27. Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I stare at the door Sable left through for what feels like hours before gathering myself enough to bear making my way to the orlop.
Most of the men there are still asleep. Morning light spills down from the deck above, catching on the low beams and the curve of the hull, dust motes drifting lazily in the air.
The hammocks hang perfectly still, unmoving, bodies resting heavy inside them.
My boots sound too loud against the boards in the quiet, the rhythm of my steps the only thing breaking through the calm, aside from the soft rise and fall of breathing.
It makes sense. There is no wind. No sail to tend. Nothing urging the ship forward.
Lark sleeps in his hammock, damp hair clinging to his forehead, his chest rising in slow, even breaths.
Seeing him like this loosens something in my chest, and a smile creeps onto my lips before I realize the feeling it evokes in me.
He looks peaceful. Safe. Nightglass’s hammock beside him hangs empty.
I blink against the brightness as I step onto the main deck.
Sunlight floods the ship in a way that feels almost unreal after the darkness we passed through, warm and steady, reflecting off the pale, glassy water around us.
I do not look toward the helm. Even if I did, I doubt I would find the captain there while the Noctis lies motionless.
Instead, my eyes search for the Glim.
It circles the ship in slow movements, as if waiting for us.
The faint silver thread it leaves behind is almost invisible against the smooth, iridescent water.
I grip the railing a little tighter and lean over to get a better look at the surface.
It mirrors the dark hull of the Noctis perfectly, as though the ship has been set in a mirror.
I tap my fingers against the wood and bite down on my lip.
I have no idea where we are or how we got here.
But the kiss unsettles me even more than that.
Not the kiss itself, but the way he left afterward.
He opened up to me about the curse, about how he feels about me, only to pull away again.
I don’t know where that leaves us now, caught somewhere between a kiss, or rather two, and him telling me I deserve better than him.
He seems to have given up on himself, yet he is still searching for a way out for his crew.
Everything he has done these past few weeks has been leading to one thing: following the Glim to break the curse.
I sigh, annoyed with myself for being unable to control my emotions.
A shout from above cuts through my thoughts.
“Lass!”
I look up to see Nightglass waving down from the crow’s nest.
“I will not climb up there again,” I call back.
He grins. “No need. There’s nothing to see. Looks like an endless bloody mirror. Tell that to the captain, will ya?”
I frown. Of course.
I briefly consider telling him that the captain probably does not want to see me, but the thought of announcing our… issues to the entire ship is enough to make me clench my teeth. So I give Nightglass a short nod instead and cross the deck as slowly as is physically possible.
If Sable isn’t at the helm, then he must be in his cabin.
My hand hovers over the familiar iron handle. I am not ready to see him. An hour has passed, perhaps two, since he pressed his lips to mine and shattered the careful distance we had kept between us. I draw in a breath, then another, before finally pressing down the handle and stepping inside.
The cabin is crowded with unlit lanterns. They hang from the ceiling, line the walls, and sit in clusters on the floor. They are everywhere. The sight of them sends the memory of last night flashing through my mind. The hollow stares of the crew. The way Lark’s body was shaking.
I feel his gaze on me before I see him. He and Grim stare back at me from either side of the wooden table, and his eyes fall from mine as soon as I look directly at him. He clears his throat, refusing to acknowledge my presence.
I lift my chin and cross the room with deliberate strides, stopping at the wooden table in the center.
Sable and Grim lean over an ancient-looking map I have not seen before, marking points with pins only to remove them again and turn the parchment in frustrated increments.
I watch them silently, trying to figure out what exactly it is that they are doing.
“It must be the Sea of Dreams,” Grim murmurs under his breath, tapping a stretch of water on the map.
I furrow my brows, leaning into the table until the wood bites into my hips. The sea he points out lies beyond a thin black line, the Sea of Shadows, I assume—the one we have somehow survived against all odds with little struggle.
“What do we know about it?” Sable asks Grim quietly, his eyes not leaving the map, pointedly ignoring me.
“Not much,” Grim replies, rubbing his chin with his hand.
Then both of them look up at me.
“Do you?”
“No.” I shake my head, keeping my focus on Grim. “Why would I?”
Sable shifts his weight from foot to foot. “You’re from here. Aren’t you?”
“No,” I lower my eyes on the deck, on the worn wood behind the table. “I mean, I don’t know where I’m from. I told you I was abandoned when I was seven.”
Silence stretches, and neither of us dares to look at the other.
“What is wrong with you two?” Grim’s eyes flit between us, confusion forming a deep line between his brows.
“Nothing,” we answer in unison.
I roll my eyes as Sable turns away and takes a book from the shelf tugged against the wall.
I allow myself to look at him while his back is turned.
When he returns, I avert my gaze again, folding my arms over my chest. Paper rustles as he flips through a book, then places it on the table in front of me.
The pages are filled with tight, careful handwriting, observations recorded with methodical precision.
My eyes skim until they catch on familiar words woven into the title, something about sirens and dreams. Now is not the time to admit that I can't read.
On the opposite page is a watercolor. My pulse stutters at the depiction of a siren.
She looks like me.
Her hair is blonde, almost white, the same pale shade as her eyes. The siren’s tail looks strong yet delicate, iridescent scales covering every inch and climbing up parts of her torso. There is nothing monstrous or uncomfortable about her, she simply looks beautiful.
Seeing a picture of what I could have, and likely never will, makes my heart grow heavy. The weight of it drags me down, and I feel like I'm drowning all over again.
“Put it away,” I whisper.
He doesn’t move.
“Please,” I add, “put it away.”
Sable snaps the book shut and puts it back on the shelf. I bite my lip hard enough that I’m surprised it doesn’t bleed.
“My mother had a black tail,” I say quietly. “She wasn’t from here. I don’t know anything about this sea. But Nightglass says there’s nothing to see. Just an endless mirror.”
“And there’s no wind,” Grim adds, already lost in his thoughts. “Without wind, we’re stuck. Supplies won’t last forever.”
“We’ll ration,” Sable says. His arms fold behind his back again. “And wait.”
“And there’s more,” Grim continues, shoulders tensing as he glances at me. “Eryse, this is yours to tell. I don’t remember most of it.”
Because his shadow was separate from him too.
I sigh and begin to pace the cabin. I don’t know what I did, or how I did it, or whether I can do it again. False hope is a dangerous thing, so I choose my words very carefully, though deep down I hope that it will make Sable see things differently.
I tell them about Lark.
Not every detail. Not the way Lark trembled in my arms, or how the fear clawed at my ribs as his shadow pulled away from him.
I tell them only what matters. That his shadow detached.
That he panicked. That I sang for him when nothing else seemed to work, and that somehow, his shadow was drawn to it and returned to his body.
When I finish, the cabin is quiet. Unsettlingly so.
“I…” My voice falters. “I was exhausted afterward. But the fear of what could’ve gone wrong kept me awake until… I fell asleep.”
Fell asleep with him on the balcony, the truth remains unspoken between us, and we leave it there. We don’t need to go over all the details.
Grim clears his throat first. “Is it permanent?”
“It felt pretty final to me.”
“If this is true…” Sable says, beginning to pace too.
“It might be our cure,” Grim finishes, both of their gazes landing on me.
Hope flashes through Sable’s eyes, and from where he’s standing beside the little round window, the sun makes it look like they are sparkling.
He looked so broken hours ago, as if he had truly lost all hope for a life without his curse. Perhaps I was a little too hard on him.
“I don’t have control over it,” I say, the words leaving me like a confession. “My voice. I don’t know how to use my siren song. I have never compelled a man.”
“Then we practice,” he says, walking over and stopping in front of me with a smile on his face.
Something about him being in such proximity to me makes me lift my head despite myself, feigning nonchalance.
Grey eyes bore into mine, and even though it has been some hours, my lips begin to tingle at the thought of our kiss. At the thought of it happening again.
“If we’re stuck here, we might as well use the time to our advantage. You will practice,” a smile tugs at the corner of those rosy lips of his. “And you will practice on me, little fish.”