Author's Note: Remember how we've been talking about couple names recently? If you'd like, I'm opening a poll on my website, so you can vote for your favorite couple name :) Feel free to add your own, if you think of any:  http://www.elizabethnewsom.com/blog/best-couple-name-for-viltus-and-carissa/

I'm looking forward to hearing your thoughts on this chapter!

***

Something jarred the wagon, and Carissa's head hit the jar behind her.

This most certainly wasn't the ideal way to travel, but with that strange man lurking around Zonah, it was her only option.

She stiffened as another bump jolted the wagon. A few seconds later, it rolled to a stop. The tarp lifted, and cool air ghosted across her skin.

"Miss? This is the place I told you about."

She sat up and blinked against the bright light. This alley looked familiar. She steadied herself against one of the clay jars and stood. Throughout the ride, she'd been tempted to crack the jar's lid open and have a sip of its fresh water. But that was how the boy earned his bread, and after he'd been generous enough to allow her to not only ride along in his wagon but also find a pub that could use an extra set of hands, she couldn't steal from him.

Speaking of bread... Carissa slipped a crumpled paper bag out of a pocket in her skirt and handed it to the boy. "I'm afraid it's not much."

He opened the bag and grinned. "Why, that's the tiniest loaf of bread I've ever seen."

Carissa ducked her head as a blush heated her face. It'd taken a quarter of the flour Viltus had bought to make that loaf.

"It'll do just fine. And I didn't expect anything anyways." He lifted his brown gaze. "Thank you kindly, miss." He extended a slender hand and helped her off the wagon.

Her slippers slammed into the cobblestone, and she wobbled a bit before righting herself. It seemed the wagon ride had turned her legs to syrup. "You're certain they would welcome my help here as a cook or a maid and not... something else?"

Color rushed to the boy's face as he straightened. "Of course not! I'm an honorable man. And if they even think about it, you tell them to talk to me."

Her laugh echoed down the alley, his words warming her heart. "Why certainly."

He nodded sharply and smashed his crooked hat back on his head. It was barely more than a flimsy piece of cloth. "Need anything else?"

She shook her head. "Nothing but a ride home in the evening."

"I'll be here, miss. Don't you worry." He winked and swaggered back to the front of his wagon. With a snap of his reins, his mare plodded forward.

Carissa's gaze swerved to the door. And then she remembered: this was where she and Viltus had hidden from the man chasing her. Panic squirmed within her chest. She couldn't work here, could she? What if the man came back?

She turned to call the boy, but he was already gone. She gnawed on her lip and peered at the door. Work, outside of being a nightwoman, was scarce for girls in Zonah. Very scarce. And with prices rising and wallets thinning as they were, it was unlikely there'd be any employment available at all in a matter of days.

She rested her fist against the door. And no one had seen her and Viltus sneak in, aside from the little boy. Though whether anyone saw them sneaking out was a different matter...

She lifted her hand and rapped twice.

A few seconds later, feet pattered. Then the door swung open. The little boy stared up at her, brown eyes widening. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I'm looking for a job, young man." She winked at him. "I've heard this pub stays rather busy."

The little boy pouted his lips in thought. "You'd best talk to Captain Cook, then." He opened the door a bit wider.

Captain Cook? Was he both a cook and a captain? "Thank you." Carissa stepped into the kitchen, and a wave of heat rippled over her skin.

How was she going to survive this smothering heat for hours and hours? She pushed her shoulders back and strode deeper into the kitchen, scanning for the Cook. She would do what she had to.

A man bellowed at a girl, causing the rolling flabs on his sweat-slickened neck to jiggle. He slicked a spindly lock of black hair onto his balding head and huffed, plump lips pursed in dissatisfaction.

The boy stepped forward, his tiny spine straightening like a soldier at attention. "Captain?"

The man's narrowed gaze sliced their way. "You scallywag, you're supposed to be swabbing the—"

The little boy nodded towards Carissa. "She wants to know if she can work here."

The man glanced her way, his prickly eyebrows arching like inching caterpillars. If only he could transfer some of that hair to his head... "You want to work here, eh?"

She nodded.

He glanced down and back up. Though his gaze was thorough, it seemed cool and passive, as if he were studying the quality of a horse's legs rather than her figure. "You'd earn more as a nightwoman."

She clenched the coarse fabric of her skirt. "That's not an option."

The man grunted and shrugged his sloping shoulders. "Very well. We'll have our First Mate here show you the ropes. We're full to the gunwales with crew members, but we could use another pretty face to serve the men." He gestured to a slender silhouette tending something in the oven. "Get over here, Carrots."

The woman stiffened but abandoned her post by the oven to march to the Cook's side. Carissa squinted. The woman was familiar.

The woman's gaze zigzagged between the Cook and Carissa before settling on the Cook. "You called, Captain?"

The Cook gestured to Carissa with his thick slab of a hand. "Show... Say, what's your name?"

Was it safe to use her real name? The stalker didn't know her name... But Elon might. "Tara."

"Show Tara here how we run this ship. She's going to join our crew."

The woman scrunched her lips in distaste, and Carissa remembered: this woman had been in the kitchen when she'd escaped with Viltus. "Yes, Captain."

Strange. Why did they speak in sailing terms? How could the man be a captain so far from water?

Avril swiped a tendril of auburn hair behind her ear and marched to the other side of the kitchen.

Carissa scurried after her, careful to dodge sticky patches on the floor.

Avril waved her hand towards the back of the kitchen, where Carissa had entered. "The new supplies will be delivered to the aft of the galley." She pointed to a hallway, at the end of which was a rather familiar closet. "You'll find cleaning materials on the starboard side. And one more thing—" she pivoted on her heel to jab Carissa in the chest— "When we go to the bow to serve customers, I'll be doing the serving, yeah? You'll be swabbing the decks."

Carissa blinked, taken aback by the sailing lingo and Avril's anger. "O–Of course. So long as I have a job, it doesn't much matter."

"Good, because if you interfere, I'll have to have a talk with the Captain about you walking the plank." She leaned forward, her warm, mint-spiced breath stinging Carissa's nostrils. "Are we clear?"

Carissa nodded, swiping her face of emotion lest her frustration show. What had she ever done to Avril? "I do have one question."

Avril snorted. "Of course you do."

"Why does the... Captain act as though this is a ship?"

"He requires everyone to do that. Some say it's because he used to have a ship, but something happened and now he's here. Some say he's been in Zonah his whole life, but has always dreamed of being a captain." She lifted her slender shoulders. "He might be a little daft, but he's managed to keep this place afloat."

"Ah." Carissa glanced at the closet. "So all I have to do is swab... near the bow, you said?"

Avril nodded sharply. "And don't get in my way."

Carissa ignored her comment and strode down the hallway to open the tiny supply closet. Though she tried not to, just opening the door caused a wave of memories to crash over her. The painful cramps in her legs. The stifling heat threatening to suffocate her. And Viltus' arms around her waist.

She shook her head and snatched a mop by its splintery handle. How was it Viltus managed to worm inside her thoughts? It seemed when she was trying to focus, Viltus got in the way. But forcing herself to avoid thoughts of him would be torturous.

To use a sailing analogy, if she were a ship, he'd be a current. She'd be at his mercy, and he'd be inescapable. Carissa laughed dryly. Did he even realize how strongly he affected her? Before she could even slam the door on the closet and its memories, a sharp noise cut through the air.

The sound ended in a wet snap before someone grunted, which soon softened into a whimper.

Icy hands gripped her heart as she plunged into the torrid kitchen to find the source of the noise. She'd recognized that sound: someone was being whipped.

As she left the hallway, the oven fires seared her vision before her eyes adjusted, sharpening vague silhouettes into people. She suppressed a gasp, lest she choke on the ball of ice that seemed to have lodged itself in her throat.

The Cook drew a snake-like cord back, and it whistled through the air before smacking against the little boy's back.

The little boy was leaning against a table, pushing against it with locked arms. He glared at its wooden surface with his jaw clenched, as if he were determined to not cry out. His tattered shirt had been tossed to the ground, leaving his frail back exposed.

The Cook snapped the whip back again and cocked his arm.

"Stop!"

Only when everyone turned towards her did she realize the cry had been wrenched from her mouth.

She strode across the room. Water seeped through her slippers as her feet smacked against a puddle. She halted by the Cook. With the weight of everyone's gaze on her, she suddenly forgot what she should do or say. The only thing she knew was that she mustn't allow the little boy to be whipped.

The Cook's beady-eyed glare seared the air. "Well?"

"You... You can't just whip him."

He jerked his chin up, and the gelatinous flabs on his neck quivered. "I'm the Captain, and I'll do as I well please." He jabbed the whip at the floor. "The decks are all awash because of him."

A glance to the floor revealed a large puddle of water pooling around an overturned mop bucket. Carissa sank her teeth into her lower lip. What could she do? She had no authority here. If she insulted the 'Captain,' then he'd just discharge her—or make her walk the plank, as Avril had put it. Perhaps she could reach him if she spoke his language.

"Yes, you are the Captain. In fact, your First Mate and I were just discussing how incredible it is that you've managed to keep this fine establishment..." What had been the word Avril had used? "Afloat."

The Cook's eyebrows bunched before his guarded expression slackened. "Well, we're rather adrift now, pulled by whatever direction the winds and currents of the economy take us."

She smoothed a smile onto her lips. "You don't give yourself enough credit, Captain. While many other places have... sunk, your pub still manages to glide over Zonah's turbulent waters unaffected."

He straightened his shoulders. If he were a thinner man, the motion would have puffed out his chest, but with his torso as overextended as it was, it only caused his apron to stretch over his generous middle. "You're right. I have been a rather good captain." His expression suddenly darkened as his gaze swung to the little boy. "Despite having a rather pitiful crew."

His moods seem to be as capricious as the sea's waters. How could she draw his attention from the little boy? "But what is a captain without a strong crew? By whipping him, you're hurting him, making him weaker."

"My Pa would always say that it'd make me stronger."

Carissa's stomach clenched with a mixture of revulsion and sympathy. "And do you really want to be like your Pa?"

Conflicting emotions raged across his expression before one finally settled, causing his nose to flare, his eyes to narrow, and his fists to clench. "Who are you to speak to me concerning my Pa?" He stepped towards her, splattering the puddle. "I'm the Captain, and I'll do as I very well please. Maybe I should have you whipped." He thrust the whip towards her, so its trailing end grazed her skirts.

Her heart throbbed so violently her entire frame shuddered. She stumbled back a step. The Cook obviously seemed to be missing a few mental capacities. She doubted she could reason with such a man. "I'll make you a bargain."

He stopped his advance. "A bargain, eh? What could you possibly offer me?" His gaze began to lower.

"Money."

His gaze snapped back up to her face. "Money?" He chuckled, and the throaty noise reverberated around the unusually silent kitchen. "You came here to get money. What money could you possibly have?"

She gulped a breath, hoping the extra air would solidify her trembling legs. "If I earn more as a serving woman than any other woman here, then you'll keep all of my day's profits, and there will be no whippings."

His lips thinned into a smile. "And if you fail, you'll be the one I whip."

Her throat suddenly seemed too tight to breathe past. "Yes."

"Well then, let's get this competition of yours underway."

Skirts rustled, and floorboards squeaked beneath scampering feet. Carissa turned to see a handful of women rush to the bow of the pub.

When she faced the Captain again, his eyes gleamed. "You'd best catch up, little Tara. It seems the other women won't let you have an easy win."

***

Carissa scooted the rag back and forth across the table. A fire raged up her arms, and she locked her elbows to keep them steady. Soon after she finished wiping down the table, a man plopped into a seat, the chair's frame squeaking beneath him.

She scrounged up her best smile. "A drink, good sir?" With her false smile, and wisps of raven hair escaping her braid, she probably appeared a little on the insane side. But after hours of chatting, giggling, scrubbing, and hefting mugs of drink and platters of food, her empty smile was all she had left to give.

He nodded sharply, and his gaze darted to her dark hair. Most of the men had stared at it, and the extra attention had given her extra coins. But was it enough to beat Avril?

Her gaze slid to Avril where she slid a handful of coins into her apron pocket, their clinking like the chime of little bells. Avril caught Carissa staring and smiled sweetly as she sauntered past, her eyes gleaming like daggers. "I told you not to interfere with my business. And now you'll pay the price." Her hips swayed as she strolled to another table.

Ice tingles prickled her back, and Carissa shivered, hoping it would remain as smooth and unblemished at the end of the day as it had at the beginning.

By the time she returned with a frothing mug of amber liquid, the man had twisted in his seat to engage another patron in conversation.

"And did you feel how cold that rain was a few days ago? Those clouds had come straight from Esmeray."

The other man massaged his scruffy jaw. "Do you think Esmeray's darkness will crawl further into Nysia? Like it did a few years ago?"

The first man lifted his shoulders. "Who can say? I just hope the Reaper is caught soon. If the darkness does creep towards Zonah, I'd like to be as far from the border as possible, which would be nigh impossible if the city were still on lock-down."

With each second that passed, the mug seemed to gain an extra pound. Carissa cleared her throat. "Excuse me, sir?"

He turned. "Eh?"

"Your drink." She set the mug on the table as gently as possible. Some of the liquid still managed to slip over the sides, and creep across the cracks in the table.

The man grimaced, wrapped his large palm around the mug, though drink still dribbled down its sides, and gulped. He slammed the mug back down and swiped his wrist across his wet lips.

Carissa clasped her hand.

He grunted. "Well? You don't expect any extra coin for such a sloppy delivery, do ya?"

Carissa swallowed her disappointment and strode towards another table. Before she'd even reached it, a bell clanged through the pub, and her blood chilled into icy slush.

Her shift was over. And it was time to see whether the price she paid to spare the boy was a few coins or a whipping.