Chapter 20
Chapter twenty
My death slithers in time with my strokes as I row, the ribbons a shade darker than the inky water slapping against the small boat.
The shadow of the Indomnitus looms large overhead, the light of the second star filtering through the billowing black sails.
Lisian bobs beside me along with two of her sisters, their presence only detectable by the occasional glint of their gemstones in the starlight.
I secure the oars, a familiar heat lighting in my veins as I gaze up at my ship.
It has been so long since her serpentine curves sliced through the water; so long since those sails have inflated with the winds of adventure.
The sight of it elicits a fire inside me I thought long extinguished—the burn of adventure. Of possibility.
It was a feeling I chased like a fiend all those centuries ago, as I sailed through different sunsets and foreign civilizations. I lived for the high of the fight, for the unknown lingering behind every corner, savoring every sunrise because it might be the last.
When the Aeternalis burned my ship, I thought I’d never feel those things again. If only I’d known, I’d find something far more potent in the arms of a feral woman with a wild mouth and an even wilder attitude.
The feeling of possibility threads through me now—the sense of lingering on the edge of something—but it is heavier than it was centuries ago, accompanied as it is by my vengeance.
If tonight is my last, I’ll spend it carving every bit of my justice into the Aeternalis for daring to desecrate my sacred spaces.
He will learn exactly what it means to steal from death.
I inhale a sharp breath, willing my ribbons to calm even as they strain toward my ship. Soon, I tell them, before nodding to Lisian.
The siren’s returning smile is eerily inhuman, and though its savage edge sends a shiver racing up my spine, I take it as her agreement to see our bargain through.
“Remember who you are, Niko.” Lisian’s voice is a melodic hiss over the surface of the water. “King of Carrion. There is nothing you do not kill. Nothing you cannot ruin.”
“Why, Lisian…what a shameless flatterer you are.” I shoot her a cruel grin.
She doesn’t return it. “I only mean to remind you. I have seen your truth. You are the end of everything. Do not forget it, or you will be the one ruined.”
A vicious part of me feels like snapping at her—like releasing my death and allowing it to drink every bit of life from her for the simple infraction of assuming I could ever forget who I truly am. For how could I, when every touch is agony, every movement a reminder?
I turn away before I slice her throat. Grappling hook in hand, I stand to assess the height of my ship.
Then, planting my feet, I send the hook flying upward toward the Indomnitus’ rails.
It’s been over two hundred years since I’ve boarded a ship this way, and it is obvious.
My throw is far too short, and the hook bounces harmlessly off the hull before falling back to the water with a splash.
Irritation prickles beneath my collar, and with a curse under my breath, I pull the hook back into the rowboat.
I dry it off before readjusting my grip.
This time, when I release the hook, I also release my death.
Together, they soar silently up the expanse of the ship, landing deftly behind the railing.
I tug on the rope ensuring the hook is secure, before heaving a breath and thanking the star above I kept up with swordplay while on the mainland, as my palms would be far too soft to endure the climb otherwise.
As it is, the rope rubs against callouses as I leverage my bare feet against the planks and begin the slow climb upward.
The motion of it is rhythmic, ingrained in my body somewhere far beneath conscious memory. And though my muscles shake with the exertion as my death writhes excitedly around me, for once, my body does not fail me, carrying me to the top just as it did on so many worlds before.
I haul myself over the rail, landing soundlessly on the deck, chest bare but for a simple bandolier slung over one shoulder. For a moment, it feels almost like the last two centuries of agony never happened—like if I blink, Sam will appear at my side, asking for coordinates.
I push the thoughts away with ruthless intent, as I’ve learned well the price of dwelling on dreams. It is only my will that matters, as the universe will only give up what I carve out with my sword. I will make it bend and bow; I will force it to give back what is mine.
I signal to the sirens drifting in the shadows below, and a moment later, their song floats up from the sea. Their harmony washes over the shining black deck and slips between the planks into the depths of the ship. I follow silently, pulling the hatch open and climbing down the steep stairs.
When the island brought my ship up from its watery grave to torment me, this deck had been a tomb.
A grave of emptiness, a reminder of the death and destruction I wrought.
Now, it has been slung with hammocks just as it’d been when I led a full crew.
According to Marina, Willa had managed to save Caelum’s children from the Aeternalis’ influence, but it appears he’s been busy in the meantime for many of the hammocks are occupied once again.
Icy rage fills me as I take in the sleeping forms of at least twenty children of differing ages and origins.
I knew in the week since Willa bested him, Peter wouldn’t simply lie low and regroup.
He possesses the willful determination of a child—adults have been beaten down by the world, by previous disappointment and fears of failure, but children are not hindered by any of those things.
They move through the world like it has never touched them, their innocence and belief a shield more powerful than their past experiences.
The Aeternalis is much the same: he does not consider defeat, and therefor, he is rarely defeated.
Until he met me.
The siren’s song shimmers in the air, caressing the children until each of them rouse awake. Hair mussed, they blink blearily into the dim lantern light as if under a trance. The song crescendos, a playful melody of hope and mischief, and one by one, they begin to hop down from their hammocks.
The older ones help the younger ones, some toting toddlers and babies on their hips as they begin up the steps to the upper deck.
I smile to myself, watching them all disappear through the hatch with satisfaction.
A siren’s song is near impossible to resist for adults; children, with their soft minds, so open to the world around them, would never be able to weather their call, no matter the hold the Aeternalis keeps on their dreams.
I follow behind them, ensuring that each of them climbs down the rope ladder to the vessel below. When the last one clambers into the boat, I turn away, knowing Lisian and her sisters will swim them to safety according to the terms of our bargain.
I release the hold I keep on my death with a sigh of relief.
The ribbons crawl over my skin and rot seeps from my heart to my veins, washing away my humanity in a deluge of ice.
I feel only the cold of the end, only the want of blood and ruin.
My nerves burn and my lungs scream with every breath as I lose my name to the void, lose my heart to decay—lose hold of everything but death’s jealousy.
It batters against the cage of my ribs, slices through my skin, pours from my tear ducts as I thrust open the door to the captain’s quarters.
But when I take in the room through the rotted haze of bloodlust—a desk littered with my hand drawn maps, bookshelves filled with titles from every corner of the universe—I find nothing.
The Aeternalis isn’t here.