Dear James,

It's so quiet. I don't know what to do with myself.

Honestly, James. I can't leave this room, but if I stay here one more minute, I just might explode. What do I do?

Everyone's gathered here in the infirmary. We have been for the past hour and a half. Some of the men doze, others talk in hushed voices. Even the most vigorous among us have gone muted.

Robin is still pacing. I don't know where he gets the stamina. Every minute or so, he pauses to check Olivia's pulse.

That's why we're all here. She fell asleep. Now it's just a question of whether or not she'll wake up.

Robin keeps asking Morphie if there's anything he can do. That poor man, he's scared out of his skin of Robin. He keeps saying no, but that doesn't stop Robin from asking.

Liv's fever is through the roof. All we can do is watch and wait and cover her body with damp towels. Morphie's been giving her medicine, but it's not helping. Who knows, maybe it's not even medicine. Could just be morphine.

He's checking her pulse again. Frowning, moving his hand . . . and, she's alive.

Bill's the only one not with us. He's above deck, steering the ship. I feel sort of bad for him, he just looks so out of place on the ship with his buzz cut and pot belly. That'll change, though. What won't change is that fact that he's obviously in love with the captain.

I mean, I guess I see the appeal. She's pretty and brave and all that. But seriously, can't you men stop throwing yourselves at her? She's got enough going on, especially now that she's on her deathbed.

Anyway, I'm pretty sure the only guy she's interested in is Robin. No matter how much the other crewmen flirt with her, the two of them belong together. Sorry, James. I think Liv's getting over you. Well, unless she dies, then you guys can be together and make adorable little ghost babies together. Ha.

Speaking of all that stuff, Liv picked up this crewman, Costos? In Nova Scotia? He keeps trying to hit on me, which is weird. I swear, before you, no guy ever even came near me. And none have, since. Well, there's been some instances here and there, but that was just cause your men are sex-deprived. But now that they have Olivia to chase, I don't get what anyone would see in me.

He's kind of cute, though. A little short for me.

              Whatever.

                         -Heath

XXX

Breathless, Amelia stared at the ballroom.

The dining hall, she supposed this was. But not a dining hall at all. The room had been decorated with such tasteful whimsy that she forgot this was a pirate ship at all. Draped in red and silver, the place seemed like a regal dreamland from some fairytale.

Full of music and laughter, the room seemed to be a sudden oasis from the tundra of hurt and confusion she had been stuck in for so long (well, it felt like "so long").

Peeking around the corner, she took it all in. She was to go down there? How could she? These were pirates and princess and seductive women with low cut dresses and dashing young men with hands outstretched to dance. How could she ever join them?

Valeria gave her a prod between the shoulders, motioning for Amelia to go.

Amelia shook her head, shrinking back. A man in blue passed by them, his face covered by a royal blue sequined mask. She watched him pass, practically quaking with fear. She felt like a fraud. These weren't her clothes, this wasn't her hair. She was just a normal girl, not a princess.

She cleared her throat, preparing to do something fairly bold.

For some reason, these people obviously wanted her to go into the ballroom. This, she thought, gave her a certain amount of leverage. If she simply refused, she could offer her conditions. She already had them thought out.

Amelia looked into Valeria's eyes. "No," she said, pointing to the doors. "Yo deseo . . ." she thought for a second. I want . . . was she really in any position to want things? "Yo necesito," she corrected. "Yo necesito información."

Valeria stared at her. Then she took the girl by the arm, yanking her away from the ballroom. "¿Cómo?" she said.

"¿Por qué?" she demanded.

The woman gave a sad head shake. "Tú no comprendes a mi."

You don't understand me. Growing more frustrated, Amelia stomped her foot like a little kid throwing a tantrum. "No!" she said, nearly yelling now. "Tell me! I know you speak some English, even if it's not much, okay? Just tell me why this is happening!"

Valeria's lip wobbled like she might cry. "No . . . no es posible."

"Please. Por favor."

The woman sighed. "Yo no hablo ingles," she said. "No good, no good."

Amelia's heart fluttered at the sound of these familiar words. "Yes! That's very good! I don't care if it's not perfect. I just need you to talk to me."

She gave a slow, comprehending nod. "Yes, senorita."

"Now tell me, what's going on?"

Valeria searched for words, opening and closing her mouth. "Mateo," she said. "The son. Es su cumpleaños. You are . . ." another search. "You are birthday present."

Shocked, Amelia gaped at the woman. She pointed to herself. "I am? How could I be a birth--" realization dawned on her. "Oh. Oh, no. I can't."

Valeria gave a sad head shake. "No worry," she said. "Mateo dos no es un cerdo."

Cerdo. Pig. She blinked, fighting to keep tears away. "I'm only thirteen," she cried. "Trece. Trece años."

"Lo siento," Valeria said. "Come, now." She took Amelia's hand, trying to lead her to the ballroom. She saw Valeria blinking away tears as well.

Resisting, Amelia said, "I have one more condition, then. Uno mas." Her hands shook. How could this be? She hadn't even had her first kiss yet, and now she was to be given away to some strange boy she'd never even seen before?

Valeria nodded, waiting.

"Just let me see Peter," Amelia requested. When the woman cocked her head to the side, confused, she clarified. "The other hostage? The boy?"

The woman looked to the ceiling. "Bien," she sighed. "Come, chiquita. Let us go."