39. Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Thirty-Nine
P ain steals the breath from my lungs, and dryness tightens my skin, making the delicate surface of my scales stiff and aching.
I do not remember the journey here.
Only fragments remain, broken pieces without order and meaning.
The air was suffocating in the hold of the ship where they kept me in a dingy cell like a helpless fish.
They carelessly threw saltwater over my body now and then, barely enough to keep me alive.
The moisture kept drying too quickly, and I barely escaped death a few times with the tankards’ worth of water they splashed me with.
I have always imagined the day of my transformation to be the happiest day of my life, and the truth is, I never stopped clinging to that hope. Somehow, for a short moment, it was. That very first glimpse, that blissful pain, the reflection of shimmering scales felt like the beginning of my life.
But it might have been the beginning of the end instead.
As my awareness sharpens further, I become more conscious of the unnatural strain pulling from my body. Rope cuts into flesh at my wrists, making it impossible for me to move. But it is the position itself that sends waves of pain tearing through me.
I am hanging upside down. The pressure gathers immediately in my skull, and my tail bears the full weight of me where it has been secured to something above. Every small movement sends a tremor of agony through the length of it.
Voices drift through the pain, some close, others distant and muffled.
Fragments of conversations reach me, discussing prices and the value of goods.
I force my eyes open further and ignore the sharp protest of my dried eyelids.
Deep down, I already know what awaits me.
There has only ever been one ending for a siren in human hands.
The markets.
I’m back on Aurelith.
The stand across from me, like all others, is set on a wooden platform that rises on thick wooden posts.
Beneath it, the sea has retreated, leaving behind a wide stretch of exposed seabed.
Fish are laid out in uneven rows, their bodies split open to expose pale, bloodied flesh.
Their glassy eyes stare outward without seeing, their mouths frozen in silent protest. Between them lies the tail of a siren, its torn end blackened where blood has already begun to clot.
My stomach twists violently. I gag around the cloth forced deep between my teeth, tearing open the wounds in my throat that have barely healed.
I think of the siren that this tail belonged to, and if she at least found her peace in the depths of the sea before her end.
My body recoils against the rope, not only because of what was done to her, but because I understand that this is what they intend for me.
A voice cuts through the fog of my thoughts.
“Well, would you look at that?”
I force my eyes to focus on the two figures in front of me, standing at the base of the stand, their boots planted wide against the damp wood. I would recognize his voice anywhere.
Grimsbane, the Rat.
He looks exactly as I remember him, like an aged, slimy eel covered in layers of worn leather. His eyes drop to meet mine, and an ugly smile spreads across his face, revealing crooked, yellow teeth.
“Took you long enough,” he says, amused.
Beside him stands another hunter I know just as well, broader but just as repulsive. His gaze drifts slowly along the length of my body, pausing where the rope binds my tail.
Anger stirs beneath my skin as I curl my hands into fists. They hunted me my whole life, across this sea-cursed island, and I always managed to escape them somehow. I had plenty of practice, I guess. But now they stand there, watching me as if I am already nothing more than scales and blood. Money.
It’s strange how my siren used to be a separate, darker part of me, somewhere hidden deep inside where I once kept her contained.
Now she lives in the center of me, her presence woven into every fiber of me.
Most importantly, she does not recoil from the men who stand before me.
I want them dead at the bottom of the sea, where their bodies will surrender to time and tide until nothing that ever touched me remains.
The hunter shifts his weight, watching the change in my expression with unease.
“We hold her until nightfall,” he says, his tone turning serious. “If someone makes an offer worth taking, we sell her whole. If not…” His gaze flicks briefly toward the tail displayed across from me, then back again. “There are always other options.”
The other man nods.
“Scales fetch more when they’re fresh though,” he mutters. “Blood too, depending on the day…”
Their conversation becomes distant as my gaze drops to their chests, where their hearts beat steadily, pumping blood.
I know that with my talons, I could rip them out in one clean swipe.
It wouldn’t be a big effort. In my blinding anger, I might even consider eating them, like the dark water sirens do, making an exception for these disgusting excuses for men.
Beyond them, someone catches my attention.
A figure lingers next to the stand across from me, wearing a cloak that falls from her shoulders in a long, fluid waterfall of deep emerald, its fabric drinking the light instead of reflecting it.
She waits, as though she understands that sudden motion would draw the wrong kind of attention.
That these men are some of the most dangerous around.
Then she lifts her head.
A small gasp escapes my throat, but it is swallowed up entirely by the cloth.
Cailia.
I would know her anywhere, by those dark, knowing eyes and the way her hair clings to her like oil dripping down her shoulders.
She lifts her hand and gently presses one finger against her lips, then nods towards a beam next to her.
A sheet of parchment hangs nailed to it, the paper curled at the edges.
Though they haven’t captured him correctly, I still recognize his face.
I could never forget that slightly crooked nose and those dark curls, not in this lifetime anyway.
Sable, sketched with coal. Beneath it, other pages overlap.
Grim, and Nightglass, and all the others I have come to know and care for.
Beneath each of their pictures, bold red writing that I saw plastered all over the island on these flyers growing up.
Wanted.
I blink away my tears. He cannot come here.
He will not come for me. Even if this piece of paper didn’t exist and death wouldn’t await him here, the sea already has its claws in him.
It had already called him home before we reached the Sea of the First Song.
I failed to bring his shadow back, and with that, I sentenced him to death.
He is probably back in the Sea of Bones, climbing over the railing to drown just as all the other lost souls did.
And the worst part? He’ll do it all alone, because I was stupid enough to keep my promise to save his crew first.
As Cailia makes her way across the wooden bridge towards my stand, I spot the corals in the shape of her silhouette.
Any passing human would not understand what lies beneath her cloak from the same of them, but if you know what to look for, they are unmistakable.
She stops in front of me, and a tear falls from my eye, directly onto the dark planks beneath my head.
Someone came for me. Her gaze moves over my body, tracing the length of my new form without recognition, until she reaches my face and lets her eyes rest there briefly.
“Turn her,” she says.
Grimsbane shifts his weight, suspicion raising his brow, tightening his mouth. “You’re looking to buy?”
Cailia tilts her head slightly, considering me with narrowed eyes in silence. “Depends. Not much left in this one,” she answers. “Looks half-dead already.”
The hunter snorts beside her and steps closer, his hand closing around the rope connected to my tail. “She’s worth more than you could afford, witch.”
“I want her,” she says, with no hint of submission in her voice.
He laughs and jerks the rope downward. Pain tears through my tail all the way down to my skull, and I bite down on the cloth shoved in my mouth, my scream muffled.
“For what?”
Calia’s expression doesn’t change, but I can see how her shoulders tense underneath the thick cloak.
She raises her chin. “That is nothing of your concern.”
His grip on the rope tightens as he straightens his posture, aggravated.
“I do not sell to witches,” he spits.
When Cailia does not react, the hunter turns his head when someone calls his name from behind him, his attention shifting from her. Cailia moves closer, close enough that I can see worry in her eyes.
“He is here,” she whispers, eyes darting between the hunter and me, her lips barely moving.
My breath catches as my gaze flicks past her immediately, searching for Sable in the crowds of the market that is now buzzing with life.
Shouts of prices and deals fill the air, mingling with the clatter of coins and the creak of wooden carts being dragged across the docks.
But there is no sign of my dark-haired pirate captain.
I quickly shake my head, meeting her eyes again. He shouldn’t be here.
Something flashes across her gaze, and one corner of her mouth lifts into a smile.
“You know how stubborn he is. Not even the sea could hold my brother back from finding you.”
The hunter turns back toward her, his face twisted into a scowl.
“I thought I told you to leave,” he says. His hand settles on the hilt of his knife, the silent warning tense in the air between them. “I won’t sell to your kind.”
Cailia studies him for a moment. She raises her head, her jaw tightening as she meets his eye. There is no fear in her eyes, just the swirling darkness of disgust. “I will give you two hundred gold sovereigns.”