25. Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Five
T he dark water sirens remain in their unsettling silence, but the threat of their presence still presses in on us like a looming storm cloud.
The sea feels too still beneath us, as though it is holding its breath.
Watching us. Waiting. Whether they have been deterred by my song or are simply waiting for the next chance to strike, I cannot tell.
But I will not take a risk with Lark’s life.
Or the life of any man in this crew. Not after what I did to Rat.
I hold out the wax pieces to Lark. Lantern light glints off his damp hair, and for a brief moment, I am struck by how small he still looks standing there in the dark. He likes to think of himself as a little pirate, twice as brave as any man, but the reality of it is unavoidable. He is just a boy.
“Put them back in,” I say, keeping my voice steady despite the tension overcoming my body. “Then we’ll find your father.”
I manage a soft smile, hoping he feels the sincerity of it. “Okay?”
“Okay,” he answers. His voice wavers, but he takes the wax from my hand and presses it into his ears with careful fingers, his jaw set as if fear is something he can command into obedience.
I kneel beside him and check the seals, pressing gently until I am sure the wax sits properly.
When I rise, my hands linger on his shoulders longer than they need to.
I tell myself I am steadying him, though I know it is myself I am bracing.
Together we cross the deck toward the cabins beneath the quarterdeck, the boards creaking softly beneath our steps.
Sable must be somewhere around here. I wonder if the same can be said about his shadow.
Grim’s vague answer to my question on where Sable is sits poorly with me.
Trust that he’s doing what must be done.
I know for certain that he’d never leave his crew alone without reasoning, so whatever he must do, it must be important enough to distance himself.
Sable does not step away when things turn difficult, and he certainly does not leave others to shoulder his burdens.
That has never been who he is. The thought of him being unaccounted for tightens into a sharp, persistent stabbing beneath my ribs.
I bite the inside of my cheek, and push open the door to the cabins.
Lanterns line the narrow corridor, their flames swaying with the movement of the ship and casting uneven light across the worn wooden floor. At the far end, the small glass window set into Sable’s cabin door spills a brighter glow into the passage.
“Maybe he’s in there,” I say, glancing back at Lark. Fear still clings to him, visible in the tight set of his shoulders, but he follows without hesitation.
I slow in front of the cabin door. My hand hovers over the latch. I am here for Nightglass, I remind myself. I’m simply bringing Lark to his father. Still, my pulse quickens as my fingers close around the cold iron and I push the door open.
The cabin is crowded.
Too crowded. Men fill the space shoulder to shoulder, packed in tighter than the room should allow.
Whatever conversation they were having dies the moment I step inside.
Some of them look hollow, as if something essential has been taken from them.
Others watch me with open fear, shoulders drawn tight, hands clenched as though they expect me to unleash something I cannot stop. Something they cannot stop.
I scan the room first in search of Nightglass. Then, without meaning to, I look for Sable, but he is not here. I swallow, trying to ease the knot tightening in my throat as the door creaks shut behind us.
Nightglass stands near the far wall, half turned toward the entrance. He looks worn in a way I have never seen before, his posture rigid, his features pulled thin.
Before I can say his name, Lark slips free from my side. He crosses the cabin quickly and throws himself at his father. Nightglass drops to one knee and catches him just in time, arms closing around him with relief. Lark buries his face in his chest and breaks into sobs, his small body trembling.
“I’ve got you,” Nightglass coos, his voice low and steady.
There is something so achingly human in the way they hold each other. These men are not just pirates. They are fathers, brothers, sons, bound together by more than salt and duty, and by something darker that I still do not fully understand.
Around them, the shadows of most of the men fail to follow their movements.
One stretches along the wall instead of staying at its owner’s heels, another drifts across the ceiling beams, untethered.
My gaze tracks the way they linger at the edges of the lantern glow.
Each time the light shifts, they pull back before moving closer again.
“I will bring more lanterns,” I say in a tremulous whisper, breaking the silence.
I turn on my heel to gather the lanterns that are placed on the main deck and bring them in, leaving a few for Grim at the helm.
When I return to the cabin for the last few lanterns, the conversations do not stop as I enter.
Some of the tension has eased, and I thank the seas for it.
Now that I am sure they are fine, and Lark has returned to his father, Sable crashes into my thoughts again, dominating all others. As far as I’m concerned, he is not yet safe. I need to find him.
“Where’s Sable?” I ask in a voice that is steadier than it has been before, facing the crew.
Nightglass looks at me and gently squeezes Lark’s shoulders. His mouth turns into a thin line, clearly hesitating before he sighs.
“Lass, better not look for him. He is not himself—”
“Where—” I draw in a deep breath and exhale slowly through my nose. “ —is he?”
If he didn’t leave me alone in my darkest moment, then I owe him the same in return. I don’t care what demons he is fighting or why he thinks he must go through this alone. I saw what it did to Lark. I can only imagine what it does to him.
“He’s on the balcony by the galley.” His words come out like a confession.
Ruffling the skirt of my gown into my hands, I practically fly through the narrow corridor until I reach the steps that lead into the galley.
I take two steps at a time, then stumble straight into the galley.
The oven is not lit. Pots clink against each other as the ship moves beneath us.
Strange to see a room once filled with life so empty of it.
My gaze drifts to the familiar door, framed in oak. The salt-clouded glass panes do not spill any light through them, not like they did the first time I saw them.
Sable is behind that door.
What worries me the most is that there’s no light to protect him from the curse the sea has cruelly put upon him. I place my hand around the iron handle, but the heavy presence behind my back makes me freeze.
I know he’s behind me. The shadow I came to know, to care for, in the same way that he cares for me. I remember Harrow’s words. That I shouldn’t acknowledge them, as it keeps them away from where they should be.
From who they should be with.
Tears start to sting in my eyes as I take a shaky, slow breath. I have been so, so good at not admitting to myself what I realized the moment Lark’s shadow detached from his body.
That the ghost is Sable’s shadow.
“Don’t—” His voice echoes through the galley, distant yet near, soft yet thundering. I feel his presence closing in on me from behind, like a million tiny spiderwebs brushing against my skin, but I do not turn around. I do not give in to him.
I push down the handle and open the heavy wooden door.
Outside, the sea breeze brings the smell of salt and whips strands of my hair over my face.
I find him on the right side of the little balcony, clenching his hands around the iron rail.
His posture is not straight and confident like it usually is.
Instead, he is leaning over the banister, so tense that I see his muscles clenching through his shirt from where I stand.
He doesn’t acknowledge my presence. Doesn’t even lift his head.
“Are you—” I cut myself off. I don’t even know what to say to him, what to ask him. I came here without a plan, without employing any rational decision-making skills. All I know is that I didn’t want him to be alone.
I should’ve brought a damn lantern.
My eyes scan the boards at his feet, but there’s no shadow following his movements. It could be anywhere now.
“Are you okay?” I manage to say, my voice nothing more than a whisper. The boards squeak as I take another step toward him. From here, I can hear his shallow breathing. Another step.
When my hand touches his shoulder, he flinches. Not wanting to unsettle him, I pause for a moment but do not withdraw my touch. There is a relentless kindness to be found in fearing someone and offering them help despite it, and the pirate in front of me has done that exact thing for me.
He takes in a slow breath and lifts his head slightly.
“You naive, little fish. You came here expecting to do what?” A laugh slips out of him. “Save me? To make sure I feel good? What good is that if I don’t even know my own name?”
I swallow hard and let my gaze wander over his face. Dark locks fall over his knitted eyebrows, and below them, empty, black eyes stare into mine. I blink slowly. Looking away means acknowledging that there’s nothing left to be saved, that seeing him like this is uncomfortable.
“Why are you not with the others? I—”
“Please,” he says through his teeth, looking to the sea now instead of at me. “I do not want to throw you overboard. But right now, that’s all I can think of. So please—” he draws in a long breath again, then exhales. “—leave me alone.”
Something inside of me stirs.
“Is that what it does to you?” I slowly remove my shaking hand from his shoulder. “It makes you cruel? Makes the monster win?”
“I wonder how long it would take until your body hits the surface. Longer than Ash, perhaps,” he says, and the calculation in his voice makes me shiver. “He was heavier than you.”
Nightglass was right. He has to be right.
He is not being himself. The absence of his shadow makes him…
different. Like all light has been taken from him.
Taking shallow breaths, he slowly turns toward me.
The siren in me screams and pumps power through me that can’t go anywhere — that I won’t let go anywhere — and instead breaks against my willpower like shuddering waves over and over again. Run. She shouts. Run.
But I don’t. I lift my chin and meet his stare.
“You think you’re not worthy of being saved,” I whisper, and for a short moment, his eyes flicker in hesitation. “But I know you. I know your shadow. And it has nothing in common with the man standing in front of me now.”
“You know nothing about me,” he speaks through clenched teeth, each word measured. “And nothing about my shadow.”
“I know more than enough.”
Silence settles between us. The sea stretches beneath the stern, dark and endless.
His breathing somehow syncs with mine, our chests lifting and falling at the same time.
As I glance to the side, there’s a dark figure lurking behind the wooden door.
I know it's the curse that makes the shadows detach, but I want to scream at him for doing so nonetheless.
Then the light changes.
It is subtle at first. A pale shift at the edge of the horizon. The sun does not rise here, not fully, but it pushes through just enough, and soon, a muted glow breaks across the water.
Sable stiffens as the light reaches his face, making his skin glow golden. I come to stand next to him, to be able to support him, just in case he needs me to.
The boards at his feet darken as the shadow pulls itself back into place.
It gathers beneath him, like smoke curling around his ankles, before finally settling, slow and quiet, like ash falling from the sky after a wildfire.
When the last curl of darkness is gone, he exhales and loosens his grip on the rail.
Neither of us speaks. He doesn’t ask me to stay, and I don’t leave. We remain standing side by side, shoulder against shoulder, as the ship moves on, the light holding just long enough for the sea to release him from its hold.