A month on a ship was hell.

  It never ceased moving; rocking, swaying, tossing. It cared nothing for the people encased in its hull.

  The wind howled, heralding another storm.

  Those days were the worst. When the sea, a gluttonous monster, tried to swallow the prey that had ventured too far into its territory. Three storms, three times she was certain she’d die. On those days, food and water were impossible, hunger gnawed at her gut, and the escape sleep afforded was unattainable.

  “How long will this one last?”

  Mia didn’t have an answer. She rarely did. Sometimes it rained for a few hours, other times for weeks.

  The waves were the worst during storms, and that affected their seasickness.

  Mia was comforted by the fact that she wasn’t the only one suffering, but it did nothing to ease her discomfort; instead, it filled her with shame. She’d become a worse person over the last few months, meaner. Everyone had gotten their sea legs after a few days, but Mia and Beatrice were relegated to a small room on the lowest deck until they reached their destination.

  The ship groaned like a dying beast.

  “I can’t stand much more of this.” Beatrice lay on her back, hand over her eyes, a cold towel on her forehead.

  “You’ve been saying that for the last three months, and unless you die, you’ll be saying it for another two.” Mia sucked on a slice of ginger, immediately regretting what she said. “I didn’t mean that, it’s just…everything.”

  Mia swayed from side to side with the rocking ship. Beatrice’s words resonated with her. She never spoke of it, fearing her words would reach the young lady who might think she was ungrateful, but she regretted being chosen. Every day, she wondered if today was the day she died in the belly of the beast.

  It was a silly thought. Mia knew it was. She could keep down enough food and water that she wouldn’t starve, not like Beatrice, who’d wasted away, but sharing a room with the dying girl made her fears more real.

  Then there were the sounds, the other things that she and Beatrice ignored. They spent their days as still as possible, pretending they didn’t hear anything.

  “We should speak to the young lady, warn her.” Mia clutched her pillow, taking deep breaths. She didn’t mean it. She said it because that was what was expected of her. When Beatrice reported to the young lady, Mia had to have said some of the ‘right’ words.

  The ship bucked, tossing her forward. Mia pressed her palm against the cabin’s damp wooden wall, her breath shallow, her fingers trembling. Sharp splinters stabbed her hand, the pain clearing her mind.

  It’ll be fine if I don’t. I can’t change anything.

  “I’ve been saying that all month.” Beatrice opened an eye, shooting her a chastising look. “If I could, I’d report this matter myself.” Beatrice didn’t say it, but her tone was judgmental.

  Mia had used her illness to put off seeing the young lady, but she’d recovered enough to walk to the deck or the lady’s room. She just wasn’t sure she should. Mia didn’t trust herself or the situation enough not to say the wrong thing.

  “We were given orders,” Mia whispered, defending her actions.

  Beatrice closed her eyes, groaning. “Yeah, that’s the reason you're not going. We’ll see what the young lady has to say about all of this.”

  What if Beatrice didn’t wake up? Mia gasped; the thought came unbidden. It was brief and ugly. Horror chased it away, but it lingered. She could get away with being a coward, but being a murderer would ruin her future. It would be kind, she’s skin and bones. Or you could let her choke on her vomit. Mia bit her lip, tasting blood. Her heart raced, hands clasped in prayer as she wondered what came over her. She shook her head, focusing on what she’d seen and heard.

  In Paline, she’d seen the captain and his crew loading laborers and servants on the ship.

  Laborers.

  Servants.

  Slaves.

  Surely someone else had seen, someone else could have stopped it.

  She hadn’t told Beatrice about that. It was her secret, one she’d take to the grave.

  Beatrice’s mother was a cook, and her father a secretary; she grew up cared for and happy. She didn’t understand how dangerous knowledge you shouldn’t have could be.

  Eyes closed, Mia pushed away the image of those dead-eyed men and women shuffling up the gang plank.

  That day, her curiosity got the better of her. She’d been eager to be chosen, confident that among all the other maids, she was the best. In her arrogance, she’d gone to see the ship she’d be travelling around the world on. Chest puffed up like she was the lady, like she was more than a hairdresser.

  The excitement about going on an adventure, about shaking off her past, had been too much to contain. Hiding behind a building, she’d seen the glory and magnificence of the tall-sail Conqueror, but she also saw animals shrouded in despair.

  There were very few things she regretted more than taking the day off and wandering down to the docks.

  Hand over her mouth, she fought the memories that threatened to consume her: hunger, strange sounds, dirty hands, the smell of piss, blood, and sweat.

  Mia lunged forward, grabbed the pail, and vomited.

  The slums.

  Those people, poked and prodded like livestock, reminded her of the days she lived in the back alleys of Adille. They reminded her of her mother. That same dead stare as she sat by the window waiting for her next customer, the cheapest drug she could get coursing through her veins.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  That would have been her fate, her future if the Duchess hadn’t rescued her. It was a miracle she’d lasted that long without being sold or kidnapped by one of the gangs.

  That’s why she owed the young lady. But, the miss was raised too kind and sheltered to know she was being taken advantage of.

  “You might not be as well as I thought, if you're vomiting like that.” Beatrice sounded miffed more than concerned. She groaned, swallowing another sleeping pill.

  Mia opened her mouth to answer, but her jaw snapped shut. They froze. Chains clanked as feet shuffled and muffled voices seeped through the door.

  Mia didn’t want to know. She pretended she didn’t, but deep down she knew the captain was using the Duke’s name and ship to smuggle slaves. Her teeth picked at the torn flesh of her lips.

  Maybe I should talk to Sir Harris?

  Her body warmed at the thought, half hopeful, altogether foolish.

  Sir Roland Harris would know what to do. He was competent, the youngest Silver-Ranked knight on the Vassa Continent. He was kind and handsome, the pride of the Drunn Empire.

  But, he was the young lady’s guard, her honor-bound knight. He went where she did. While he could handle the problem, she’d never be able to get him alone to explain. And, she didn’t want to explain to Sir Harris why she’d hidden the truth for so long. She couldn’t bear to think of how he’d look at her, his disappointment.

  Light tore through the sky, followed by a bone-rattling boom.

  Beatrice screamed.

  Mia held her breath, keeping tears at bay.

  The wind howled. She hadn’t been sure what she saw, really. Doing nothing was better. The situation was bad, but it didn’t affect her. It was probably nothing, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she needed to speak with someone.

  Maybe Ceciel or Lady Marie Stein would know what to do. They were highborn girls, smarter than Mia, better than her.

  Hadn’t her mother’s life taught her anything?

  Mia remembered the time from before. When her father worked, when he was alive, when he took care of them.

  Those days were peaceful. She learned to read and write, dreaming of marrying well to a shopkeeper or bookkeeper, or maybe even a knight if her sharp features smoothed out and she aged into a beauty; a little girl's dream, a fantasy.

  At the start of summer when she was eight, and the pears were their sweetest, her father died. The day of the funeral, her uncle moved in. He spent one night in Mia’s room while she slept with her mother and then moved into her parents' room.

  She’d been too young to know what it all meant. Mia just knew that the month after her father’s death was hard. The food became less and less at every meal, she couldn’t attend lessons, and her friends didn’t play with her anymore. Having her uncle there was better in her young mind. The lessons resumed with better teachers, and there was food she’d never eaten before.

  Mia learned the cost of that food and those lessons.

  In that life, she might have had to pay an enormous price for her uncle's gifts, but she still wished they’d stayed.

  Her mother probably wished the same. She’d escaped Mia’s uncle, but ran to worse men. No matter how he behaved in bed, one man was better than the multitude, and he’d paid her well.

  All of her life, the dark, rotting part of her that survived the slums resented her mother for taking her away from that life and dragging her to filthy alleys filled with men who watched everyone like they knew how much money they were worth. It was that part of her who grabbed the duchess's helping hand and pretended her mother was dead. It was that part of her that told her to keep her mouth shut. She hated that part of herself. It was small and ugly; that part of her would keep her from being anything other than a charity case.

  There were two months until they reached their destination. The ship couldn’t sail without its crew. The crew had delivered all their meals and helped empty the fluid-filled pails without complaint. Why tell the young lady and cause a problem that could lead to their deaths?

  Accidents happened at sea; everyone knew that.

  The captain could kill them, sell his cargo on the new continent, and start a new life.

  That was Mia’s plan. She’d carefully packed everything she couldn’t bear to part with, all her money, and the expensive brooch she’d found. The new continent would be a new future. In the Duchy, her story was well known. No man wanted to marry a woman of dubious origin, so despite being sixteen and all her peers being engaged, all of Mia’s matches were injured lower-ranked soldiers or widowers.

  Mia often wondered what would have happened if they’d stayed. She’d never be a beauty, her body too skinny, her jaw sharp, face angular with black eyes in sunken sockets that looked permanently bruised. Black hair was limp and cut at her chin, a parody of a popular style. Never a beauty, but she learned well and would have been able to marry a decent man.

  The Tigen Continent provided her a way to start over, but she’d need the young lady. There was no way she’d keep Mia employed or provide references if she knew.

  The young lady, like the Duchess, was kind. She held out her hand to those in need and was vehemently against slavery. She’d petitioned the Duke to prohibit slavery and set up safehouses all across the Empire using her father’s name. As long as a slave set foot inside, they couldn’t be sold or returned to their masters. They were clothed and fed, then transported to villages where no one knew their identities so they could start new lives.

  Mia wasn’t as naive as the young lady. Such measures wouldn’t solve the problem, but at least in the Duchy, you couldn’t buy and sell children in the market.

  The young lady wouldn’t forgive duplicity or complicity.

  Mia steeled her nerves.

  Then again, the lady had given clear instructions: “Stay in the cabin, Mia. Do not wonder. I’d hate for you to go overboard in a moment of carelessness.” It was poor form for a servant to disobey an order. Mia had never done it before. But insidious whispers curled under the door like smoke. They gnawed at her, filling the salty air with the stench of sweat and fear.

  Plus, the captain had to have an accomplice. They couldn’t keep hundreds of people hidden otherwise.

  Mia looked at Beatrice and decided between self-preservation/following orders and doing the right thing.

  Palms sweaty, she inched off the bed.

  Mia made many promises to herself after the Duchess saved her.

  She was going to be good.

  She was going to be kind.

  She was going to be helpful.

  On land, she kept those promises. She showed the new girls the ropes. She went above and beyond to complete her tasks. Even her brooch, so expensive she’d never dreamed of owning something like it, she’d brought to the guards when she found it, so they could locate its owner.

  Mia, like the ship was adrift, was doing her best to weather the storms.

  This wasn’t the Duchy. The people weren’t good. The Duke didn’t keep the scoundrels away.

  Mia stuffed her feet into her shoes, and stood before her resolve deserted her.

  The young lady was pampered and soft, but she had Sir Harris and Sir Bronson, and all the knights and soldiers accompanying her.

  Her hand on the door, she tried to shake off the unease that stiffened her muscles, to figure out what about this situation was tickling her mind as wrong.

  The image of the future she wanted firmly in mind, she gathered the strength she needed. Mia would go to the Tigen Continent. She’d learn bookkeeping and household magic. The lady would endorse her citizenship, and Mia would marry a man like Sir Harris. The rest of her life would be spent caring for him and their children.

  With a deep breath, she opened the door.

  The young lady told her about chivalry and noblesse oblige. It all sounded childish, but she yearned for it.