognized in her the same animosity that radiated off all caged animals, the hatred for their captors. Few women in the captain's life had been as equally fierce as the woman before him save for the Scarlet Reef and Matilda, when he'd accidentally trod upon her nerves and found himself on the receiving end of her wrath. He gave a curt nod, backed away from the mother, and placed the pitcher on a low table at the center of the room.

"That boy called you Cap," the girl said. Stormholden rose and turned toward her, surprised her voice carried so well throughout the room, despite her stature. "That like your name or something?"

Stormholden shuffled back to his corner and folded his arms over his chest. "Not a name, but a title." He scratched the stubble along his jawline. "Though, I find myself deserving it less as the days pass. I'm the captain of a ship, The Dauntless Mistress."

Eyebrows as thin as straw hoisted like mainsails so far onto the girl's forehead they nearly disappeared into her hair. "You serious?"

"Most assuredly, lass. I named the ship myself."

She frowned. "That's not what I mean, jeez."

"And who is this Jeez, a friend of yours? Co-conspirator? An ex-lover?" The captain cocked his head to the side as the girl gave an exaggerated moan.

Her teeth clacked together, her tongue smacking off the roof of her mouth, as she furrowed her brow and looked at him with palpable disgust.

He wondered if she'd been in the thralls of delirium, though the imbibement of water ought to have stayed its hand. Maybe Gideon had cast his sorcery to dull her senses. Stormholden had witnessed any further evils after Gideon had ordered the women bound, but he knew better than anyone Gideon's most dangerous magics were the instances where they went unseen.

His neck muscles tightened compulsively as he remembered that night in the song, the feeling of his helplessness, of his overwhelming confusion. Blood boiled inside the captain's veins as Gideon smirked in his mind's eye, while Stormholden struggled to wrestle free the words with which to beg for his life.

"What's your name?" the girl asked, bringing the captain back to his current predicament. She shifted her weight, the chair leather belching beneath her.

"Ire," he said.

A chuckle escaped the girl. "You've got to be kidding me."

"I do not kid. Ire has been my name since birth, given to me as my mother's dying wish –"

"Ire Stormholden?"

He nodded. "Indeed. Beg pardon, how did you—"

"Ire Stormholden, born in Galdcrest? Son of Morrigan and Callfer?"

The captain's hand went to his side. His fingers grasped at air. He nodded. "Do you have the gods' sight, young one? Have you been cursed to—"

She shook her head. "I'm Carmichelle," she flashed a gap-toothed smile, "and I'm your biggest fan."

Biggest fan? The words held the him captive better than Gideon's dungeons ever could. This child was a fan? Of his? She, as diminutive in stature and boisterous of mouth as she was happened to be a part of his dastardly readership? Of those who relished in his miseries and tragedies? Of those who sought to lose themselves in his story to make their measly, squalid existences more tolerable?

This girl a part of the faction that rooted for him to fail, that heralded every death of someone he held dear, who watched on as everything was stripped away from him because it'd provided a paltry, temporary moment of entertainment?

Carmichelle stared at him unabashedly, eyes dazzling as she ran them over the captain's length. When next she spoke, her voice was low, sheepish, but filled with that same, buzzing excitement. "I'd never tell Nell this, but your story always made me smile."

"Because of the ruination I suffered?" he snapped, hands balled into fists that rested on his thighs. He didn't know what he'd expected from a self-professed fan, but it hadn't been for one to confirm what he'd already known. Disgust curdled in his gut.

The girl shook her head furiously. "No!" Stormholden blinked. "God, no! No way!" She struggled to her feet, but even then, she had to crane her neck to meet Stormholden's gaze. "When you suffered, I suffered. I cried constantly about all the bad things that happened to you. They weren't right, or just or fair. Seemed like life was being cruel just for fun. But," she looked down, biting on her lower lip, "you always persevered. Took life's crap like a champ. Got through all the horrible things tossed your way. You looked forward, and anticipated the sunrise."

Her head shot forward, startling the captain. He stumbled, knocking a shaded lantern from a table. "When my—" the child sniffed. Her eyes clouded over. Tears nipped at her eyelashes. She gulped back whatever sadness threatened to break over her and continued, "When my dad died, it was you, captain, your story, that helped me get through it."

Stormholden stared at her. Her words, pure and honest echoing in his head. She smiled, though it never reached her eyes. Matilda had smiled similarly after the captain had spurned the idea of a future where the pair could be happy together.

The blood had been too much then, too fresh.

"My life," he chose his words carefully, afraid if he misspoke, the girl would shatter, and he'd be left without his answers, "my existence, the ink on the parchment underscoring my every waking torment, chronicling each breath I've inhaled, each step walked, each mistake I foolishly made, the lives by which with my own hand I took, it helped you—"

The girl, Carmichelle, nodded furiously and beamed. "More than you'll ever know."

Her words, her being radiated warmth and kindness, gratitude, and sincerity above all else. The captain's hand raised as he wanted nothing more than to savor this feeling, this validation for the life he had lived and suffered through, for all eternity. Before his fingers could brush the girl's cheek, he stopped himself, threw his arm back to his side, and nodded.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"No, Cap," Carmichelle responded. "Thank you."

Behind them, the front door whipped open. The captain whirled, fists raised. An unnatural purple light accosted his eyes. He blinked as he slipped into a defensive crouch, position his body in front of Carmichelle and her mother, a shield to protect the girl that had become so much him, in such little time.

The enemy approached, their light fading. Footsteps creaked across the landing. Stormholden slid his arm across the floor, found the fallen shaded-lantern, and gripped it.

A shadow fell across the floor.

Carmichelle yelped. "Nells!"

A young woman with brown skin and curly hair that looked to have been ravished by a tornado stampeded into the room Her head whipped around until her gaze settled upon the girl. "Car—" She took a step.

The captain advanced. He lunged, raised the lantern behind him.

As he brought the weapon down, Carmichelle shrieked. "Captain, no! That's my sister."

Stormholden dropped the weapon. The intruder stared into his face, eyes wide, bewildered. Hands as quick as lightning, he grabbed the girl's collar and wrench her off the ground. Her feet dangled. Purple mist coiled off her fingertips.

The captain glowered. "You're of his elk, are you not, temptress? Glowing is a devil's trickery."

The girl looked him dead on, her conjured purple congealing around her. Where it touched the captain, it burned. He tightened his grip, refusing to let another devil make him its plaything.

"Let our guest go, Cap." Gideon descended the steps.

Stormholden whirled, the girl still in his clenches. "One of yours?" he spat.

The girl's purple faded.

Gideon smiled. "She will be, but for now," he jumped to the landing and clicked his heels together, "introductions are in order. Cap, meet Peneloper Auttsley, your creator."