The Nightingale

Chapter Twenty

The noise on deck had not diminished at all, and as Natasha listened, she could hear the sounds of men struggling and metal against metal, telling her that whoever was attacking them had infiltrated the ship. Her heart nearly jumping out of her chest, Natasha looked around for anything that she might be able to use to defend herself. Her dagger and sword had both been left in John's room in the aftermath of the previous night's event, but a chest sat at the foot of Alexander's bed, and Natasha dropped onto her knees in front of it. She threw open the lid, rummaging through Alexander's clothing and other belongings desperately, exhaling a small sigh of relief when she felt her hand close around the hilt of what turned out to be a short sword. With still shaking fingers, she hooked the scabbard to the waist of her pants but kept the sword drawn in her hands as something slammed against the door again, causing her to jump. She froze, still kneeling in front of Alexander's open chest, as movement continued right outside of the door, the sound of at least two men struggling with each other until it stopped, and something hard fell to the ground, casting a shadow through the small crack underneath the door. Then, the handle started to move.

Closing the chest as quickly, and as quietly, as she could, Natasha threw herself to the ground and maneuvered herself underneath Alexander's bed. The space was barely big enough to conceal her, and her feet hit the back wall as she tried to push herself back as far as possible, holding the sword so it's tip was pointed out at the open space towards the door. Holding one hand over her mouth in an attempt to muffle her labored breathing, Natasha waited as whoever was outside of the door continued to struggle with the handle until the door was finally pushed in with a deafening crash that made Natasha jump again, her head smacking against the underside of Alexander's bed. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly as lights danced in the darkness she saw, the already existing pain she had from the previous night worsening now, and she prayed that any noise she had made was covered by the sound of the door crashing in.

Forcing herself to open her eyes, blinking away the reactionary tears that had pooled in them at the pain, Natasha looked out underneath the bed at the two pairs of boots that stood in the doorway. They were finer than anything she had seen John, Alexander, or any of the other men wear in her time aboard The Nightingale, and Natasha suspected that these men were not pirates. She feared they were worse.

"The girl is on board somewhere," one of the men started, and he spoke with no noticeable accent, which told Natasha he was from her land. "Find her." Natasha held her breath as she watched one pair of boots disappear from view, and then the other, but it was still a long moment before Natasha released the breath she was holding in. Taking her hand away from her mouth, she let it rest against the floor and dropped her forehead onto the back of her hand, trying to steady her breathing, resigning herself to wait until Alexander came looking for her again. Her entire body was shaking, her head was pounding, and her fingers ached as they gripped the sword so tightly she thought the hilt would meld to her hands. She tried to inhale slowly, trying to force her nerves to settle down, thinking that because the men had left her room without finding her, she was safe for the time being.

With her eyes closed and her heart pounding in her ears, Natasha didn't notice a pair of boots return to the room, masked by the noise of men screaming out on the main deck. It wasn't until the sword in her hand, which was still pointing out towards the edge of the bed, was ripping from her hand, burning her hand in the process, that she realized she wasn't as safe as she had thought.

Her reaction was costly, as her first instinct was the lunge for the hilt of the sword being ripped away from her. Her outstretched hand gave whoever was in the room with perfect opportunity to take hold of her and tear her out from underneath Alexander's bed. Her shoulder screamed in pain as it was yanked forcefully away from her body, and her side swung against one of the legs of Alexander's bed as she tried to wretch out of the man's grip. Her fighting was once again useless, as the man who pulled her out from underneath the bed had her on her feet in one fluid motion, her back against his chest, one hand coiled tightly in her hand to keep her from moving, the other holding Alexander's short sword across her neck.