41. Epilogue
Epilogue
Sable
T he sand shifts under my boots as I make my way across the narrow stretch of beach, the waves folding over themselves in a familiar rhythm, two screaming seagulls following me along the way.
It feels good, not having to worry about the sea calling me to my wet grave anymore.
Not feeling like a lost cause anymore. Instead, the sea has become something that exists alongside me, or maybe within me, but not in the way it had before.
Now, I am free to roam the pirate islands without questioning how long I might be able to stay.
And it feels good to be home.
Sharp, jagged rocks rise along the shoreline, like a row of broken teeth pushing up from the earth.
I pass them without slowing, though my gaze flicks toward them out of habit, just as it drifts over my shoulder a moment later, searching for something that is no longer separate from my body.
My shadow stretches behind me, bound to my steps in a way that still feels new to me.
It does not flicker, does not pull away.
It simply is there.
A quiet breath leaves me, something close to a laugh of disbelief.
I had forgotten what it feels like to exist without that constant fracture in me, without the sense that part of me is slipping away, just beyond reach.
With the burning, agonizing return of my shadow came the memories.
Suddenly, I could remember giving Eryse the emerald gown.
That I watched her sleep in her hammock in the orlop.
How shamelessly I flirted with her, even though she was technically my captive.
My shadow didn’t really care; all it wanted was to impress the pretty siren.
It all came back to me, the good things and the bad. The bad things hurt way more.
I push them to the side, the memory of her threading through it all with ease. The way she looked at me when she didn’t think I was looking. The way she laid a hand on my back out on that balcony, when I wasn’t myself. The way she chose me, again and again, even when I told her to give me up.
She always saw right through the torment, saw the man behind the curse.
My steps slow as the docks come into view. Beyond them, the Noctis rests in the dark water, her hull swallowing what little light breaks through the low clouds above, her black, torn sails drawn tight, waiting for their next adventure.
She is still magnificent, even though the hunter bastards shot about a dozen holes in her hull.
A faint smirk tugs at my mouth as I take her in, the way she sits slightly heavier on one side from the repairs that have been made.
I’m sure if Saint had fixed her, she’d be perfectly even.
He was the best carpenter I could have ever wished for.
The thought of him pulls tight in my chest, the loss as present as it was the day he died.
I step onto the pier, the wood creaking beneath my weight, my gaze already drifting toward the helm. Lark, barely reaching over the wheel, stands there with all the confidence of someone twice his size, a hat far too large for him tilted slightly over his eyes.
My hat.
I pause for a moment, watching him, the way he grips the wheel as if he has full intentions to steer her elsewhere.
I step onto the slanted gangplank and make my way aboard.
By the time I reach the deck, he has already noticed me.
His posture stiffens for a fraction before he straightens, as if preparing himself for a lecture.
“Sailor,” I say, my voice carrying just enough to reach him without raising it. “Where did you get that hat?”
His chin lifts, almost defiant, though the way his fingers curl slightly against the wheel gives his true nervousness away.
“A lady gifted it to me,” he says.
Of course she did.
I narrow my eyes slightly as I take a few steps closer, tilting my head to study him. “A generous lady, then. Which one?”
He presses his lips together, clearly considering his options, before settling on silence.
My gaze sharpens. I should’ve never let that hat out of sight.
“Does this lady,” I continue, my tone calm, “happen to have a tail?”
He bites down on his lower lip, and that is answer enough. A quiet breath escapes me, close to a laugh this time, though I shake my head as I reach down and adjust the brim of the hat where it sits far too low over his eyes.
“You’ll ruin it,” I mutter, and his expression shifts, uncertainty flickering through his eyes, as if he expects me to take it back. I catch myself before I issue any further reprimand. He’s just a boy after all, and a young pirate nonetheless.
“Keep it,” I add after a moment and offer him a smile. “You’ll grow into it.”
Lark sighs in relief and nods, his attention falling back to the wheel.
I step onto the plank and return to the pier, the sound of the crashing water growing louder as I near its edge. The tide has shifted a little, the surface darker now, the movement beneath it difficult to decipher by someone who doesn’t know what to look for.
I do.
I stop at the edge and let my gaze drift over the water, my arms crossing loosely over my chest as I tilt my head slightly.
“So,” I say, my voice carrying out over the sea, “Where is this beautiful, tailed girl who has taken it upon herself to distribute my belongings?”
There is no immediate answer. A faint ripple breaks the surface a few feet away, followed by another, and then another, each one slightly closer than the last.
“I know you’re there, little fish,” I add, softer this time.
The water stills for a moment, as if holding its breath.
Then she rises.
Only her eyes break the surface, white and foggy, fixed on me with a look I have come to know far too well. Even like this, I can see the hint of amusement in her features. The small wrinkles around her eyes give it away.
My gaze lingers on her for a moment, taking in what little of her is visible, though it is more than enough.
My vicious, sweet siren, Eryse.
“There you are,” I whisper.
Her expression does not change.
“Tell me,” I continue, my tone shifting into seriousness. “Why did you give away the hat you stole from me?”
Her brows lift, and her face emerges from the water, revealing her rosy, soft-looking lips.
“I didn’t steal it,” she replies, her voice smooth. “I found it.”
“Of course you did,” I say. “And I suppose it simply slipped off my head and into your hands by pure coincidence.”
“Exactly,” she says with a smile. “The tide brought it to me. Remember?”
I shake my head with a laugh, remembering how she refused to give me back my hat. Little did she know that I could’ve taken it from her in an instant, but I let her keep it, because I knew she’d look breathtaking in it.
“You have the looks of a siren,” I tell her, my gaze steady on hers, “but the mouth of a pirate.”
Her smirk deepens. “Well,” she says, tilting her head slightly. “I am a siren and a pirate.”
Something in my chest loosens at the ease with which she says it, as if both things can exist without contradiction. She has never really acknowledged her pirate heritage, not until now. Words cannot describe how much that means to me. For her to embrace every part of her, be it siren or pirate.
“I can see that,” I murmur, my gaze holding hers. “Though I am still deciding which part of you is more dangerous. One steals my hat, the other brings me to my knees.”
Her eyes glint.
“You already know the answer to that.”
I do. But I couldn’t care less.
My arms loosen from my chest as I take another step closer to the edge, my boots stopping just short of the drop.
“Will you come ashore,” I ask, my tone quieter now. “Or do you intend to stay out of my reach?”
Her gaze lingers on me, a playful smile spreading on her face, revealing those sharp canines that are enough to make me melt through the gaps in the planks. Or drop to my knees once again.
For a moment, I think she might answer. Instead, she dips beneath the surface.
“That’s what I get for loving a siren,” I say to myself, though I cannot fend off the smile that commands my lips.
“Coward,” I call after her and laugh.
A voice reaches me from somewhere to my left, distant but clear enough.
“Meet me by the tide pools!”
I turn without hesitation, stepping back from the edge of the dock and moving along the shoreline as I make my way toward the rocks I passed earlier.
The tide has pulled back further now, leaving behind pools of water that Eryse likes to lie in during sunset.
I do too, but I take in a different view than she does.
By the time I reach them, I am already loosening the strings of my shirt, my gaze sweeping the surface of the water without finding her.
Ahead of me, a ripple forms, followed by the quiet break of the surface as she rises once again.
She lifts herself onto the lower rocks with an ease that should not be as captivating as it is, the water slipping from her in slow lines as it drifts back into the shallow water of the pool.
Her tail settles against the dark stone, the scales catching what little light remains, reflecting it in soft shades that remind me of a pearl.
“Took you long enough,” she says, and wrings her hair out, a habit that she cannot get rid of, even though she’ll get wet again anyway.
I stare at her, as I do every day, ever since returning to the islands.
There are a hundred things I could say, most of them clever, most of them unnecessary, because none of them matter.
I move onto the rocks, the water remaining here soaking through my boots, but I don’t care.
I lower myself onto a rock beside her, close enough that I can feel the warmth of her skin where the sun touched it moments ago.
My gaze drifts downward before I can stop it, tracing where the skin gives way to scales.
I reach out, my fingers brushing lightly along the curve of her tail where it rests against the rock.
The scales shift beneath my touch, smooth and firm at the same time.
“Still staring,” she murmurs in a low voice.
“I am allowed,” I reply, my voice quieter than I intend. “To admire my treasure.”
Her breath catches, though she doesn’t try to hide it. Not anymore.
“You are impossible,” she laughs and turns her head to watch the sunset.
“And yet, you are here.”
That draws her gaze back to mine, her eyes as white as ever, like still water reflecting the moon. Still water that I would drown in, if she asked me to. The world narrows down to the two of us and the rushing sound of the tide.
I shift my hand from her tail to her waist, steadying her as I close the distance between us.
There is no hesitation, no fear of what might happen if I lose myself to it.
My lips meet hers, and I immediately taste the salt on her soft lips, covering mine.
She responds without pause, her hand finding its way into my hair, her grip tightening just enough to pull me closer.
It is different now.
Not only because she has changed, but because I have. Because I get to remember this.
All of it.
The way she feels, the way her tail moves. The way a little moan escapes her lips whenever I let my fingers trail over her scales.
When we part, I rest my forehead against her, my eyes closing for a brief moment as I let the quiet settle around us.
“I suppose,” I whisper, my voice breathy, “I will have to keep a closer eye on my belongings from now on.”
Her lips brush against mine again as she huffs.
“You can try,” she says. “But I make no promises.”
“I would expect nothing less.”
My hand tightens slightly at her waist, as if to make sure she doesn’t slip away into the open sea. I exhale slowly, feeling all the tension leave my chest as Eryse threads her fingers through my hair once more, which I think I enjoy even more than she does.
She leans in again, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.
“What are you thinking about, captain?”
“You,” I say without hesitation, and look into her eyes again.
“And?” she whispers, laying her hand on the side of my face gently, her teasing tone slipping away.
My gaze drifts past her for a moment, out toward the open water beyond the rocks, where the horizon blurs into something endless.
Back when I was cursed, it felt like a threat.
Now it feels like a possibility. A possibility to keep the promise I gave her, about sailing the seas with her, stealing dresses, gold, and whatever else she desires.
To bring her men to drown, and watch her power strengthen with every one.
“The sea,” I say, my voice quieter now, though no less certain.
She follows my gaze, the movement of her head thoughtful, as if she were trying to see it the way I do.
“And what about it?” she asks, and our eyes meet again.
“I was thinking about what I promised you,” I say, my thumb brushing lightly against her side. “That I would sail the seas with you, steal whatever you desire.”
By the way she looks at me now with her eyebrows drawn into a slight frown and her mouth in a thin line, I know that she remembers. It was the night she thought she’d lose me.
“I’ll keep my promise,” I add softly. “I’ll bring you the horizon.”
And this time, I know it is a promise I can keep.