Chapter 7 Nerina #2
Instead, he lowered the basin with uncharacteristic softness. “The cook heated this for you,” he said, tone measured, curiosity threaded through it.
He held out the clothes—a plain linen shirt and breeches, clearly borrowed from the crew. “They’re not exactly your size, but it’s all I could find.”
I stared at the offering, acutely aware he was watching. Embarrassment flared again, but I forced my chin high. “Thanks,” I muttered, reaching for them.
He didn’t move immediately, eyes flicking to the shake in my legs. “You’re stubborn, I’ll give you that,” he said, softer than before. Then, without waiting for a response, he pulled the chair out for me. “But maybe sit down before you fall flat on your face.”
Reluctantly, I listened. The basin’s warmth tempted me, but exhaustion won. Sitting—at least the way humans did—was strange. Mermaids tucked their tails beneath them, anchored and balanced by the curve of fin.
Humans sat with limbs folded and exposed.
I tried to imitate it, lowering myself carefully onto the chair.
My new legs didn’t fold right; my hips ached, muscles straining in ways they never had.
The surface was hard, unyielding—nothing like water’s gentle buoyancy.
I gripped the desk for balance, forcing myself to stay still through the discomfort, half afraid that if I moved wrong, my legs might simply give up.
I caught Alaric staring at me again. Watching.
“What?” I snapped, narrowing my eyes. “Haven’t you ever seen legs before?” He blinked, then gave a crooked smile. “Yes. Just not on a mermaid.”
I arched my brow. “Well, congratulations. You’ve witnessed history.”
“I’m not sure whether to be impressed… or very, very concerned,” he murmured.
“Right back at you,” I said, but the bite in my voice didn’t hide the tremor underneath.
He chuckled again, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
I held his gaze a heartbeat too long, then looked away—afraid he might see how close I was to unraveling.
My chest felt too tight. My skin didn’t feel like mine.
My voice barely belonged to me. I was scared.
Confused. Still bleeding on the inside from a change I didn’t ask for and didn’t know how to survive.
I focused on the basin, watching steam rise as warmth began to chase the cold from my skin. Alaric lingered another moment, his expression unreadable, before stepping back toward the door.
When it clicked shut, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.
Slowly, I reached for the cloth beside the basin and dipped it into steaming water.
The heat stung my fingers at first—a sudden shock against the numb cold under my skin—then softened into something almost soothing.
I ran the cloth over my arms, grime and salt washing away in streaks.
Each pass brought a small measure of relief, easing the ache in my muscles.
I hesitated when I moved to my legs—still unsteady, still alien.
Warm water on this new skin felt strange, too sensitive, and I flinched before I could stop myself.
It felt like discovering a part of myself I’d never known, each stroke both grounding and disorienting.
The herbs’ scent—earthy and bitter—filled the air, mingling with salt still clinging to my hair.
When I felt somewhat clean, I reached for the clothes Alaric had brought. They were coarse and ill-fitting—the linen shirt far too large, the breeches stiff and unfamiliar—but better than nothing.
Dressing proved slower than expected. The fabric fought me at every turn, and the buttons—small, stubborn things—no doubt designed by someone who hated mortals. I fumbled with them, fingers clumsy and uncooperative, hissing out in quiet frustration as I tried again. And again.
Eventually, I managed something passable. My movements were awkward as I adjusted to the limitations of this new form, the weight of fabric unfamiliar against my skin. By the time I finished, I leaned heavily on the desk, exhaustion pressing down like a tide I couldn’t quite outrun.
My mind drifted to my mother’s stories about humans. Their greed. Their cruelty. Hunting mermaids for scales, tears—anything they could harvest for power or wealth. Humans have always been painted as monsters, dangerous and unrelenting.
Still, Alaric didn’t fit the picture. He’d given me blankets. Water. Clothing.
He hadn’t hurt me, hadn’t tried to take anything from me—yet. But what did he plan to do with me? Why had he saved me? The questions churned, relentless, leaving me more shaken than the storm that had delivered me.
That’s when my eyes caught something amid the clutter—a small, jagged piece of quartz resting atop a stack of worn maps. It pulsed faintly, glow subtle but rhythmic.
A heartbeat.
The rhythm matched something deep within me—a thrum I couldn’t name. My hand hovered over it instinctively, drawn by the connection. As my fingers neared, the energy intensified, a low hum resonating in the air.
Not sound. Sensation.
Vibration slipping beneath my skin and settling there, quiet but insistent. My mark tingled, warmth barely noticeable until it aligned with the quartz’s pulse. The two beat in tandem.
Unease rose—threaded with curiosity.
The air around the artifact shimmered faintly, distorting the edges of the maps beneath it, refracting light in a way that made the room feel briefly unreal—me and the artifact locked in an unspoken exchange.
Then the quartz pulsed brighter—a sudden flare that flooded the desk with light. The thrumming deepened, urgent, vibrating through the wooden planks and up my spine.
It pulsed again—brighter. Steadier.
The ache beneath my skin eased. Just a fraction. Enough to notice.
Whatever this was, it wasn’t responding to the storm. It wasn’t responding to my magic.
It was responding to me—recognition, like something returned.
A flicker of warmth ghosted beneath my skin—subtle, then gone. The hair on my arms rose.
The glow dimmed, the rhythm settling back into its steady beat.
I stared at it a long moment, heart still racing, unsure what I’d just witnessed.
Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.
Careful not to stumble, I stepped away from the desk. Alone now, I needed to think—and more than that, I needed to act. I scanned the quarters, pausing at every drawer, every cabinet, every seam in the wooden walls.
I was searching for something—anything—that could get me out.
A hatch. A porthole. A vent. A loose board. Somewhere I could slip through without Alaric or his crew noticing.
But the room was solid, ship-shape, clearly cared for. Nothing obvious. Nothing easy.
Of course it wouldn’t be easy.
I moved quietly, testing latches, peering behind hanging maps, fingertips skimming the edges of furniture. All while my mind spun in frantic circles.
Had I made a mistake?
Leaving Thalassia had felt necessary—urgent. But now… Now I wasn’t so sure.
In Thalassia, I’d been trapped. Controlled. Watched. But at least I’d been safe.
Here, I was alone. Changed. Unrecognizable even to myself.
Aboard a strange ship, with foreign limbs I didn’t know how to use, and a pirate whose motives I couldn’t begin to guess. Was I his prisoner? His curiosity? His bounty?
How long until my mother realized I was gone? Maybe she already had. Maybe the Sentinels were already scouring the currents for any sign of me. Maybe they were closer than I expected.
Or maybe…Maybe this was the only place they wouldn’t look. Nobody would search a pirate ship for a mermaid.
And no one would think of looking for me as something close to human.
The thought struck hard, knocking the air from me. What if this ship—this haunted vessel filled with strangers and shadows—was exactly where I was meant to be? Not because it was safe. I had no way of knowing that.
But it might be the one place I could disappear until they docked. Then I could slip away—quiet, unseen—and find my footing on land.
Maybe then I’d find answers. Maybe then I’d reclaim a version of myself I could recognize. Maybe I was safe here. Maybe I wasn’t.
Either way, I needed to know why the pirate saved me—and what it would cost.