15. Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
I spend the next few days working alongside the lower ranks. I help cook in the galley, serve meals, sweep the decks, and carry buckets that are far too heavy for me. I do so with few complaints. Because it gives me a purpose.
Lark apparently hurt his ankle two days ago when he slipped on deck, and he’s taking some time to recover.
I take over all his chores and then some.
Nightglass seems to appreciate it and even paid his thanks with a slice of cheese and a comb.
Another treasure I can keep for myself. Other than that, the crew still very much hates me.
But still, I do not complain. I am still being watched and glanced at with skepticism, but I’d rather run from one task to another than risk spending another day in that moldy cell.
I avoid the orlop like the plague and only go there to sleep.
The pirates down here keep their distance and even hung up a piece of sailcloth to separate me from them.
Lark and Nightglass sometimes play cards with me in the evenings though.
It’s difficult when you can’t recognize numbers, but I catch on quickly, and I’ve started to look forward to it once the sun begins to set.
The Glim is constantly there, guiding us through the colorful waters of the Sea of Renewal.
Nightglass keeps an eye on it at all times, a task assigned to him by Sable, so of course he takes it very seriously.
The ship moves steadily, but slowly. The winds aren’t very strong, and the waters are considerably shallow.
I know we’re headed toward the Sea of Bones now, and even young sirens know what that means.
Pirate territory.
Which is also why most sirens avoid these waters. Only a few of us dare to live there, which is why I don’t know much about it. Mother called them death sirens, and even I can admit that the thought of it terrifies me.
“Eryse!”
The shout snaps me out of my spiraling thoughts. I toss the holystone I’m using to scrub the planks into my bucket of seawater and crane my neck, shielding my eyes from the sun with my arm. Nightglass appears above, already back at his station in the crow’s nest, eyes fixed on the Glim.
“Come up here!” he calls again, then turns back to keep his eye on the horizon.
Up… there?
I stare at the mast. It towers above the deck, rising straight and proud at the ship’s center. It must be taller than the ship from keel to deck. My gaze follows the ratlines swaying around it, only loosely secured by iron hooks.
I’ve climbed one before, and that didn’t end well. I do not like heights at all. Sirens live in the water. We do not climb mountains.
Swallowing, I grab the railing and set my foot on the lowest rope rail. The coarse fibers bite into my soft skin. Then I pull myself up and start climbing, the ropes rough and damp beneath my palms.
I’ve seen the men do this during storms, one-handed, knives clenched between their teeth. They make it look effortless. I certainly do not. When I reach the middle of the mast, I glance down.
I regret it instantly. This is so high.
Swallowing, I force myself to take a deep breath.
“Come on, lass,” Nightglass chuckles from above, and I look up to glare at him.
“This is not funny,” I snap, continuing upward with trembling legs.
“It kind of is,” he says, laughing. In that moment, I want to throw him overboard so he knows what it feels like to be outside your natural element.
Okay, that might be a little drastic. The siren within me likes the idea, though.
When I reach the small wooden platform, Nightglass grabs my arm and pulls me up securely. A low rail surrounds it, and I’m grateful for solid ground beneath my feet.
“There you go,” he smiles, already making his way back down the rigging.
“Wait.” I grip the rail, focusing on his face instead of the drop. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Watch the Glim,” he replies. “I’ll be back in an hour. Need to check on Lark.”
I give him a curt nod and quickly turn around so I don’t lose sight of the Glim. I still have no idea how I summoned it, and I don’t know if it’s repeatable, should it ever decide to disappear.
The ship’s movement is stronger up here, and so is the wind. The Glim moves beneath the waves, even fainter in the distance. The sea looks unreal. Gasping, I take in the view in front of me.
The water reflects the surrounding corals in shades of pink, orange, and purple. As cursed as it is, the way it sparkles and moves is breathtaking. Of course, it’s a trap. It wasn’t until the 90th Year of the Tide that humans realized that yes, the water heals, but it also takes a memory in return.
Sighing, I rest my elbows on the railing and watch the world pass in silence. The warm breeze smells of salt and something sweet, and it reminds me of home, wherever that was.
I don’t remember which sea I grew up in.
Not because of the lost memory, but simply because I was too small to remember.
My mother made me swim with the swarm whenever she could, but I was never fast enough to keep up and couldn’t stay beneath the water for long.
Too often, she left me waiting on nearby islands.
When I was lucky, my father was near, and he would stay with me until the swarm returned.
They did not tolerate a pirate among them, though, so those moments soon became rare.
I remember thinking I would be better off with him, how easy it would be to spend my life sailing the seas at his side.
But my mother didn’t want to give up on me, and even when I was little, the sea was calling my name, always insisting me to try again, to stay.
I was always in between the worlds, but didn’t feel at home in either of them.
Finding my swarm would be nearly impossible, even if I got my tail back.
Still, a small part of me hopes I’ll one day be reunited with my mother.
Moments later, my peace is interrupted by a brooding pirate captain. The wood creaks behind me, and the mast sways as his heavy steps reach the platform. It’s strange that I recognize him by scent now, but when I catch that salty, spicy musk, I know it’s Sable.
“What are you doing up here?” I ask, swallowing down my bitterness without taking my eyes off the Glim. He’s the reason for my nightmares, after all.
“Making sure,” he says, stopping beside me, one hand bracing the railing, his shoulder brushing mine, “that you’re completing your task correctly.”
I nod slowly, a smile tugging at my lips.
“I understand. You don’t trust me with watching the Glim.”
“No,” he replies sharply, tapping his ringed finger against the railing. I refocus on the Glim, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.
“It’s too important to place in the hands of an outsider. Especially you.”
“Especially me?” I don’t look at him.
“A siren,” he answers matter-of-factly. Heat rises within me, threatening to burst. My inner siren suggests throwing him from the nest. I inhale deeply and force her down.
“Interesting,” he murmurs, studying me from the corner of his eye. “You know something about you changes when you get angry, right?”
“What in the abyss are you talking about?” I snap, glancing at him before staring straight ahead again, my breathing quickening.
“Your eyes. I saw it yesterday too. They turn white and foggy. And your scales…” he lowers his voice slightly, “they start to glisten.”
“I would know if that were true. Stop toying with me, Sable,” I mutter, pressing my lips together.
“Believe it or not, it proves my point. You might not have a tail, but you are what you are. You don’t control your anger. You act on instinct, not reason.”
He turns back to the sea, his gaze fixed on the Glim ahead. When he looks away, I turn toward him sharply, my hair whipping in the wind.
“You know nothing about me. And you want to lecture me on self-control?” A laugh escapes me. I spit my next words.
“You were the one who held a dagger against my neck.”
My breathing grows heavy, a knot tightening in my throat. “Threatening to pluck my scales,” I add, moving my hands over them instinctively.
“I wasn’t myself that day.” His words come out like a confession, his voice rough.
“That’s what Grim told me. But you did what you did, and I am what I am. Maybe we’re not so different.” I inhale deeply and swallow my anger. It isn’t worth it. He won’t see me differently, and I won’t see him differently either.
If I’m a monster, then so is he.
“Maybe. But that doesn’t mean I trust you.”
“I don’t trust you either,” I snap.
“Good.”
“Wonderful.”
Silence stretches between us as we watch the Glim and the sun sink toward the horizon.
Another week passes after my encounter with Sable in the crow’s nest. I avoid him, and he doesn’t seek me out as long as the Glim remains steady. Nightglass says it may take another day or two before we reach the Sea of Bones.
While the crew’s mood lifts at the thought of sailing home, fear grows in me. I don’t know what awaits me there, but I’m certain I won’t be welcome. There’s been no chance to jump overboard since we left the smaller islands behind, and even if there were, I don’t think I’d take it.
If the Glim is the Sea enforcing fate, leaving the Noctis would be going against its will.
Maybe staying is part of something I don’t understand yet, something that will bring me closer to getting my tail.
Besides, I’ve grown to like life at sea.
It’s as close as I’ll ever get to living a life I would’ve lived with my father.
I tell myself these things so I don’t have to admit that nothing ties me to Aurelith, that no one is waiting there for me.
So I survive, day by day, clinging to the last scraps of trust I still have in the sea.
Tonight, the crew celebrates sailing home beneath a cloudless sky.
A makeshift table stretches from the main mast toward the bow, and nearly the entire crew gathers there, singing, eating, sharing stories.
Like most nights, I eat nearby, perched on a barrel or a low stool.
I’m never invited to join them, so I don’t.
Instead, I refill mugs and carry empty plates below deck.
I come back from my last run and sit down on my spot, the barrel, and swallow down a dry piece of bread.
I’m lucky today, because there’s no mold on it.
“Eryse!”
My head snaps up. Grim sits at the far end of the table, waving me over and pointing to a free space beside him.
“Come eat.”
I furrow my brows and glance around, briefly wondering if another woman has somehow appeared on the ship without my noticing.
Once I’m certain he’s addressing me, I rise and move toward him, the hem of my gown brushing the deck as the warm wind pulls it along behind me.
I climb over the bench and squeeze into the narrow space beside him, ignoring the looks I get.
“Thank you,” I whisper, warmth creeping into my cheeks when I realize he must’ve made room for me.
“It’s naught,” he says gruffly, and I still smile.
He heaps a generous portion from the center bowl onto an empty plate and slides it toward me. “You’re all skin and bone. Eat.”
“Thank you,” I murmur again, suddenly shy. I eat quickly and let hunger win over any remaining pride. Grim chuckles beside me, but doesn’t comment on it.
Then someone taps my shoulder.
Lark stands behind me, holding a plate with a whole grilled fish. The smell alone makes my mouth water. I haven’t had fresh fish in a long time.
“From the captain,” he mutters, pressing it into my hands before darting off.
I set the plate down, irritation prickling.
Sable sits at the head of the table, his gaze briefly catching mine.
His jaw is tight, his mouth a thin line, a muscle on his upper chest ticking once before he breaks his gaze to his untouched food.
This is most likely his poor attempt at making up for what he did.
Either that, or he doesn’t want me collapsing mid-deck.
Who would summon the Glim then? What a tragedy that would be.
Still, I nod at him in thanks. Grim murmurs something next to me that I can’t understand as I take the fish with both of my hands and start tearing pieces of it away with my sharp canines.
I save the best part for the end, the head.
After I’ve swallowed that down as well, I lick my fingers, a low moan escaping my lips.
By the seas, that was delicious.
Only then do I notice the staring. I screw up my face and look around me.
“What did I do now?” I ask in a low voice.
“That’s not how we eat fish,” Grim explains in a whisper. “We don‘t eat the head.”
“Oh.” I bite down on my lip, my stomach dropping.
I draw my elbows closer, suddenly aware of my hands, my teeth, the way I must look.
How feral and unladylike it would seem to them.
I dare to glance toward the head of the table.
Sable is already staring at me, his mouth pulled into a knowing grin, that infuriating dimple deepening as his eyes flick to the fish bone.
That’s why he gave me the bloody fish.