Chapter 25 Our Dead Drink The Sea
The wind whispers low, a shanty song,
of waves that crash, of nights grown long.
We sail these depths where shadows hide,
but fear not death, for by our side
Our dead drink the sea.
A briny toast to destiny.
Their spirits guide us, never lost.
The sea they drink, the sea they sleep,
Forever young, in oceans deep…
—'A Pirate's Farewell Melody', by Dorian Ashe
Iwake to clear skies and calm seas as though the storm was nothing but a distant dream. Everything is stiff and sore. A deep ache shoots through my chest, spider-webbing down my ribs, and my throat burns worse than ever.
For a terrifying moment, I don't know where I am or how I got here.
And then images assault my mind—harsh black waves pummeling the ship, tears leaking down Rowan's freckled cheeks as she struggled to hold onto the rigging with all her might.
The sea water closing over my head as I sank into the abyss.
Frigid cold that ate through my skin. Death, looming at the threshold of my fate, ready to see me out the door.
And then that blinding light. A rune appearing across my chest in a silver flash. The first breath that should have been a lungful of seawater but wasn’t.
Rhyland’s face. Those piercing midnight eyes. Strong muscle, towing me from the depths, and all the events that followed….
Heat claims my cheeks. I can almost feel the ghost of his fingers moving inside of me. The burst of uncontrollable pleasure that'd overwhelmed my senses.
I sit up, half expecting to find him in the spot beside me. Terrified that I won't know what to say. Terrified I will. To my relief, I find the space empty. Cold to the touch.
What was I thinking? I'd resolved to hate him, this cruel, monster of a man.
My enemy. Yet the desire I'd felt last night was more real than the air within my lungs.
The blood rushing beneath my skin. It was a demand that had to be met, lest I lose myself to some primal, aching thing and never return.
I hate him. It's something I believe with my whole being, but in spite of it I want him—a truth that cannot be denied, only quelled by the feel of his touch. The taste of his mouth.
No, no, no, no. I shake my head, grind my jaw until my teeth ache. I am not some wild animal to be consumed by her own dark impulses. This is a man who takes and who kills. A man who has one fate in store for me. A fate that will clash with everything I'm fighting to regain.
Soft knocking at the door startles me from my thoughts.
I half expect to see him press through it and swallow hard at the idea. How will I face him after what we've done? I cross my arms and prepare my best glare.
Instead, the visitor is worse. Tentatively, Rowan pushes the door open and steps inside. Her wide, timid eyes scan the room before coming to rest on me. In her hands, a tea tray rattles that she carries to the bedside. Breakfast. Creamed oats, runny eggs. A handful of fruit from Mor’s isle.
“Rowan,” I say hoarsely. I try for a smile but my cracked lips only twitch at the command.
She moves quickly, then; my vibrant blue cloak ruffling around her feet glimmers when the light hits it.
“Vale,” she breathes, setting the tray down on the nightstand and passing me a cup of fresh water.
I sip it eagerly, and the cool liquid brings some relief to my raw throat.
“I don’t mean to be rude but you look awful,” she whispers, as though not to embarass me despite the fact there's no one around to hear.
“I feel awful,” I admit.
Tears well up in her eyes. She leans forward to tug me into a tight embrace before weeping in earnest. “I thought you were dead! You fell and went under. You disappeared in those monstrous waves. The captain jumped after you but Toby dragged me down below before I could tell if you'd been rescued.”
Toby? I hadn’t realized she was already on a nickname basis with the helmsman, but then I suppose we only had that one opportunity to talk at length since boarding the Nightingale.
Almost as if the crew was working to keep it that way.
How many times had Sabre pulled her off for one reason or another?
Likely on Rhyland’s orders. He must be trying to make sure we’re not plotting.
“That must have been terrifying for you,” I say gently, and return her hug with a sharp squeeze.
“Me?” She pulls back, wiping her eyes. “What must it have been like for you? The captain told me this morning what this cloak does. How you sacrificed your safety for me. It could have saved you from all this!” She gestures at me and when my brows furrow in confusion, she rises with an urgency about her, scouring the room until she produces a glinting silver framed hand-mirror.
It looks expensive, likely stolen off some fine ship Rhyland plundered once upon a time.
Rowan practically shoves it in my face. It takes a moment for my sight to adjust. For her meaning to settle in.
I do look awful. Pale features already washed out from pox powder in my hair are now even more drawn and stark.
Deep circles hover beneath my eyes, cheeks hollowed.
My lower lip’s been split, a smear of dried blood below it.
Further down, a trail of bruises that only deepen as they near my chest where the mast struck me.
My hair is an awful, tangled mess that smells faintly of sweat and brine.
Something quakes through my stomach. A tilt of surprise as I digest her words. Sharply, my gaze returns to her. “You spoke with the captain?”
She must be mistaken. He was here, with me every moment after the storm until I fell asleep after—
Heat laps at my cheeks.
Rowan nods, wiping at the tear streaks that stain her face. “He was down early, fetching Sabre to talk repairs. But don’t change the subject. Don’t try to lessen what you did. Over and over you've sacrificed yourself to save me,” she whispers, lowering the mirror.
There’s a dry spot on my tongue I can’t seem to moisten no matter how many times I swallow. It all feels like a dream. What drove me to let him touch me? To seek comfort with him. My hand strokes over my bruised chest, finding the raised edge of the rune hidden there.
Rowan stares at me, blinking slowly, waiting for my response.
I clench my fists, try to quiet the shaking and twitching. But my voice quivers. “I would do it again. It’s my fault you’re here. My fault you’re in this mess at all.”
Rowan lets out a quick breath and reaches for me. “Stop. Not everything is your fault. I chose to follow you down to the cove—”
“To protect me. You shouldn’t have.”
“Do you not realize that sometimes a protector needs protecting, too?” she counters, squeezing my hand tight, a fierceness to her voice I don’t recognize.
“You must know I wouldn’t have it any other way, Vale.
If I could go back in time, do it all over, I’d still follow you to the cove. Still be on this adventure with you.”
“Adventure?” My lungs ache horribly as a puff of air rushes out. I shake my head, try to quiet the rushing thoughts of him. Him. Him. His fingers, his lips. Trust no one. Not even yourself. Not even your own thoughts. “Your initiation into the Sisters, everything you’ve worked for—”
Rowan takes in a painful breath, a sad smile etched at the corners of her mouth when she shakes her head. “It was never about joining the Sisters, Vale. I-I mean, I would have. That was the plan. But it was bigger than that. I just didn’t quite know how to tell you.”
A furrow tugs at my brow again. I can remember one of the Mother’s Three telling me my face would stay that way forever if I didn’t stop scowling. “What do you mean?”
“I’d connected with an underground of sorts.
A group set up to help women and children and…
nymphs. The vulnerable who were being abused by husbands or family members, or who’d been brought to Helgate against their will, held in slavery.
We had a chain going that smuggled them out of the country.
My role was to procure funds from the Sons of Serenity’s treasury and to contact the man they had planted in the Magistrate who could forge traveling papers or documents of release by masters for slaves.
The morning I’d borrowed money from you…
we had an unexpected victim who needed help.
Needed passage out of the country, urgently.
She wouldn't have lasted another night, as she’d murdered her master who’d been raping and beating her for years.
But funds were low and it was not a day that I could take from the vault.
You saved a woman’s life, giving us the silver eyrir we needed without question. ”
I stare at her and know my mouth is hanging by the hinges of my jaw.
Kind, soft, pious Rowan…stealing from the Son’ and Sisters.
Risking her life to free nymph slaves. When I think about it, I realize I shouldn’t be so surprised, given her origin.
Rowan is familiar with cages. She’d been taken to Blossom House shortly after being rescued from her father.
He’d beaten her mother to death in front of her and her two younger brothers and then kept the children locked in a hound cage for a fortnight before a curious neighbor heard them crying from a cellar and brought help.
While her younger brothers had been adopted out to eager families, Rowan was ripped from them and given over to the mercy of the Sisters of Silence.
I shiver, remembering the frigid winter night she told me her story, something whispered in the dark as we held hands beneath a thin blanket.