14. Chapter Fourteen #2
“Because the Glim saved us from certain death. We were trapped in the harbor of Aurelith. The Royal Navy waited for us in the west, so the only way out was through the intermaria. We weren’t sure it was the right choice, but then the Glim showed us the way.
” his voice is quiet, contemplative. “And it appeared the night you came aboard.”
My stomach dips.
“You may think I brought it here with me,” I whisper. “But I can’t remember how I boarded the ship.”
“I think you’re tied to it,” he corrects, drawing in a deep breath.
“And if I can’t call it?” My palms are slick with sweat as I consider the impossible task ahead.
“Then you keep trying.” Sable turns his back toward the open sea. His dark hair whips in the wind, and like yesterday, the light turns his eyes to polished metal. “Until I’m satisfied.”
His words make my skin crawl. I can’t afford to fail, but I know what the ghost said—that it won‘t be an easy task. It only appears when the sea needs it to. And I don’t want to find out what will happen to me if I cannot summon it. Right now, I need it more than anything.
A creaking sound shifts my attention. The crew is gathering behind us, their expectant eyes boring into me. Rat stands among them, leaning against a coil of rope like he’s waiting for a show. His jaw is bruised where Sable struck him yesterday, the swelling warping his sneer.
Good. My inner siren is very satisfied with the sight.
Sable notices my glance. “Eyes forward,” he grunts.
I face the sea again with a sharp exhale.
“Do it,” he says, as if it is a simple task.
My throat tightens. I grip the rail, my fingers curling around the wood, and force myself to steady my breathing. The wind presses against my skin, and suddenly I feel very small standing here with their stares boring into my back. If I fail, I am not sure Sable would consider me worth keeping.
My pulse stumbles as I reach inward, searching for the magic within me, grabbing at it and pulling. There isn’t much to take, but the salt from yesterday recharged me a little.
Nothing.
Just water. Just the sound of the ship cutting through the waves.
I close my eyes and try again. I can’t even pretend I know what I am doing, what I’m searching for within myself.
This time, I picture the Glim as it looked before—thin as a strand of hair, shining far brighter than is natural.
I imagine it slipping between the gap that separates the sky from the waves like a silver snake.
My muscles strain with effort. Wielding sea magic takes time, and I barely had any practice with the swarm.
And even if I could, if the Glim truly belongs to the sea, I have no authority over it.
Behind me, the crew’s attention presses like heat against my back.
Some chuckle at my failure to muster up any power.
Others simply sigh, most likely in disappointment that they were wrong about me.
Sable speaks, low and close. “Again.”
I bite down hard on my tongue until I taste blood. I won’t give them the satisfaction of watching me fail. I definitely won’t give Rat that pleasure. And most importantly, I won’t allow the sea the satisfaction. It has witnessed my failure too many times before.
So I try again.
I open my eyes and stare at the water until my vision blurs. For a heartbeat, I consider stepping onto the rail and letting myself fall. Letting the sea take me. Maybe the shift would finally come. My fingers tighten until my knuckles ache.
Sable’s hand lands on my shoulder, squeezing gently. His breath is hot in my ear. “Don’t.”
My breath catches in my chest. I swallow hard. He couldn’t possibly have known what I was thinking, and yet, it’s like he can sense my temptation to jump.
“I’m trying,” I grind out and turn towards him.
“I know you are,” he says. “But not hard enough.”
“You think I’m holding back?” I snap before I can stop myself.
Sable turns, meeting my gaze. “I think you’re scared.”
I open my mouth, then close it when the right words don’t arrive.
Of course I’m scared. I’m on a pirate ship I don’t remember boarding, I almost drowned yesterday, and now my fate depends on summoning a cursed thread of sea magic I don’t have the power to control.
I don’t understand why the sea keeps me alive just to test me again. Why he keeps me alive just to test me.
I grip the railing tighter, then force myself to breathe and allow my fingers to loosen.
My shoulders drop a fraction as I turn my attention back to the water.
Heat surges through me like fire in my veins, my inner siren stirring beneath my skin.
I rarely allow it to surface like this. Only in the water, when I try to force my shift. Because the cook was right.
We are vicious little things.
I close my eyes and let the feeling flood me. I embrace it. Desperation follows, and I pray to the sea like I have countless times before.
Please.
When I open my eyes again, a thread of silver glides beneath the surface. My breath catches. It’s there. A line of metal-light drifting through the water ahead of the ship, as if someone drew it with an unshaking hand. The sea has finally answered my pleas.
Exclamations of surprise rise behind me.
“By the seas—”
“Glim—”
“Impossible—”
I don’t move, I don’t blink, afraid it will vanish if I look away.
Sable steps up beside me, close enough that his shoulder brushes mine.
Tilting his head slightly, he follows the thread, eyes narrowing as if he’s reading a language he never learned but somehow understands.
Then he pulls a compass out of his pockets, flips it open, and flicks his gaze back and forth between the Glim and the needle.
“Home!” he suddenly shouts, throwing both hands in the air, and the pirates roar behind us. Sable turns, his gaze sweeping across the ship as his voice carries clean over the wind.
“All hands,” he calls. “Make ready. We follow the Glim into the Sea of Bones!”
The crew responds at once. Lines are hauled, sails adjusted, and the Noctis answers beneath my feet, turning in the water with a low groan as she gains speed.
He turns toward me, eyes storm-grey and serious, but there’s a flicker of excitement in them I haven’t seen before.
“I knew you’d be more useful alive, little fish,” he remarks with a devilish grin before striding off toward the helm, back in his element, barking orders.
I stare at the silver thread cutting through the water and realize that, for the first time, I don’t know which frightens me more.
The sea’s silence.
Or the fact that it finally answered my call.