18
Day ten at sea
I t had been ten days since we discovered our destination. And according to Alastair, it was going to take us maybe more than thirty to reach Marble's Rest.
But the winds and the seas were always in our favor, so it wouldn't have to be very difficult to get there... At least that was what I wanted to think.
Since they mentioned that Thalassa had lost control of the waters, there had not been a night I didn’t spend awake. Every time I tried to talk to her about it, she only told me that the sovereigns had made a pact with Mornatos when the Law of No Seas was created. The same thing Alastair told us every night after dinner, simply to advise us to be careful and stay alert, because we didn’t know what we could find.
Although I thought I had an idea if it was true that Mornatos dominated and controlled some areas of the seas .
It was said, in the lore of the ancients, that there were places where the sea herself seemed to conspire with the dead.
When Thalassa lost hope after her most profound heartbreak, they said that the pain was such, that the only thing left for her to do, was to embrace death, to join Mornatos.
I’d read about it in many books and tomes. At that time, deadly storms were created. Places where ships sank for no reason without leaving survivors, and sudden whirlpools that brought death and chaos to the ocean. But there was one place that changed everything.
The Circular Abyss.
It was said that Mornatos opened a gate, without prior permission from Thalassa, and it was not merely a stretch of dangerous waters; it was a realm where the very fabric of reality seemed to fray.
Terrifying sea creatures, twisted by the dark influenced, prowled its depths. It was a place in which the sea surface might looked deceptively calm, but beneath, an ancient darkness thrived, making it a realm of nightmares and desolation.
Mornatos dominion was absolute in that area of the ocean. But when Thalassa learned that horrible creatures were swimming free through her waters, she begged Selcate, the moon, to help her control the tides while she searched for the source of so much cruelty. She of course knew who it was, but she needed to know where, in which part of her own seas had she lost that much control .
Ventus helped her. There was no one who knew the waters better than the wind himself. So they both created one single map, in which they traced routes where evil did not live, routes that fled from danger. Thalassa’s Veil. And when they finished it, when they had already traced all the Nine Seas of Marethys, they found the source.
The winds took the sea to The Circular Abyss. And with his help, she closed the gate, sending all creatures and horrors to the depths of it. In the Embercurrent Sea.
Thalassa managed to expel Mornatos from her seas. The little she could at least, because her heartbreak was always going to be there, calling the sailors, some of whom would meet their end and be greeted by Mornatos.
So deep down, and much to my regret, I somehow knew that the sovereigns had managed to open that infernal gate. If the legend was true, but at this point, I could already confirm its total veracity because we were now sailing for that map, a map that I had seen with total clarity in my mind.
A map that we would simply use to… what exactly? To get revenge?
I had been on this ship for a week and they still didn't explain to me why they wanted to get to The Vile Phantom.
The closest I came to finding out, was one night when Efren got so drunk that he started mumbling something about someone trying to remove an eye. So I guessed, in my mind, that perhaps Captain Pierce had run into Ahmose—if it was true that he was still the captain of the ship after all these years—and they had engaged in a fracas of sorts. But no one seemed to talk about The Vile Phantom unless it was tied with revenge. Just that. Revenge. And I was here to help them get their… Revenge. One that I didn't even dare to ask what it was because of the fear I had of imposing, or simply of knowing the truth, because if there was a reason why they didn’t talk about it with me, it was because they probably were keeping someone's secret.
Since I stepped foot on this ship I had been questioning myself every day, and I really didn’t know where I stood in here. I knew I was a pirate. I had always known. But was I to them? I sometimes felt like I was only a tool. Something that had crossed their path and turned out to be useful.
But then, other days and other nights, I really felt like a part of it. They made me feel like part of them. And I had never been so happy. But again, when in your life you had only known betrayal, doubts always clung like a limpet.
I had always tried to escape from those voices, the ones that reminded me that no matter how much I tried to see beyond the tragic, my past will always be black, and therefore, my present will always be stained with that doubt. Would it happen this time? It happened when your father promised you to sail and instead you saw him die. It happened when Ahmose sold you for a few coins and a pardon. It happened when Diego pierced Dara's heart. Would it happen this time?
So here I was again, day ten at sea, rooted in my doubts once more, seated on the bowsprit of The Rebecca .
It was my favorite place, I decided. I loved how it jutted out into the endless horizon, slicing through the sea’s rolling waves. I loved how my toes brushed against the cool spray, how the wind whipped at my hair, tangling it into wild strands that danced with the salty air. And I loved how, below, the sea roared its ancient song.
But now, my mind was far away, lost in the depths of my own storm.
It had been five days since my now crewmates approached me again with Dara’s death. “You have the right,” they had said, voices edged with conviction. “Diego betrayed you. Dara’s blood is on his hands. And The King—he ordered it. A death for a death. Pirates take what they’re owed, that is why we are sailing where we are sailing.”
I had barely been able to respond, like in the tavern. The words had struck me like a blow, rippling through my mind ever since, just like the waves rippled beneath my feet now.
I shifted on the bowsprit, my grip tightening on the ropes beside me.
I was a pirate. Wasn’t I?
Again with those thoughts… Was I a pirate in their eyes? They believed that gave me the right to vengeance. Pirates didn’t hesitate. But I did. Pirates took justice into their own hands, no matter how bloody. But did I?
Love had always been my creed. I had always believed it was the highest calling, the purest expression of life .
But it was that belief that had led me to trust Diego, to even imagine a future with him, no matter my wishes, and he had shattered everything. Our memories, our secrets, our life.
My chest tightened as I thought of Dara. Her death had been cruel, senseless, ordered by a King who cared nothing for the lives he destroyed. And Diego… He had carried out the order. His hands—hands that I once held so many times—were now stained with Dara’s blood.
The sea splashed against the ship, droplets of water misting my skin, but I barely noticed. I could still feel their eyes on me every time, as if they were waiting, expecting. They wanted me to embrace it, to claim my vengeance, to spill blood in Dara’s name. But could I? I had always lived by love. Could I now live by death? Could I, somehow, make them coexist?
I stared out at the horizon, where the sky met the sea in a blur of gray and blue, and wondered if the girl I used to be was still inside me. Was there a version of myself capable of doing it?
My heart ached at the thought. Could I really sever that bond with myself forever? Could I become what they wanted me to be—a harbinger of vengeance?
The sea below surged, as turbulent as the emotion inside me. I wasn’t sure what was right anymore. All I knew was that the need for justice was beginning to pulse through me like a heartbeat. Could I forgive? Could I live with myself if I didn’t?
The wind picked up, just like every time I felt lost, and I closed my eyes for a moment, letting it whip across my skin .
And when I took a deep breath, an unmistakable voice sounded behind me.
“I might name this bowsprit The Pink Arrow if you keep making it yours.”
I smiled and looked back over my shoulder. “Don’t let Rebecca hear you, Captain.”
Strong winds blew causing me to lose my balance, and again, like every time I lost control, he was immediately there, his hands gripping my arms tightly, holding me in place.
“Ten days on this ship and it's the first time I've heard you call me captain,” he whispered behind me.
“Aren't you?”
He let out one of those soft laughs. “Did it take you ten days to figure it out, love?”
I turned around, always clinging to his arms, to tell him one of the greatest truths that I had learned these days at sea, while I watched him make of this crew a family.
“It took me ten days to understand it.”
His face shifted in a way I hadn’t seen before. His jaw tightened and his eyes, stormy and sharp, flickered with a kind of surprise, like he hadn’t expected me to say that. For a moment he looked almost vulnerable, nervous maybe. He blinked quickly a few times and looked down, holding my arms tightly.
“Careful.” His hands squeezed tighter.
“It's all right. I’m not going to fall and drown, Captain,” I said with a genuine smile, almost laughing .
He suddenly fixed his eyes on me. They looked scared, as if he had just seen something that was going to change his life forever but unluckily.
He quickly masked his expression with the clearing of his throat, and turned around to get down to the deck, while saying, “Let’s go, you owe me four arrows today.”
It was something we had been doing since I found out that, of course, he didn't just steal one arrow.
On the sixth day at sea, I was already desperate to shoot with the bow. I had already read two times the only book that Alastair brought with him, a collection of seafaring stories and legends of mysterious islands and cursed treasures, and I found myself pacing the deck every morning, rereading those lines out loud to Coco. I was trying to show her new words, and perhaps we both succeeded at that.
So, yes. A lot of days without pulling back my bow, without feeling the satisfying tension of the string, or the solid thud of an arrow hitting its mark. And it was starting to drive me mad, like an itch I couldn’t scratch. Every day I could feel how my fingers twitched, aching for the familiar grip of the bow, the weight of an arrow between them…
So on the sixth day, I grabbed some of those kohl pencils Raaq had brought with him, and marched to the mast, not caring if anyone noticed. And I painted a target. But I needed an arrow.
So that was the day I also searched the entire aft cabin for another one of my pink diamond tipped arrows, of which I knew without a doubt that the captain had more. And I was right .
I could still remember when I strung that magnificent bow for the first time, when I released the string and the arrow went straight, striking the center of the target with a sharp thud.
How I felt steady again for the first time in days, even if it was just for that one second.
When the captain saw the mast of his ship painted with circles, he just laughed and told me to at least teach everyone how to shoot.
The next day, he was the only one waiting for me at the mast with the other arrows that I had not been able to find.
“We will do two per day. Every day, I have the chance to shoot two arrows, and if I get one right, we add it to the next day's arrows,” he had told me with a smile.
Naturally, he didn't get any shot right that first day, but as the days went by and I explained it to him only in words, one day, he hit both shots, the two arrows went straight to the target. And that was why today I owed him four.
I unconsciously smiled thinking if perhaps he came to look for me all the way up to the bowsprit because he looked forward to this moment every day. Because I did. I really did.
And here we were, another day. Day ten at sea.
The sun hung low over the horizon, casting a golden glow across the ship’s deck. The sea was calm, the kind of stillness that made everything feel heavier, more intense.
I stood beside him, arms crossed, watching as he nocked his first arrow. His grip on the bow was almost perfect now, but there was still a hesitancy, an uncertainty that made me bite back a smile.
“Whenever you are ready,” I said with a steady voice, betraying none of the quiet anticipation I felt. He didn’t need me hovering, not for this shot.
He took a breath, shoulders rising as he aimed at the target painted on the mast. The ship creaked, waves lapping gently against the hull, the only sounds that filled the space between us.
He loosed the arrow, and it sailed wide, barely grazing the edge of the target before disappearing into the sea.
Into the sea. Really?
I looked at him raising an eyebrow, the corners of my mouth twitched in an amused challenge, as if daring him to explain himself.
“Don’t fret, love. I’ll get you another diamond,” he said, smirking, with the bow still in his hands. "A bigger one."
I shook my head a little but my smile wouldn’t leave. “You’ll get the next one,” I said, offering encouragement as he reached for the second arrow. “Just breathe. Don’t overthink it.”
His smirk transformed into a serious face, and he nodded, drawing the bowstring once more.
This time, I watched more closely—the tautness in his muscles, the way his fingers trembled just a fraction before releasing the string.
The arrow shot past the target, missing completely.
But he looked unaffected, in fact… Was he smiling? Of course he was .
“You only have two left, Captain,” I said, as he reached for another arrow.
And again, shot, error.
I frowned. Something felt off. I took a step closer, my suspicion gnawing at me. Was he doing this on purpose?
“One more,” I reminded him, nodding towards the last arrow in his hand. “Concentrate.”
He didn’t meet my gaze this time, his eyes fixed on the target as if it held the answer to a question I hadn’t asked. I knew what he wanted, what he waited for. There was something thick in the air between us, like unspoken but understandable somehow. I swallowed, feeling the heat rise in my chest. He was just there, waiting.
All right. Fine.
Before he could lift the bow, I moved behind him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body. My hands found his arms, fingers lightly grazing the inked skin beneath his sleeves, guiding them into place. He stiffened at my touch, and that got me whispering an apology. Maybe I misunderstood. “Sorry.”
But when I began to remove my hands, I heard him say, so quickly and soft that I almost couldn’t grasp it, “Don’t.”
He was still focused on the mast, so before I could touch him again, I asked, “Can I, then?”
He swallowed and nodded, so I brought my hands to his arms once more. He stiffened again but didn’t pull away .
“Breathe,” I whispered, although my own heart was pounding hard enough that I was certain he could heart it. My breath brushed against his ear as I leaned closer. “Like this. Feel the tension in the bow, let it guide you.”
His breathing changed, becoming shallow, uneven. And that somehow made me more uneasy.
My hands slid down his arms slowly, deliberate in the way I adjusted his grip, every motion heavy with the weight of something unsaid.
“There,” I murmured, barely louder than a breath. “Now, try again.”
He inhaled deeper, and as he drew back the bowstring, I didn’t move. My hands remained on his, the space between us almost nonexistent.
He loosed the arrow, and it flew straight, a perfect shot that thudded into the center of the target.
We both stood still, the air thick with something more than triumph.
I didn’t pull away. I didn’t know why, but I didn’t. And neither did he.
The thud of the arrow hitting its mark lingered in the silence between us. I should’ve stepped back, congratulated him on the shot and moved on, but something held me there, pressed against him. I could feel his heartbeat through the thin space between us, matching the rapid rhythm of my own.
“Good,” I finally dared to whisper. The words felt strange—formal, detached—given how close we were, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say. My hands remained on his, not pulling away as I should have.
He turned his head slightly, just enough that our faces were close. Too close. I caught the flicker of that smile on his lips and the mischievous spark in his eyes. I knew he did it on purpose. And something about that fact made my pulse quicken with a mixture of frustration and something else maybe, something I didn’t dare to name.
“Couldn’t have done it without you, love,” he murmured, low and teasing. That smirk still on his face.
I rolled my eyes, although it was difficult to pretend like I didn’t want to smile wide.
“That last miss was deliberate, wasn’t it?”
The corners of his mouth lifted even more. “More like the last three, I would say.”
I knew it, and still my heart pounded in my chest louder than the creaking of the ship around us.
I cleared my throat, finally pulling away, and trying to regain some control over the situation, I said, “That wasn’t fair play. You haven't earned the shot for tomorrow.”
He laughed softly, the sound warm and entirely too charming.
“Don’t laugh. Tomorrow you will have only one chance and if you fail, there will be no more arrows.”
He continued laughing while I walked away, and as I turned my back on him, I heard his voice saying, “We’ll see.”