Chapter 21 Something Gained and Something Lost
Riley
Just as Merrow promised, they reached the Cradle Isles by first light, and Riley couldn’t fucking wait to get this over and done with.
After what had happened with Pip, she found the visions unbearable.
And it had shown on her face, because Calla had taken one look at her as the lookout’s bell tolled, and had bid her to wait here until the ship docked.
So Riley waited, gazing out of the porthole as they sailed past small, verdant green islands, and hoping the trip to the witch would be quick enough she might be spared from further visions. If she could help.
Otherwise–she’d just have to go crazy, she supposed. What else was there to do when she couldn’t trust her own mind anymore?
Just as the nausea roiling her stomach started rising with every breath, the Moonshadow lurched to a stop.
Pure dread joined the mix as Riley had no other choice but to wander up on deck, and she kept her head down, glancing about just enough to get a feel for where Calla was and head that way–because what certainty did she have that any of the others were even real anymore?
Last night’s crew meeting had been… interesting, to put it kindly. Riley had barely kept up with what she assumed was the real conversation taking place, for all the cluttering noise that had happened at the same time.
She’d thought she could take this, but she’d been wrong. Whatever price the witch asked, she could have it, as long as she could make this stop.
“Riley?” Calla asked.
Riley lifted her gaze and nearly glared at the concern written all over Calla’s features.
Luckily, she still had the wits to control herself.
She hated feeling this hopeless, this… powerless, but it wasn’t Calla’s fault.
Calla was doing everything in her power to help, and if Riley could feel just a little less sorry for herself, she would be grateful.
Right now, though, she could barely muster an approximation of a smile. It felt more like a wince on her face. “Yeah?”
“Come. We’re here.”
With a deep sigh, Riley nodded. She went back to looking squarely at her own feet and made to follow Calla, but Calla stopped walking after two steps, and Riley had to look up again.
“Venn?” Calla asked, drawing up short just before setting foot off the ship. “Did you need something?”
Just now, Riley noticed more of her surroundings.
Thorian, halfway down the gangplank, apparently escorting them.
She didn’t doubt he was real, because her luck was just that rotten.
Below the ship, a wooden dock, with a small house built of rock and stone perched just at the end.
The rest of the island was bare, save for a whole lot of–flowers.
Riley blinked to see so many, and in full bloom, and she took a subtle whiff of air, but all she could smell from here was the salt of the sea.
So maybe those weren’t real, and she wrenched her gaze back to Thorian.
He was busy staring at Venn with just as confused of an expression as Calla was wearing.
Venn jutted his chin out in defiance. “I’m coming with you,” he said.
Calla tilted her head at him. “Oh, is that so?”
Riley shivered–not unpleasantly–at the way her voice went quiet, just enough to hint at the steel underneath.
Venn reconsidered his attitude just slightly. “I have something to ask of the witch,” he said through gritted teeth. “I would like to join. If I may. Captain.”
Calla considered him for a long moment, and the more she looked at him, the more Venn’s face pinched like he was being forced to suck on lemons. Just before Riley was sure Venn would snap, Calla waved her hand with a sigh. “Very well.”
As they made their way to the small house, Riley tried to remember the last time she’d seen Venn address Calla directly, and couldn’t.
It must’ve been before his brother died.
Riley hadn’t been there to see it, but she’d heard the others talk about it.
How he’d blamed Calla for what had happened.
What did he want so badly to finally talk to her now?
A creak of iron hinges drew Riley’s gaze ahead, and the others must’ve heard it too because all four of them stopped a few paces short of the house.
The door swung open, revealing a beaded curtain gently clacking in the breeze.
When none of them moved, the curtain spread wide open, too.
By itself.
“Well, that’s creepy,” Thorian muttered, crossing his arms.
Venn scoffed. “Clearly none of you has ever met a witch. They like to show off, is all.”
With that, he pushed past them and headed into the house. After exchanging a quick glance, the rest of them followed him.
The chamber they walked into wasn’t unlike some of the rickety shops Riley used to peruse in her street-rat days.
A wooden stall stood before a closed door, which she assumed led to Mirellen’s private chambers, and two benches flanked the entrance, as if the witch was used to random visitors just popping by in the middle of fucking nowhere.
Venn was sitting on one of those benches, leg bobbing up and down while he waited.
Instead of joining him, Riley approached the shelves and cabinets lining the walls, peering at them curiously.
Various knickknacks adorned them, everything ranging from polished white bone amulets to glass vials full of colored liquids to braided seaweed wards smelling of something strong and foul.
The most normal things on display were some gardening tools discarded in one corner, fresh with turned earth and flickers of weeds.
Those flowers must’ve been real then, tended to by the witch.
Riley stepped closer to one of the shelves. It held potions, all of them labeled. For regrowth, one said. Voice elixir, another. The rest of the labels were similarly vague, as to border on useless.
A soft chime resounded in the air. The door beyond the wooden stall opened, and even Venn’s steady tap tap tap paused as they all turned to stare at the witch with a collective intake of breath.
The first thing Riley noticed was her eyes.
A pale lavender, like she’d never seen on a living being before.
Her sharp, high cheekbones gave the impression of something starved.
Her kelp-dark hair was tied loosely at her back, and it drifted down like seaweed, pooling around her bare feet.
A tangle of sea-rags, netting, and jewelry made up her clothes, and Riley could not tell where the odd material ended and her skin began, except for her hands–her fingers.
Her fingernails were like red coral–stark against her pale skin.
She did not look… human. She seemed too still, too symmetrical, her eyes too knowing.
Mirellen settled her hands on the surface of the stall and gazed upon them. Riley wrapped her arms around herself as a sudden chill seemed to settle in the room, and she felt Calla sidle closer to her side, drawing taller. Protective.
“You need something,” the witch said.
“Yes,” Calla said, before Riley could.
Mirellen’s full attention settled on Calla, and her eyes widened just a fraction before her lips spread in a warm smile. The chill in the room lost its bite. “Ah, daughter of the sea. I see why my house has welcomed you. Speak, then.”
In the beat of silence that followed, Riley stepped forward.
Wordlessly, she tugged her gloves off and showed her hands to the witch.
When Mirellen's eyes fell upon her, the sensation was like getting dragged into the depths by a powerful current, and Riley had to stop herself from swaying on her feet.
Had it felt the same for Calla? It must’ve been why she hadn’t replied right away.
“Oh, that is most curious,” Mirellen breathed out, moving from behind the stall to come stand in front of Riley. Her hands hovered just short of touching. “May I?” she asked, looking awfully intrigued.
As soon as Riley nodded, the witch reached out, and her touch made her shiver.
She felt Calla step closer to her side again, their clothes nearly brushing.
It would’ve been amusing if Riley hadn’t found her closeness so soothing.
The witch, apparently, thought the same.
Her lips tilted in an entertained smile as she glanced at Calla, then she focused her attention on Riley’s hands again, turning them over.
“She got them–”
“Hush,” the witch said.
Riley tamped down on a smile at the way Calla’s eyes narrowed at that, the way her lips pressed together entirely irked.
When Calla’s sharp gaze shifted to her, Riley shot her a playful wink.
She was rewarded with that look–a mix of fondness and exasperation that always seemed to make her stomach flip.
“I know what afflicts you,” Mirellen said, making Riley startle back to attention. “I cannot sever the Heart’s influence on you, but I can restore you your mind. For a price.”
All traces of playfulness bled out.
“What kind of price?” Calla asked.
Mirellen’s eyebrows raised. “So eager to shove yourself into matters that do not concern you.”
Calla bristled. “She does concern me.”
That should not feel so good to hear, but it settled under Riley’s ribs, a solid, purring warmth.
Mirellen tilted her head. “As it may. But the price is not yours to pay.” Her eyes fell on Riley again, and Riley stiffened, though Mirellen wasn’t looking at her, but at the gloves shoved halfway into her pocket.
She reached out to brush the very tip of her finger against the leather, and shuddered.
“I can tell these mean a lot to you. I will have them, for your cure.”
Riley drew back, frowning. “My gloves?”
“Yes.”
“But–”
They had been a gift from Calla, back when Riley had coaxed her into having a drink with her after Patch’s imprisonment had ended.
It had been the first time they’d let their guard down around each other, even if for the briefest of moments, and Riley treasured these gloves for what they meant. To give them away, even for this–