14. Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fourteen
T he hammock rocks in a slow, steady rhythm, almost convincing my body to sink back into sleep.
Everything still feels heavy from yesterday.
My throat is raw from all the coughing, from the salt water I swallowed.
Just as I drift into consciousness, a boot thuds against wood.
Then another. A rope squeals overhead, loud enough to snap me fully awake.
The orlop is still dim, light spilling down from the hatch above and tinting the space in a warm, dusty gold.
When I blink and sit up, careful not to rock the hammock too much, I notice how damp my clothes still are.
The air clings to my skin, humidity pressing in from all sides.
If the Sea of Renewal is known for anything, it’s the heat.
And we sailed deeper into the heat of it during the night.
A few feet away, Lark is already up. He sits on a chest with his knees pulled up, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands like he hasn’t fully woken up yet.
Nightglass crouches beside him, tying something at his ankle.
A strip of cloth, it looks like. His movements are careful and practiced.
He doesn’t look at me. Neither does Lark, at first.
“Good morning, sailor,” I say quietly, forcing myself to swing my legs over the side of the hammock and stand.
My bare feet hit the cold boards, and I suck in a sharp breath. Now I’m more thankful than ever for the boots I found.
Lark’s head snaps up. He gives me a quick nod and a tight smile. “Morning.”
As his father finishes the knot, Lark hops off the chest. “It’s already late. You’re helping me with breakfast today,” he announces as he pulls on his boots and bolts for the stairs.
“You coming?” he shouts from above.
I glance at Nightglass. He finally looks at me, just briefly.
“He’s right,” he says, “make yourself useful here, lass.”
I bite my lip and scan the space. A few other men are already moving around below deck, lower ranks, from what I’ve gathered. They give me a wide berth, passing as if I carry something contagious. I reach for the charm, reassured when I feel it beneath the fabric of my gown.
“I’m coming!” I call after Lark and start up the steps.
Of course, I’m not nearly as fast as he is. He’s already waiting on deck, shifting impatiently from foot to foot. Someone brushes past me with a bucket, face turned away, the impact making the water splash over the edges and onto my feet.
Fine. Pretend I’m not here. Better than hurling abuse at me, I suppose.
I follow Lark toward the stern, where the galley sits tucked into the ship. I remember this place from days ago—though it feels much longer than that.
This time, the galley is alive.
Heat rolls from the stove. A pan hisses, fat spitting as something fries. A large pot simmers beside it, steam curling upward. The smell of ham and vegetables fills the space, making my stomach growl loudly in response. I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning, before the tribunal.
The cook stands over the stove, broad-backed and solid, sleeves rolled up to reveal scarred forearms. His hair is streaked with grey and pulled back with a string, his face stern and lined, like someone who’s spent years under the blazing sun. When he turns, his eyes are sharp as he assesses me.
“You bring some help, boy?” he asks, not unkind, but direct nonetheless.
“Aye,” Lark answers, already rolling up his sleeves.
He slides a small blade across the table toward me before grabbing two loaves of bread and setting to work.
I take the knife and start slicing. The crust of the bread is tough to cut through, the blade almost slipping into my fingers. I soon get the hang of it, though.
For a while, no one speaks. The galley fills with the sounds of work, knife on wood as we cut, the scrape of plates, and the steady simmer of the pot.
Lark watches my hands from the corner of his eye, either trying to copy my movements or making sure I don’t mess up and lose a finger. Maybe a mixture of both.
“I voted to keep you," the cook says suddenly as he turns to set bowls and plates on the table.
I pause for half a breath, then keep cutting. It feels good to know that some pirates voted in my favor, and to know who they are. One less man I have to watch as closely as the others.
“It was almost a tie,” he continues, smoothing the front of his makeshift apron. “Many of us lost family to the song of a siren. Vicious little things you are.”
I nod, focusing on the bread again. “I understand. But it’s good to hear that only half of you want me dead.”
He lets out a deep laugh, and I fight a smile as it fills the air.
As instructed by the cook, Lark and I fill the plates and bowls, setting out portions as the crew filters in one by one.
Some ignore me completely. Others give curt nods of thanks.
A few still spit curses at me as though they have witnessed first-hand what my kind is capable of.
The hostility is becoming grating, and I have tired of it very quickly.
I understand the preconceived notions they may have about me due to my siren heritage, but I myself have given them no reason to believe they are at risk in my presence.
I’m not here to win them over. I just need to make it through the day.
When the last plate is taken, the cook wipes his hands on a cloth and looks at me again.
“You eating?”
I hesitate. “If that’s alright. I don’t expect to–”
He shrugs. “You cut. You eat. Easy as that, siren.”
Lark grins like he’s personally responsible for the decision.
We eat in silence while the sounds of the ship carry on around us.
The bread is a little bit hard, but not moldy.
I dip it into the stew, soaking up the thick broth before bringing it to my mouth.
It’s simple, but so rich in taste. I don’t realize how fast I’m eating until the bowl is empty.
For the first time since I boarded the ship, I don’t feel like I might collapse at any moment.
When we’re done, Lark nudges my elbow carefully.
“Cap’n said after breakfast,” he whispers, eyes bright, visibly excited by the impossible task the captain has given me. “About the Glim.”
I nod. “I heard.”
He straightens, the muscles in his face tightening into a more serious expression. “I know you’ll make it.”
I really hope he’s right.
Grim stands near the main mast as I reach the deck, arms crossed, posture rigid. His gaze flicks over me once, then shifts past me to Lark.
“Better get back to work, lad. Earn your keep,” he instructs, his tone sharp, serious, and Lark immediately hurries away to whatever chores were assigned to him. I know he wanted to see me summon the Glim, even though I told him multiple times that it won’t work like that.
Sable is a few paces away from me.
He’s still without his tricorn, his coat damp at the edges.
He stands with his weight planted, his posture high and commanding, like the sea belongs to him and has to argue for every inch.
Then his eyes land on me. The familiar cold pins me where I stand, all signs of empathy gone where they had glimmered briefly before.
“Up here, siren,” he says, jerking his chin toward the bow.
I move toward it, and as I pass, a few men fall quiet. The weight of expectation hangs thick in the air, almost suffocating. A crewman mutters something I’d rather not have caught.
“Should’ve let her drown.”
I keep walking.
Sable doesn’t react to the words, his face schooled into a neutral expression.
I stop near the bow, where the wind is stronger, and there’s less clutter around us.
The sea stretches out ahead, bright and open, painted in pinks, oranges, and turquoise.
Coral reefs are visible near the sandbanks surrounding us, reflecting their colors.
The water here is shallow and calm—almost too shallow for a vessel of this size.
The captain braces one hand on the rail and looks down at the water, then back at me.
“You’re out of the cell,” he says.
“I noticed,” I answer before I can stop myself.
Something crosses his gaze, then he straightens.
“Don’t confuse it with freedom. You’re here for a purpose.”
“I’m not confused,” I say, because it’s the truth. I don’t mistake this for hospitality or kindness. They want me to fulfill a task. That is all I am here for. His eyes linger on my necklace for a moment, then he looks away, as if he doesn’t care to ask where I got it from.
“You’re a siren, but you steal like a pirate,” he remarks, turning fully toward me. “You know why you’re here. You’re going to bring the Glim back.”
I blink, my fingers curling into loose fists at my sides. “I can’t.”
"I'm not asking if you can do it.” He closes the gap between us in a single step, voice flat. “I’m telling you that you will.”
Heat rises within me, the same heat that always flares when someone tries to claim my magic as their own. I clench my hands harder, nails biting into my palms. He’s no better than the hunters, thinking he has a right to take what isn’t his – what isn’t even mine to give.
“The Glim doesn’t belong to me,” I say, careful to keep my voice even, remembering what the ghost told me. It’s a creation of the sea and will only show up when it must interfere. “It appears when it wants to. When the sea wants it to.”
Sable’s mouth tightens. “It appears when you’re on deck. That’s no coincidence to me.”
“That doesn’t mean I can control it.”
His gaze shifts again, scanning my face, clearly searching for a lie. When he finds none, he exhales through his nose.
“Then you’ll have to learn,” he finally says.
I almost laugh. Learn. As if the sea can be trained into obedience.
“Why are you so sure I’m connected to it?”
As I ask the question, I try to catch something in his face that will give him away. He looks past me now, toward the horizon. His brows draw together slightly, focused, as if he’s turning the memory over in his mind.