Whispers of Steam: The Complete Series

By Caylen McQueen

For five years, Princess Mayra been bullied, tortured, and caged like an animal. Only one man, Jun Shiraishi, has ever been kind to her. His kindness is betrayed when Mayra commits and unspeakable act to escape her captors.

 

Mayra sneaks aboard an airship with an eclectic group of bounty hunters. Some of her new companions are slow to trust, and for good reason. A hostile fleet, led by Captain Shiraishi, is hunting the fleeing princess.

 

This complete collection contains all three parts of the Whispers of Steam series. A copy of The Barefoot Barmaid, the first book from Caylen McQueen's first steampunk series, is also included.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Caylen McQueen
• Release date: Dec 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201309787

Book preview

Caged Princess - One

PRINCESS MAYRA BATTLED an intense urge to lean away as her fiance dragged a hand across her cheek. His skin was rough, much rougher than hers, and it left a trail of pinprick tingles on her flesh.

Princess, he spoke in a low voice. Princess, I want you to feel safe with me. Lord Euan had a voice like smoke, and his eyes embodied emptiness. His lips were an unmoving line, rarely expressing any emotion but boredom. Not even the prospect of a young wife could tempt a smile to his face.

When the timid princess said nothing, Lord Euan continued, This is as odd for me as it is for you. I held you on my lap when you were a baby... and now you're to be my wife. Does it make you uncomfortable?

Princess Mayra wasn't a fan of words. She was so quiet, her mother thought she was simple, but she was far from it. Her mind was always racing with thoughts, most too precious to share with others. No one was surprised when she shook her head or nodded instead of wasting breath. After a short pause, she answered her fiance's question with a forced smile and a shaking head.

Good. Her fiance stroked her cheek a few more times before pushing a lock of her honey brown hair behind her ear. Are you uncomfortable with my touch?

Though she preferred silence, Mayra knew a few words were necessary to sustain a conversation. No, my lord.

Wonderful. Your father told me you were uncomfortable with it. Is it true you don't like receiving hugs?

I... endure them, Mayra replied. I don't hate them.

Good. When he laid a hand on her shoulder, her body shivered in resistance. "I'll have none of this my lord nonsense. You're a princess, child. If anything, I should bend the knee to you."

Child. The word stuck in her mind like an echo. Lord Euan was the same age as her father, if not a few years older. In two days, the fourteen-year-old Princess of Nourmin would marry a man who was more than thirty years older than her. Her freedom was bartered to the king's best friend, and it was a fate she wished on no one.

I respect you, her fiance went on, and because I respect you, I won't force myself on you. I don't expect you to share yourself on our wedding night. Your bed and body will be yours. I will only come to you when you're comfortable.

Mayra didn't know how to reply, nor did she know if a reply was expected. Embarrassment seared her cheeks as she averted her gaze.

"You're so shy. You're always shy, noted a chuckling Lord Euan. It frustrates your father, but I've always found it endearing. Anyway... He offered an arm. Shall I escort you to the banquet, Princess? Our presence is expected. It is a celebration for us, after all."

Mayra accepted his arm and followed him to the Great Hall of Nourmin's grand castle. When the Hall's iron door rattled open, raucous voices of a hundred castle guests surged into the hallway. The noisy chatter subsided when Mayra entered the room with Lord Euan. All eyes snapped to the pubescent princess and her middle-aged beau.

Euan led her to the center of a long table, where Mayra's mother and father were already seated. Mayra sat next to Queen Sephonie, who found more than one reason to criticize her daughter.

Don't slouch. The queen's hissed command immediately straightened Mayra's back. And... for goodness sake, don't put your elbows on the table! How has basic etiquette not seeped into your head yet? You're hopeless, I swear.

Sorry. Mayra whispered the apology as she reached for her fork—and it was apparently the wrong one. Her mother corrected her with a grunt and shoved a different utensil into her daughter's hand. Mayra's blunders were common, but they were rarely corrected outside of a formal setting. She couldn't understand why table manners were so important. To her, every fork and spoon's function was the same.

The princess silently absorbed a mob of unfamiliar mustaches and balding pates. Ladies in motley dresses tested her eyes with a painful myriad of color. They had lofty coifs and double chins, which wagged behind fluttering fans. She felt judgment from every pair of eyes. Cousins, second cousins, aunts, and uncles had appeared to celebrate the worst day of her life. She only recognized a few. Insignificant lords with fat egos and high collars studied her with raised monocles and haughty sneers. She wanted to hide.

How are you getting along with Lord Euan? Sephonie asked. You haven't seen him in several months. Can you still carry a conversation with him? I know how you struggle.

We're getting along fine, Mayra replied.

Your father and I are proud of you, her mother reminded her. He may not be a king, but Euan is a good man. I have no doubt he'll take care of you.

Mayra gave her mother a sluggish nod, traded her fork for a spoon, and sampled her soup. The princess didn't often show emotion, but her misery should have been obvious to anyone. Her mother didn't see it. More than likely, her father didn't see it. He was too busy devouring his steak and enjoying a political debate with the dignitary at his side.

When her spoon stalled, Euan leaned toward her and asked, How is your soup? Is it not to your liking?

It's fine, Mayra replied.

You know, you're such a lovely girl. Everyone thinks so, her fiance said. I've always thought your freckles were especially fetching.

Mayra expressed her gratitude with a tiny, awkward smile.

Would you like to try the wine? Euan asked. If you're old enough to marry, I daresay you're old enough for a glass or two.

Mayra shielded her goblet from Euan's tilting bottle. No, thank you, she muttered.

You're missing out, my dear. Euan leaned back in his chair as he sipped from his cup. Your father always has the very best.

A dissatisfied sigh whistled from Mayra's nose as she stirred her soup. Droves of peas were swimming in the broth. She hated peas. They were so plentiful, her spoon couldn't evade the mushy green terrors. Every spoonful was cursed with one or two of them.

A few couples had assembled on the dance floor, so she set aside her spoon to watch them. Mayra never danced. She didn't even care to try. The thought of waltzing made her dizzy. She believed she was the most graceless, charmless princess in the world.

Duck and potatoes were presented as the main course, but her stomach couldn't handle either. She was too nervous about her upcoming wedding. Every time she glanced at the older man at her side, she wanted to scream.

What's wrong, my dear? Euan asked. You're not liking the duck either? You're not—

Blood burbled through her fiance's lips, dripped over his chin, and speckled the dining table. A haunting gasp shuddered from his throat. Mayra would remember that gasp forever.

"Euan?" Mayra's pink cheeks lost every trace of color as she shouted his name. He bucked and twitched in his chair, and when he reached for her, she never caught his hand. Her body was frozen with fear.

Pandemonium swept through the room, but for Mayra, time stood still. Her eyes swelled when her father's head dropped on the table. When she turned, she saw crimson foam bubbling from her mother's painted lips. The dancers dropped, one by one, some cradled in each other's arms. In less than three minutes, Mayra's life was forever changed.

When the Great Hall's door crashed open, Mayra dropped from her chair and cowered under the table. She clapped a hand to her mouth and listened to the dissonance of boots, marching out of unison. Her body forgot to breathe as she peered under the tablecloth to glimpse the new arrivals. There were about twenty of them. They wore the black cloaks of Alymane, her country's closet neighbor and most devoted enemy.

Everyone was dead. Everyone except for her. Her gaze snapped around the room in search of another survivor, but she saw no one else. It might have been wiser to pretend she was dead as well, but her instincts made her hide.

"Where's the princess? The question, growled by a hooded soldier, had Mayra's blood sizzling in her veins. We need to find her. King Owenth won't be happy if she isn't among the dead."

Mayra's heart thundered as she crawled closer to the exit, concealed by the table's cloth. On her hands and knees, she stepped over corpses, some still upright in their chairs. The Alymane soldiers flooded every corner of the room, but she needed to reach the door.

She needed to reach her brother. He was the only family she had left.

Keep searching, another soldier replied. She's got to be in here somewhere.

She should be at the table, right next to her ma.' Look, sir! There's an empty chair.

Should we search the rest of the castle for her? Maybe she went out for a piss.

As she listened to the knights' conversation, her heart hammered so hard, she half-expected it to tear through her chest. When she crawled as far as she could, she peeked under the tablecloth again. She saw enemy boots all around her, and they were way too close. She couldn't reach the door without getting spotted. There was no way.

Let's split up and search, suggested a bearded, girthy soldier. Six of us search the east wing, six search the west wing, and the rest of us will wait here.

Mayra could barely draw a breath as she waited for the knights to disperse. When their ranks thinned, and the nearest visible boots were on the other side of the room, she emerged from her hiding place and dashed to the door.

A soldier's shout confirmed her worst fear. She was spotted. Mayra ran so fast, her legs burned. Her sandaled feet smacked the marble floor, making too much noise. She jumped through the nearest door, closed it behind her, kicked off her shoes, and waited for her pursuers to pass.

They didn't see me enter... Mayra whispered. Her eyes were wide and wild as she snickered into the palm of her hand. Laughter wasn't appropriate, but she had lost her mind to the nightmare surrounding her. Shock usurped her sense.

When the soldiers' footsteps receded, she reemerged and turned in the direction of her baby brother's bedchamber. It was on the castle's second floor, but she had to travel down many corridors to reach it. The four-year-old prince was Mayra's favorite person in the world, and she refused to leave him behind.

As quietly as she could, she pattered down the hall and slipped into another room: the castle armory. She fussed with a crossbow, realized she had no idea how to load it, and exchanged it for a gun. When she failed to find ammunition, she settled on a small sword and returned to the door. Her hands were so slick with sweat, she almost lost her grip on the hilt.

Mayra cracked the door and peeked into the hall, making sure both ends were empty. Her eyes passed over the corpses of two castle servants, but she didn't make a sound when she saw them. The genocide in the Great Hall had diminished her reaction to death.

Mayra reached the stairs without incident, but an Alymane knight spotted her as she ascended. When she heard him yell to his comrades, she choked back a cry and increased her pace. She climbed the spiral steps as fast as she could, and by the time she reached her brother's room, she was breathless.

She had to fight—it was her only option. As she braced for battle, her panic-stricken eyes darted around the darkness in search of her brother.

She saw the blood before she saw the body.

Her brother Jadin, like the rest of her family, was murdered. A sword had ended his life as he slept. Mayra fell against the wall; her knees barely kept her aloft. As anguished whimpers poured from her throat, they were muffled by her damp, quivering hand.  

The door flew open. Two cloaked knights rushed into the room. Had her brother been alive, she would have fought for him. Even if she had no chance to win, she would have tried.

But he was gone. Everyone was gone. Deep down, she wanted to join them in death.

But her wish wasn't granted.

Two

Five years later

MOLLY LACEY, THE DOVE Nest's most famous flame-haired prostitute, clutched a blanket to her bare chest as she rolled across the bed and reached for her favorite client. "Aww! she whined. Do you really have to leave me?"

Alas, I do, replied Jun. Her grinning lover almost lost his footing as he hopped into a pair of breeches. Too much sex and too little sleep had a profound effect on his balance. Believe me, I hate it as much as you do. If I could stay all day, I would. 

Molly dragged a hand across her tired eyes, full of haze and moisture. But it's seven o'clock in the morning!

I know. And I'm already late. Jun recovered his shirt from the filthy floor, shook off the dust, and sniffed the dubious garment. Deciding its scent was passable, he threw it on and faced the looking glass. Jun's black hair was wild. The ladies preferred it that way. He dragged his fingers through his floppy locks, adding a bit more order to the mess.

Molly was in high demand, and for good reason. She was the Dove Nest's most talented beauty. With her powdery cheeks, cherry curls and hourglass figure, she was flawless from head to toe. She could have laid with anyone that night, but she chose him, and she even gave him a discount. Her preference was a stroke for Jun's ego.

I'm going to miss you, Jun Shiraishi! Molly cried. You're the only man who listens when I talk. And you're the only man who attends to my needs as well.

Shame on other men! Jun chuckled. "Also, you should start calling me Captain Shiraishi now. I like the sound of it."

Jun threw on his black robe: the uniform of an Alymane soldier. On its sleeve, there was a narrow white stripe, marking him as a captain. It was his first day as a high ranking officer, and he was going to be late.

Will you come back to me tonight? asked a simpering Molly.

Well, that depends. His fingers fumbled with the robe's many buttons as he shuffled to the door.

Depends on what?

Even though he was late, he hovered in the doorway and continued the conversation with a grin on his lips. It depends on how much you're charging.

What if... Molly sat up and fluffed her fiery locks. "What if I charged you nothing?"

Then you should free up your schedule tonight. Satisfied with the arrangement, Jun spun on his heel and whistled down the hall. With energy to spare, he bounded down the brothel's staircase and burst through its creaky front door.

Jun passed mule carts and noisy barkers as he traversed the city's main roads. Trien, Alymane's capital city, was a bustling metropolis of merchants and tourists. Steam-powered ships with buzzing propellers peppered the cityscape. A sandstone clock tower tolled seven times, reminding him he would be late for his first day as a captain.

A massive keep was the centerpiece of Trien Castle. High on a mound and surrounded by three tiers of red stone walls, it was historically impenetrable. Jun met Captain Julius Trimble in the courtyard, not far from the keep's entrance. Trimble was a stocky man, well into middle age, with a patchy white beard and sleepy eyes. And he didn't look happy.

Jun approached his former superior with a bow. Captain Trimble? Sir?

Julius' gaze locked on the younger man. Aye. Are you Captain Shiraishi?

Indeed I am! Jun straightened his back and clasped his hands behind him. You don't recognize me?

No. Why would I? Until yesterday, you were one of two thousand soldiers. I couldn't remember that many faces to save m'life, boy. Trimble's nostrils flared, revealing his disgust. You're late, by the way.

I know. That's very naughty of me. Jun wrapped an arm around the other man's shoulders. Can you forgive me?

No. Trimble slapped Jun's arm, forcing him to retract it. And if you touch me again, I'll not only break your fuckin' neck, I'll enjoy doin' it. Follow me. Trimble's lips were pulled apart by a cavernous yawn as he shuffled to the keep's bronze door. I'm supposed to inform you of your new duties. I didn't want to. The other captains nominated me.

As he followed Captain Trimble into the keep, Jun said, Well, at least you're honest. I like honest men. There are far too few of us.

You ain't been in here before, 'av you? Trimble asked.

No. I can't say I have.

As a captain, you're no longer restricted to the barracks and the castle's outer ring. You're free to go wherever you want.

"Really? I can go anywhere I want?"

Aye.

King's privy? Jun asked, testing his new liberties—and the older captain's patience.

Aye. If you must.

Queen's bedchamber?

Jun's question earned him a scowl and a grumble from the man in front of him. I will ignore your improper remarks and give you the benefit of the doubt.

That's mighty generous of you! Jun exclaimed. How big is the doubt?

Right now? It's big as the bloody keep, son, Trimble croaked. As I was sayin', you'll have a host of new duties. It'll be your job to train the other men and choose new recruits. If you rose through the ranks, I'm going to assume you know your way around a blade and a gun?

Trimble's accent was so thick, gun sounded like goon. For a second, Jun thought about poking fun at it, but he answered instead, I know my way around a blade and gun nearly as well as I know my way around a woman's body, sir.

Well, good for you. Trimble snorted. I can't imagine what sort of woman would want to lay with the likes of you, though... skinny little prick that you are.

You would be surprised, sir.

Trimble's eyes rolled as he ascended the staircase. In addition to training the other men, you'll be expected to attend meetings.

Sounds fun.

And you'll be assigned to one of the airships. Dunno which one yet. They reached the top of the stairs, turned a corner, and reached another staircase. Trimble's pace slowed as he climbed the second set of steps. Breathlessly, he boasted, Alymane's fleet is the most powerful in the world, you know.

Of course. Everyone knows that.

"Perhaps. I wasn't sure you would know, though. I'm sensin' you've got little more than fluff between your ears. When he reached the top of the stairs, Trimble paused to pant. As his lungs recovered from the climb, he said, You're the youngest and newest captain. Even though we share the same rank, you'll be expected to answer to the rest of us."

That sounds reasonable.

Our schedule's posted daily on the war room door. Trimble turned another corner and tackled yet another flight of stairs.

Is that where we're heading? To the war room? Jun asked. We have to have some sort of destination, right? Or are we mindlessly climbing stairs?

Trimble started his answer with a growl. We have a destination, aye. But it ain't the war room.

"What is our destination? Dare I ask?"

Trimble paused again to catch his breath. Leaning against the wall, he asked, You've heard rumors about the princess, eh?

Princess? What princess? The king and queen of Alymane had no female offspring, so Jun guessed, The princess of Nourmin?

Aye. The princess of Nourmin. Princess Mayra. The excess skin on Trimble's neck flapped as he nodded. What rumors have you heard about the princess and this keep?

I've heard she's imprisoned here, Jun replied. I heard that she's tortured as well. Is there any truth behind the rumor?

Trimble cleared his throat and proceeded to the next flight of stairs. "Aye. It's all true, son. The princess has been here for the last five years. That is our destination. Today, you'll get to meet the little girl."

Jun felt a shiver when they reached the top floor, and it stayed on his spine until they reached the princess' cell door.

Are you ready to see something dark and sick, Captain Shiraishi? Trimble asked. Somethin' that'll make your blood run cold?

Even though his cheerful mood had been dampened by the thought of a tortured princess, Jun quipped, I assume we're not talking about your arsehole? Because if we are, I'd really rather not.

Trimble snorted loudly. You think you're some kind of funny man, do you? Well, you won't be laughin' soon. As he fumbled with a key ring, he added, "I don't like little shits that think they're funny. You're not funny. Don't tempt me to beat the snark out of you."

Trimble stuck a key in a rusted lock, and as it turned, Jun asked, How bad has she been tortured?

Oh, it's bad. You'll see it soon enough. Brace yourself, Trimble said. "You'll be expected to have a crack at her as well. All captains take turns torturing her. It's the darkness we hide from the rest of the world."

The cell door moaned as it opened, inviting light into Princess Mayra's black cell. Trimble lit an oil lamp and held it near Mayra's face. She was so still, Jun thought she was dead. He leaned closer, examining her as if she was a twisted work of art. Her clothes were in tatters, and she hadn't bathed in years. Her brown hair was a matted nest, but it was the least shocking thing about her. Nearly half of her face was a twisted web of disfigured flesh. Her body was covered in burns, cuts and scars, including her arms and legs. A few of her fingers were broken, and there was a weathered black patch concealing her right eye.

Good Lord, Jun whispered. For what reason was the young lady subjected to such savagery?

Without shame, Trimble replied, Her family has a vault. We're trying to squeeze its location out of her. We've been trying for years, but she hasn't said a word since the first day we caught her. He nudged her with his foot, but the princess didn't move. She never talks. Never.

A vault? Jun's head was shaking. He couldn't imagine any vault would be worth disfiguring a young lady. You've been questioning her about a vault? What if she doesn't know where it is?

Oh, she knows. The entire royal family would have known its location. Try as I might, I can't get any information out of her. Trimble snapped his fingers in front of Mayra's remaining eye, but she didn't react.

I don't think you'll get any information out of her. For god's sake, you've broken her!

Maybe I have. There were quite a few spiders creeping around Mayra's cell. Trimble squashed one with his thumb. To her credit, the girl rarely screams. No matter what I do to her, she bears it well. She's stronger than any man I ever saw. Her silence drives me mad, but I admire her strength. Do you think it's odd that I admire her?

Like the princess, Jun was speechless. No quip or sarcastic remark could lighten the mood.

When he didn't get an answer, Trimble shrugged and said, We usually torture her once a week, no more than that. We feel its kinder to give her a rest between the lashes and gashes. It'll be your turn next, and it's coming up in a couple of days. Slapping Jun's arm, he added, You're welcome to get creative.

Three

JUN WAS STILL REELING over the knowledge of Princess Mayra's captivity when he received his first assignment. He was one of three captains tasked with interviewing potential recruits. There were a dozen hopefuls in Trien Castle's courtyard, but less than half would be chosen. Jun's younger brother was among the candidates, and his relation to the newest captain could only be an advantage.

Wen Shiraishi was only seventeen years old—a decade younger than his brother. To be a soldier of Alymane, there was a minimum age requirement of twenty years. He was three years too young, but his brother agreed to lie for him. Wen tried to grow a beard to look a bit older, but puberty was new to him. The patchy fuzz on his face was less than impressive.

Jun paused in front of each recruit, grading each face for potential. Most of them looked too young, too old, or they were in questionable physical condition. When he stopped in front of Wen, he winked. His brother's success was secured by nepotism.

Jun's eyelashes fluttered when he paused in front of the twelfth and final recruit. He considered himself a connoisseur of women, so he could spot one easily—even if they were hiding in men's clothes.

What's your name, young man? Jun asked.

Jimmy, sir.

Jun raised an eyebrow. "Jimmy" had one of the loveliest faces he had ever seen, with high cheekbones and full, pouty lips. His blonde eyelashes were unnaturally long, and his fair, freckled skin was dewy with youth. He was either the prettiest boy in the world, or he was a woman pretending to be a man. Either way, Captain Shiraishi was intrigued.

"Are you sure that's your name, Jimmy?" Jun asked.

Yes, sir. Why wouldn't it be my name?

Jimmy had the voice of a boy on the cusp of puberty. Jun stifled laughter when he heard it. His fellow captains didn't seem to notice there was a woman in their midst. Jimmy's clothes, cropped hair, and fake voice were enough to trick the others, but Jun was no fool.

"I don't like it. You should go by James, Jun suggested. Or better yet, what's your surname?"

Opal.

James Opal. Jun whispered the name as he circled the intriguing recruit. Jimmy Opal. He stuck out a hand. "My name is Captain Jun Shiraishi."

Jimmy's hand, half the size of Jun's, was offered with reluctance. It's a pleasure to meet you, Captain.

You have tiny hands, James Opal... tiny hands and a petite, tiny frame. Jun squeezed the young man's shoulder. Do you really think you can be a soldier with that tiny frame of yours?

I'd like to think so, sir.

"You think? Captain Shiraishi snorted at the word. Where's your confidence, lad?"

I'm confident in my skills, sir, Jimmy said. No one's better with a gun.

Is that so? Jun leaned back to admire the boy's feminine form. His thighs and hips were shapely. He had no discernible breasts, but they could have been bound. How old are you, James?

One and twenty.

And why do you want to be an Alymane soldier?

Jimmy's jaw was twitching. He was clearly agitated by Captain Shiraishi's special attention. To feed my family, sir.

A noble cause. Jun grinned at the boy. "And are you willing to do anything to take care of them?"

Absolutely, sir.

What if I made you my personal servant? Jun asked. What if I asked you to fetch my meals and iron my clothes?

I... I would do it, sir, Jimmy replied. But it would seem a bit unusual for a soldier to be subjected to such tasks.

"But would you complain?"

No, sir.

Would you be willing to spend your free time with the dashing captain in front of you? Jun thrust a thumb at his face. If I wanted you to be my companion and friend, would you humor me?

A-Absolutely.

"Absolutely, sir, Jun corrected him. Also, you stuttered a bit. I wasn't convinced of your willingness to be my friend."

I would be honored to be your friend. When Jun's eyebrow shot up, Jimmy added with a sigh, "Sir."

"I'm only teasing about the sir nonsense. Please, for god's sake, don't call me that. We can't be friends if you have your nose up my arse, can we? Jun chuckled and slapped the lad's arm. Now... would you be willing to demonstrate some of your extraordinary gun skills for me?"

Some of the other recruits were being tested, so it wasn't an odd request. Of course, Captain. I should be honest, though. I'm not very good with a sword.

That's alright, Jimmy. Sword swinging is getting a bit obsolete nowadays, wouldn't you say? Guns have eclipsed the cutlass. Jun led the young recruit to one of the targets and smacked a revolver into his hand. Go on, then. Impress me.

Jimmy aimed and fired, hitting the target's center. He was fast, and he made it look easy.

Well done. Jun swiped the revolver from Jimmy's hand and handed him a shotgun. Now try this.

Jimmy was so comfortable with his weapon, he looked a bit bored. He raised the shotgun, closed an eye, and pressed the trigger. His shot shattered the wooden target.

Well done, my boy! Jun exclaimed, squeezing his recruit's shoulder. You weren't lying when you said you were good.

No. I wasn't, sir. Jimmy's reply sounded a bit too feminine, as if he had forgotten to lower his voice.

I think we have a new Alymane soldier on our hands, eh? How do you feel about that?

If it means I'm chosen, I'm glad, he replied. Thank you for choosing me, sir.

James Opal was the first female soldier in Alymane's army. Jun was sure of it.

And he was rarely wrong.

Four

THE TORMENT OF TWO prisoners was already in progress when Jun entered the torture chamber with the collared, shackled princess. One man was hanging upside down from a chain. If the bloodstains on his shirt were any indication, suspension was the better part of his misery. The second prisoner was stuck in a coffin. There were spikes all around him, and if he made the slightest movement, his flesh would feel their prick.

The room was full of strange contraptions, whips, and weapons of every variety. There was a collection of spiky maces, and most wore evidence of frequent use. The stench of burnt flesh, seared by hot irons, still lingered in the air. Bloodstains, fresh and old, saturated the moss that grew between the floor's cold stones.

Jun passed a fellow butcher. The unfamiliar captain was sharpening a knife on a rotating wheel. He glanced at Mayra, winked at Jun, and whistled as he left the room.

When the captain was gone, Jun said to Mayra, This is a homey place, isn't it? It makes me feel nice and cozy. He immediately regretted his joke. The torture chamber was no place for sarcasm. He could only imagine the unspeakable hell she had endured within its walls.

The princess was silent, but he expected no less. Every captain had confirmed Trimble's story. Princess Mayra hadn't spoken in years.

So... Jun browsed the wall of weapons as he spoke. "I've never actually tortured anyone before, and I've certainly never tortured a woman before. I don't know where to begin. I don't know if I want to begin."

Chains rattled as the upside down man woke and squirmed. His chilling moans echoed, putting goose pimples on Jun's flesh.

What do these bastards do to you in here? Eying Mayra's scars, he concluded, "What haven't they done?"

Jun's hands disappeared into the pockets of his long black robe as he wove between torture devices. On one side of the room, there was a saw on the wall and a grate on the floor. Peering through the grate, he saw bones and bits of human bodies. The stink was unbearable. He pressed a handkerchief to his nose and returned to Mayra.

I'm going to assume they cut off pieces of people and pitch them into that hole in the floor? Jun guessed. "That's... an unsettling thought. What a twisted place this is. Who thinks of these things? To what dark place in the human mind must you retreat to even dream of something like this?" He tapped a metal helmet, used to crush heads.

When Mayra spoke, his eyes bulged. I saw them use that once, she said. The victim puts his chin on the plank. As the torturer turns the handle, the helmet comes down. The distance between the plank and the helmet gets shorter and shorter, and eventually, the head gets crushed. It's a gruesome way to die. 

Ah. You speak! Jun exclaimed. Everyone else is convinced you're a mute. It's lovely to hear your voice.

Mayra shrugged and closed her remaining eye. Her other eye, covered by a patch, had been lost years ago.

Is that all I'm going to get? Jun asked. Was that just a tease?

I don't like to talk that much, especially to my torturers.

And yet, you spoke to me. What makes me different? Jun asked. Was it my devilish good looks? My big, brown eyes? My dashing smile? My roguish—

No, she interrupted him. I decided to speak because I don't think you want to torture me. But I could be wrong.

No, you're absolutely right. I don't want to hurt you. This room gives me the shivers, and the stink of it is making me ill. I can't imagine having to endure what you've endured. I assumed your mind was broken by your time in this terrible place.

No. Mayra shook her head. I'm not broken. Not yet.

You're a stronger woman than me, Princess Mayra. Well... I'm not a woman, but you know what I mean. Jun studied her clothes. It might have been a fancy dress once, but it was tattered and torn, and barely covered her in places. Her shoulders were exposed by the threadbare dress. "Anyway, I'm not going to torture you, but we have to pass the time somehow. What would you like to do, Princess? What would—"

Jun was silenced by an opening door. Captain Trimble stuck his head in the room, and with a sniff, he asked, You started torturing her yet?

I haven't, Jun replied. I'm still in the planning stages.

Good. Bring her out. The king wants her in the dining hall, Trimble barked. And hurry up! Once His Majesty's decided on somethin', he likes his requests fulfilled in a timely manner.

The king sounds like an arse.

Trimble snorted at Jun's remark. Careful, son. Keep talking like that, and you might end up in the torture chamber yourself. I won't tolerate treasonous talk. I'm more loyal to the king than to your skinny arse.

Shaking his head at Trimble's threat, Jun grabbed Mayra's chain and led her from the room. Goodness, Trimble, you're such a curmudgeon! Would it kill you to say something nice or crack a smile for once?

My smiles are for m'wife, Trimble said. You ain't earned my smiles.

What must a man do to earn your smiles?

Have breasts. Trimble chortled at his answer. Have breasts and be my wife. You think you can pull that off?

Jun kept one hand on his sword, and one hand on Mayra's chains as they descended the stairs to the dining hall. When they were halfway to their destination, Jun said, I can't imagine what sort of woman would marry you. I admire your wife's fortitude.

And I would admire your ability to keep your mouth shut, but it seems you're incapable of that. Trimble sneered at the younger man. I'm nice to me wife. I ain't got to be nice to little pricks like you.

When they entered the dining hall, King Owenth of Alymane was sitting between two visiting dignitaries, Dukes Calder and Taredd. Both dukes grinned when Mayra entered, suggesting they were just as twisted as their king.

Ah, there she is! King Owenth bellowed. It's been awhile since I've seen you, dear. How have you been?

Mayra's teeth clenched at the king's false friendliness.

Silent as ever, I see. Oh well. Owenth leaned over his plate and sank his teeth into a mass of greasy chicken. Between bites, he said, Gwennis doesn't like it when I toy with you. She's away for a few days, so I thought it would be the perfect time to have you join us for supper.

Queen Gwennis had always been sympathetic of Mayra's plight, but it didn't matter. In Alymane, it was the men who held the power.

Please. Sit! Owenth cried. When Jun escorted her to one of the chairs, the king exclaimed, "No no. Not at the table. Chain her up to the wall over there."

The new captain obeyed, albeit with a heavy heart. As Jun dragged Mayra across the room, the king asked, What's your name, young man?

Jun Shiraishi.

I like the name. It makes an impact. Perhaps you were meant to be a captain, eh?

Perhaps, sir. Jun's obligatory reply was followed by a sigh.

You're more than welcome to sit with us, Captain Shiraishi. There's enough food to go around, Owenth said. Even if that wretch Trimble wanted to join us, I wouldn't have minded. He's a bit uncouth, but he's a good captain. I've never met a more loyal man.

When Jun finished fastening Mayra to the wall, he sat at the table, a few seats away from the king and his guests.

Have anything you want, Captain. Have it all! the king said, gesturing toward the many platters of food that covered the table. The cooks prepared a feast that was far too big for the three of us.

As he filled a plate with food, Jun kept his eyes on Mayra. She had dropped to her knees, her eye was closed, and her hands were clasped together, as if in prayer.

What's she doing over there? Owenth asked, jabbing a chicken bone in her direction. Mayra. Mayra, what are you doing?

Maybe she's hungry? suggested Lord Taredd, who was picking his teeth with the prongs of his fork. Give her some scraps, like you did the last time.

Jun watched through narrowed eyes as the king pitched his chicken bone to Mayra. It tumbled down the front of her dress before landing in her lap.

"Well? Eat it! Owenth demanded. I know it's been picked clean, but it's still better than the slop you get in your cell, I'm sure. I have no idea how you've managed to survive on the stuff for the last five years."

Mayra was well aware of the repercussions for disobeying the king. Over the years, she learned it wasn't wise to defy him. She picked up the chicken bone and nibbled on its edge, where a shred of chicken dangled.

Her father was such a bastard, Duke Calder spoke up. It gives me chills to see the daughter in such a state. Honestly, the entire family got what they deserved.

I'm glad you see it that way, Calder. Owenth filled his spoon with beans and catapulted them at Mayra. As the beans rained around her, he commanded, Find them all and eat them, darling. It'll be like a treasure hunt. It'll be fun for you.

Mayra crawled around the room, collecting beans from the dining hall floor. One landed in a spider's web, but she picked it out and ate it anyway.

Will she eat from my hand, I wonder? Lord Taredd mused.

His Majesty replied, She will if I tell her to! He encouraged the duke to open his palm and present it to Mayra. When she was commanded, she crawled across the room and ate a stalk of broccoli from his hand.

Good girl! Owenth exclaimed, patting the princess' head. I've turned her into some kind of animal. It's really quite amusing.

Jun's fingers tightened around his fork as he watched the way they treated her. The nobles were as twisted as the scars on Mayra's face.

The king asked, "Why don't you feed her, Captain Shiraishi? Join us in our madness and delight!"

Jun hoped it was a request, not an order. I'll pass, Your Highness. I would rather keep everything that's on my plate.

Fair enough. Owenth leaned back and clasped his fingers over his round stomach. The wooden chair creaked under his shifting girth. King Owenth was a handsome man once, but his face lost its appeal with age. Wrinkles consumed it, and his graying hair was coarse and thin. Have you seen all of her scars, Captain?

Jun answered flatly, I've seen enough.

Ignoring the ice in his new captain's voice, the king said to Mayra, Show him your arm, dear. He needs to see it.

Mayra didn't hesitate—when the king made any demand of her, she never hesitated. She freed her arm of its sleeve and showed it to Jun. Every inch of her limb was covered in scars.

I see the horror on your face, Captain. I'm not unfamiliar with that look, Owenth said. "But remind yourself... she could have spared herself from all of this, had she told us about her family's vault. With a raised shoulder, he added, I might have even been kind to her."

Five

THOUGH HE REFUSED TO subject the imprisoned princess to any more pain, Jun decided to put his favorite new recruit through a different kind of torture. He had watched James Opal's training session for over an hour, and he was no less convinced of his gender. He decided to put his theory to the test.

James. Jimmyyyy, Jun slurred, because he wasn't entirely sober. King Owenth was a twisted bastard, but he served superior spirits, and he kept them flowing. Slipping an arm around the lad's slender shoulders, he asked, I was wondering... would you like to have a few drinks with your favorite captain once your shift is over? I know all the best pubs in the city, and dare I say, all the best pubs know me.

Sheathing his sword, Jimmy replied, With all due respect, sir, it smells like you've had a few drinks already.

I have. But you can always have more. You have a keen nose, Jimmy Opal. When the young man failed to acknowledge his question, Jun pressed, "Well? Will you be joining me at the pub or not?"

I suppose, sir. With longing in his eyes, Jimmy watched his fellow recruits as they departed for the day. He wanted to leave with the rest of them. Would it be alright if I went home first? I need to check on my mum. She hasn't been feeling well.

"Aww. How sweet. Of course you can check on her... as long as you meet me at the Dove's Nest at seven o'clock."

When his work for the day was over, Jun reunited with his brother. It was Jun's job to grade the soldiers on their skill with various weapons. Wen was the weakest of the new recruits, but his older brother gave him top marks anyway.

As they left Trien Castle, Jun asked Wen, What do you think of Jimmy?

Who?

"Jimmy? James? James Opal? His little brother looked clueless, so Jun explained, He's a short lad, very blonde. He has a face full of freckles."

Oh, I know who you're talking about. Wen gave his brother a bored nod. What about James Opal?

"Do you think he might be a she? Jun asked. He's very effeminate, but I seem to be the only one who suspects it."

One of Wen's shoulders popped into an indifferent shrug. I dunno. I haven't given it much thought, I guess. Jun was leading him down a busy road, populated by undesirables. When they turned into a