Chapter 26
The afterimage of the lightning hangs in my vision as I finally find my feet and run toward the water, the monster and me grappling for control of my limbs.
The Heralder has righted herself and limps toward the horizon, smoke rising from the destroyed mast. I see the flailing shapes of a few bodies in the water, gone overboard in the onslaught of waves, but the Heralder doesn’t return for her fallen.
She sails onward toward the drowning moon.
The night wind whips cold against my raw skin, ruffling the fresh scales.
Heartbreak burns my chest and pours bloodlust into my veins while my conscious mind screams in protest. I reach Silas just as he pushes onto his knees, the harpoon still embedded in his shoulder.
Blood and sand cover his front, his lips.
He sways and I step close to him, my whole body twitching with battling impulses—to comfort him, to tear into him.
He clutches my coat to stay upright. Presses his face into the front of my thighs, trembling with the effort.
My chest and throat tighten as my hands sink down to frame his face, claws brushing his cheeks, threading into his hair.
I feel like I’m watching us both from above, waiting to see what part of me will win out.
It would be so easy to do what I wanted to do moments ago.
End him so the finfolk queen can never lift his curse.
The monster inside me whispers to do it.
I have never killed so much as a chicken but I can imagine what it would feel like, the exact amount of force it would take to break his neck, how his body would go rigid, then slump against me.
The other part of me wants to scream for help.
Find enough whaleblood to heal him, even if I have to slaughter a Livyatan with my bare hands and drag it to shore.
Everything has happened so fast. Less than an hour ago Silas and I danced on the beach.
Now heartbreak swallows me as he bleeds out into the tide.
The Whistler crew finally overtakes us, Ezra and Teuila grabbing my arms and hauling me back as the others fall in around Silas.
The monster twists in rage, but the part of me that’s still me understands.
Even feels relief to be caught. At least until Kit and Lydia, a few steps behind the others, approach slowly.
Frantic words fly in every direction. Need whaleblood. Punctured lung. Supplies are gone. It all burned.
With my heightened senses, I can see my siblings’ eyes track over me, the scales, the blood. Smell the fear coming off them, mixed in with their sweat. Kit makes to step toward me and Lydia grabs him, holds him back.
Shame and grief twist through me as I remember reaching through the bars toward Cousin Mary. How Papa had pulled me back in just the same way. “I’m sorry,” I try to say, but my voice comes out a hiss; I don’t think they understand.
There’s movement from up the beach, slower and wetter than the ongoing crackle of flames, and everyone goes still at once, faces tilting up.
I see with a thrill of fear that the queen is approaching, carried by a bank of fog and water and seaweed that writhes beneath her. The smell of petrichor edges out the smell of blood in the air. Ezra and Teuila shudder, though their grip on me doesn’t slacken.
Kit and Lydia turn toward her too, Lydia stepping in front of Kit. My chest aches for them. I want to tell them to run, but where could they go? Nothing is left of Kielstraat but burning ruins. I’ve doomed us all here.
SUSANNAH FAIRFAX. The queen looms over us, her tendrils slithering out to encircle us all together. Lydia flinches; Kit covers his ears. Those black eyes find me as she plucks the second harpoon—the one August shot at me—from where it buried itself in the sand. YOUR OWN KIND HUNTS YOU.
“I told you,” I whisper. I’m surprised I can still form words, though they come out clumsy and slow.
“They don’t care about me or my siblings.
They left us behind.” Ezra and Teuila still hold my arms—though I can feel them trembling—so I use my chin to point out toward the ocean, where the Heralder is just a small shape on the horizon.
The queen sighs with apparent displeasure, the sound rattling like a hurricane gale, and turns her attention to Silas next. Josephine and Zimri, faces pale with fear, shift into protective postures around him, though they must know he is past protecting.
The queen’s words descend like blows. YOU GAVE ME A WORTHLESS BARGAIN.
Silas, on hands and knees, lifts his head.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers with blue-tinged lips, and I don’t know if he’s apologizing to me and my siblings, or the queen, or all of us.
His glassy eyes travel over each face as the crew trades confused glances.
“I meant to turn the Fairfaxes over to the finfolk. To be taken to Drekja and used as bargaining chips.” Each word sounds like it costs him, his breath a weak rattle.
“They were my three gifts to stop my visions.”
The color drains from Lydia’s face and the Whistler crew goes quiet, staring at their captain. I can’t tell what they’re thinking. If this seems like an acceptable price.
A small voice breaks the silence. “I’ll go to Drekja.”
My stomach flips over as everyone turns to Kit. No. No.
WILL YOU?
As the finfolk queen swivels in their direction, Lydia tries to shove Kit behind her, but he resists, plants his feet. His eyes are moon-wide, and his voice trembles, but I can tell he’s trying to sound confident when he speaks again, narrow shoulders squared.
“I’ve read about finfolk bargains,” he goes on. “If you heal Captain Silas and lift Annie’s curse, I’ll come with you to Drekja.”
Lydia lets out a choked gasp, gripping Kit’s hand tight. I expect her to protest, but instead she says, “Me too. I’ll go with you.”
Josephine steps toward them, but a tangle of seaweed from the queen’s train rears up like a snake, warns her back. Inside me, the monster and the small voice I think is myself scream in unison to be set free.
CLEVER CHILDREN. The queen addresses Kit and Lydia, her mouth curling up into a smile full of sharp teeth.
BUT THE BARGAIN IS TILTED IN YOUR FAVOR.
SHELTERING IN DREKJA WOULD BE A BOON TO YOU.
She looks around pointedly at the smoldering ruins of Kielstraat, the icy landscape beyond, the sea with no boats. WHERE ELSE DO YOU HAVE TO GO?
Above me, Ezra draws a ragged breath. “We’ll tell you everything we know about whaling,” he calls.
“And the human ships,” Josephine adds, lifting her chin. My breath catches, love and pain swelling in my chest as the rest of the crew add their voices to the chorus.
For Silas—for me, even—they will let the finfolk take them to a place they’ve never seen, a place I’m half convinced isn’t real.
After they’ve traveled all this way to heal their own curses and resume normal lives, they’re ready to put that aside, give themselves over to fate and the finfolk’s mercy.
I want to call out, to protest. But the queen is right. Where else is there to go? The Heralder is gone, Kielstraat is destroyed, and we’re hundreds of miles from any shelter or sustenance.
The queen lets their offers wash over her, quite still. I can’t tell if she is pleased. Finally the great finned head sinks in a nod. I ACCEPT THESE TERMS. I WILL HEAL THE BOY.
“What about Annie?” Lydia whispers.
SHE MUST STRIKE HER OWN BARGAIN, IF SHE STILL CAN.
The words gust through the hollow shell of me, extinguishing the small spark of hope.
Still—my siblings and the crew will remain, if not safe, at least alive in Drekja.
And Silas will live. It’s more than I could have asked for.
I try to hold my head up, to be brave as she turns toward me.
“I have nothing to bargain with,” I say.
I can hear my words come out as a garbled twist, but the queen seems to understand.
WE’LL SEE, she replies. GO, CHILDREN, AND MAKE READY. BOATS WILL ARRIVE FOR YOU SOON.
A petrichor-scented gust of wind sweeps the beach suddenly, almost swallowing Silas’s pained gasp.
The others reel back in shock as the harpoon still stuck in his shoulder dissolves into ashes, spilling down his chest and leaving a ragged wound.
He doubles over as fog flows swiftly over him, hiding him from view.
Then after a moment that seems to last hours, the fog dissipates, leaving Silas huddled face down like a penitent.
Slowly, so slowly, he unfolds and sits upright.
He is pale and shaking and still covered in blood and sand, but the harpoon wound is gone, a new scar in its place showing through his torn shirt. He blinks, storm-cloud eyes clear.
Relief swims up through the haze of heartbreak, but I scarcely have time to feel it before the queen’s seaweed vines shoot out and seize me.
Teuila cries out as I’m torn from her grip.
Hands reach for me, shouts of “Annie!” rise up.
But they’re too slow, too late to stop the queen from dragging me behind her into the sea.
The scales and the heartbreak don’t shield me from the ocean’s chill; it spears into me, freezing my lungs as we dive.
I scream, bubbles rushing uselessly from my lips, and flail and strike at the slimy vines holding me with my claws.
But all this accomplishes is more vines wrapping around me, lashing me up like a spider’s prey as we go deeper and deeper, the water getting darker and colder around us.
DON’T BE AFRAID, LITTLE FAIRFAX, she clicks at me as we descend. ALL WILL BE WELL.
I decide not to waste air on a reply, but I’m running out anyway, lungs aching and head going fuzzy, a heavy feeling of resignation seeping into my limbs. I don’t understand why the queen didn’t just strike me down on the beach if she wanted me dead, why she’s going to the trouble to drown me.