At the old man comment, Mikal stifled a grunt, but he repositioned himself on the bench and leaned back against the cage bars. He appeared comfortable, even though nothing about the ship’s cages were comfortable. Zane had been shoved in them a good measure of times during the early seasons of his timestring when he disobeyed his mother, or broke a rule of the ship, or angered one of the bigger crewmates. He could never sleep on those damp, hard floors, especially with an empty stomach.

“What would you do if you could master your anger, pirate?” Mikal asked, folding his arms and displaying trained muscles.

Zane shifted his jaw, wondering why this man bothered to ask. No one ever asked him his reasons. No one bothered to ask him much about anything. “I would take back my ship,” he decided. “I would win the affection of my crew.”

“Do you want their affection?” The man drummed his fingers against his biceps.

Zane shrugged. “I suppose. I don’t want to wind up dead or…”

Alone.

Zane slammed his mouth shut, his eyes narrowing in on the prisoner that had already gone too far with his questions. Mikal raised his palms defensively. “I didn’t ask you for your secrets, boy. I won’t pry them from you. I wish to offer you a solution to your anger. But first I wish to see what you might do with the solution if I give it to you.”

Zane did approach the cage now, hands curling around the bars as he stared down at the arrogant ice-weed eater before him. He imagined how he could make this man suffer if he continued his little manipulative game of questioning. Zane could practically hear the man knocking against the steel coating his heart, trying to get in, to destroy him.

“Secrets. Everyone wants my secrets,” he muttered. “Even you, it seems.”

At that, Mikal stood, but Zane did not cower or back away even though the old man could reach through the bars and grab him. “I don’t want your secrets,” he said again. “I will offer you verses at no cost of a trade to help you with your anger if you want them. That is all.”

“That is all?” Zane mused. “You don’t wish to make a deal for your freedom? You don’t wish to trick me into letting you out?”

And the man sighed, much like he had done in the street when the silver-eyed boy had run his mouth. “In the early seasons of my timestring, I let my temper flare. I nearly drove away all my beloveds,” he said. “So, I wrote verses. I still recite them in my mind, even now. The wisdom keeps my heart steady.”

For some bloody reason, Zane didn’t think the old man was lying.