Chapter 52 Nerina
Nerina
Covenant Ship
Two days.
Two days since I’d stolen Veyrion’s ship.
Two days of fighting canvas that weighed more than I did, of hauling sails meant for ten men.
Two days of the sea battering me hollow, until I felt no sturdier than the hull beneath my feet.
My body was a patchwork of bruises and cuts—knees split open from being thrown across the deck, one shoulder screaming from a rope that had torn free and nearly dragged me with it.
The rations were barely edible. Hardtack so stale it splintered my gums. Dried fish that tasted of rot.
I chewed and swallowed only enough to keep from collapsing, washing it down with water gone sour in its casks.
Hunger hollowed me. Thirst rasped my throat raw.
Fatigue pressed behind my eyes until every horizon blurred.
Ymirskald had spoiled me. I found myself missing warm stews thick with salt and spice, bread torn fresh, meals meant to be shared. I hated to admit it, but of all the things I’d left behind, I missed Veyrion’s cooking the most.
I had no right to be here. No skill. No crew. Only raw need and the memory of maps traced in candlelight—Alaric’s charts, Skeldrhall’s council table, whispered tides and storm routes burned into my mind. Ymirskald lay north. Thalassia, south.
So I sailed south, trusting stars I barely understood. The sea was merciless. Every shift of the deck rattled through my bones. I moved not with grace, but desperation. My hair hung wet and matted down my back, salt crusting the strands stiff. My clothes clung to me, heavy with brine and sweat.
On the horizon, the sky tore open in a snarl of black clouds.
Lightning clawed through them in jagged veins of white-blue light.
Thunder cracked so loud it rattled the mast, vibrating through the serpent ship’s bones.
Waves surged like cliffs of water, rising high enough to blot out the horizon.
Each swell slammed down with the roar of a collapsing mountain, the ship climbing and plunging, her timbers groaning, shields along the rails rattling loose.
Spray stung my face, salt slicing into raw skin.
I tightened my grip on the wheel—but the sea bucked harder, tearing at my hands until blood slicked the wood.
The wheel spun free, nearly smashing my fingers as the ship lurched sideways.
A wall of water crashed over the rails, drowning the deck, hurling me flat.
I staggered upright, coughing, clawing for the rigging.
Blood streaked the ropes, washed away in crimson ribbons with every wave.
My body shook with exhaustion, every muscle screaming for surrender.
I had seen storms like this before—on the Black Marrow.
But there, it took all of them: Alaric shouting orders, men swarming the rigging, ropes flying, curses and sweat and blood. An army against the sea.
Here there was only me. Two trembling hands. A body past its limit.
The wind shrieked, flattening waves into walls of spray.
Lightning split the sky, blinding. Thunder slammed through my chest. Heat flared across my forehead, cutting through the storm.
Silver light ghosted across the rigging.
The Quartz in my satchel thudded in rhythm—hard and steady, like a second heart.
Stand. Fight.
As lightning cracked overhead, I lifted a trembling hand from the wheel and willed.
The next wave that reared to crush me broke aside, parting around the prow instead of capsizing us.
Ropes that had whipped and snarled went slack for a breath—just long enough for me to wrench the sails back under control.
The wind shifted—not calmed, but caught in the canvas the way I needed it to, dragging the ship straight instead of spinning her broadside.
It wasn’t power I understood. It was instinct.
Desperation. The ocean was vast. Violent.
I seized the wheel again, torn palms slick, body shuddering. This time, I didn’t steer alone. The sea itself seemed to bear the serpent ship forward, heaving beneath me, driving us into the storm’s towering wall. Not away from it. Not around it.
Through.
The only chance—the impossible chance—was the eye. Shelter, if I could reach it.
Stars. Was I truly that desperate? Yes.
Magic responds to intention. Eira’s voice cut through my thoughts, fierce and certain. Focus. Give it shape.
The storm pressed in, furious. I closed my eyes and shoved my will into the wheel. Not muscle—command. Not a plea.
An order.
Hold.
My mark flared hotter, burning against my skin until I swore it left trails of light in the air. The quartz throbbed harder, its glow faint through the satchel’s leather, like a coal refusing to go out.
The sails snapped but filled instead of tearing.
Ropes shrieked, fraying, but held one heartbeat longer than they should have.
Lightning forked across the clouds, catching the serpent’s carved head until it gleamed silver-bright, fangs bared against the night.
Sparks danced along the ropes beneath my grip, vanishing into spray.
My mark burned hotter—a beacon in the dark.
I bared my teeth in a snarl. “Come on.”
I wrenched the wheel and drove the ship forward. The vessel climbed a mountain of water, mast bowing, every knot and spar groaning. My skin prickled with every pulse. We crested the wave—suspended, silent—and plunged. For one heartbeat, the world went still.
The storm struck back. The second wall rose faster. Taller. No hollow calm waiting beyond it. No mercy. The wave slammed sideways, snapping my grip loose. Wood screamed. The deck pitched hard to starboard. The mast cracked like bone. Water poured over the rail in a freezing, crushing sheet.
The ship did not climb. She rolled.
The wheel tore free. I slammed into the deck as the world inverted—sky, sea, sky—
and then the ship went under. Black water swallowed everything.
Cold punched through me as I was dragged down, limbs tangling in sail and rope. Pressure crushed my chest. Panic clawed through me wild and blinding—
I tore myself free, kicking hard, breaking the surface in a ragged gasp as wreckage churned around me. The ship lay broken and half-submerged, mast gone, sails shredded—no shelter left to claim. Everything was gone.
Veyrion is going to be so mad at me. I don't think I'll be able to talk my way out of destroying his ship.
The storm still raged. But through the chaos, I felt it. The pull.
The Veil had always been there—but between the artifact’s draw and whatever had been taken from me, it was only now that I could hear it clearly. A familiar current beneath the violence, threading through my bones, tugging south and deep.
Thalassia.
I was close. My mark burned once more, faint but insistent. The Quartz pulsed against my hip, steady as a heartbeat. The ship was lost. I would have to swim the rest of the way.
Hope sparked in my chest, almost painful.
Maliea couldn’t be far now. But with that hope came dread.
Thalassia didn’t only mean Maliea. It meant Meris.
It meant the Tidekeepers. It meant the ones who had caged me with lies.
Relief and fear twisted together, tangled as the currents beneath the wreckage.
Closer to my sister. Closer to the only answers I might ever get.
Closer to the people who had betrayed me.
Ships dotted the surface—dozens, maybe more. Dark silhouettes cut stark against the pale sky, sails like wings of carrion birds.
Poachers. Pirates. Gods knew who else hunted these waters.
My stomach twisted. If I could see them—could they see me?
I dove. Deep enough that the noise dulled. Deep enough that their shadows stretched thin.
Cold water swallowed me whole, the roar above muting into a distant, distorted thunder. Down here, the world softened—sound reduced to pulse and pressure, light fractured into wavering ribbons.
I kicked deeper. Harder.
Their shadows followed, long and skeletal across the water’s surface. Spears of light stabbed down between them. Searching.
The Veil’s pull wasn’t straight. It curved—toward the reefs, toward shallower water where nets could reach. I felt it too late: the wrong kind of stillness, the tremor in the current—
Then pain.
Fire, sudden and searing, crawled across my arm where something brushed me. I jerked back—too late.
Rough cords tangled tight, cinching fast as I twisted. At first I thought it was the rope’s bite, but then another line scraped my skin and agony flared—blistering, white-hot.
A strangled cry bubbled from my throat as instinct screamed don’t move. The water shifted, the weighted net pulling me to the surface. The cords kissed my tail—scalding.
Pain ripped through me.
My pulse thundered in my ears as the weave tightened, pinning my arms, crushing against my chest. Every brush of rope was fire beneath the water, angry welts blooming across my scales. I tried to stay still, tried not to struggle—but the more the net closed, the harder it was to resist.
Shadows warped above—dark hulls, men leaning over rails. The glint of harpoons and steel. My mark flared, heat burning across my brow. The Quartz throbbed in answer, pulsing fast, furious.
No. Not like this. Not caged again.
The net tightened. The cords burned hotter now, branding me where they pressed against my arms, my tail, the soft skin beneath my ribs. I clenched my teeth against the scream clawing up my throat, but bubbles still spilled free.
I forced my eyes shut. Forced myself to remember Eira’s voice.
Magic responds to intention. Focus. Give it shape.
I poured everything into one word.
Break.
For one heartbeat, I felt it—the flare of my mark, heat blooming in my blood, the Quartz rattling in my satchel. Saltwater thickened with the scent of ozone, metallic on my tongue, electric on my skin. A spark flickered. Tiny. Pathetic.
It snapped against one cord—and died. The ropes only tightened.
“No,” I choked, thrashing despite the pain. “Please—break!” Nothing answered.
No surge. No storm. Just burning rope and rising shadows as the men reeled me higher, the ship’s darkness closing overhead.
Inside me, doubt coiled tight in my chest.
But beneath it, something else roared. Not power. Not magic.
Defiance. I twisted harder, ignoring the burn, the agony, even as my body screamed for surrender.
The surface broke in a violent burst. Air slammed into my lungs, burning. Shouts rang overhead, harsh and eager.
“Haul it in, boys!”
Hands grabbed the net, dragging me over the rail. My body slammed onto the deck, splinters biting into my skin. The cords burned hotter in the open air, smoke curling where they dug into me.
Boots crowded close. Hands pinned the ropes, knees pressed into my side. “Hold it still.”
One of the men paused, squinting at my face. “Hold on.” He leaned closer, grime-dark fingers tipping my chin up.
“I know you,” he said slowly. “You’re the one from the posters.”
A murmur rippled through them. “The traitor,” another muttered. “Worth a king’s ransom.”
Shadeau. Even here, even now, I couldn’t outrun it.
The scarred man’s grin widened. “Saints above. We didn’t just net a mermaid,” His gaze dragged over me, greedy and sharp. “We caught a bounty.”
My chest seized. My mark flared weakly, silver light stuttering across my vision. I tried to reach for it—anything—but the magic faltered.
Laughter broke around me.
“Shackle her.”
Metal snapped closed around my wrists and tail. Agony surged.
The shackles burned like the net, smoke curling where iron kissed my skin, the scent of charred flesh rising sickly sweet. I bit down on a scream, chest heaving.
I wasn’t prey. I wasn’t coin. I wasn’t a traitor. Yet, pinned to the planks, my worth tallied in parts—that was exactly what I was to them. I thrashed again. The ropes hissed and smoked where my light kissed them, but the glow sputtered out, useless.
One of them tore the satchel free. My heart slammed. “Oi, what’s this?”
He dug inside, pulling free the shards that had cost me so much. The Crescent Quartz glittered faintly in his palm.
For one breath, I thought he felt it. Then he laughed. “Just rocks.”
“Shiny ones,” another muttered—then hurled them through the open sea.
“No—!” My cry tore out raw. The shards vanished into black water, gone.
Something inside me cracked. Their laughter grew louder as they dragged me across the deck, the net biting deeper with every pull. Iron chains clinked ahead. When they shoved me down the ladder into the hold, the stench hit first—salt, mildew, blood gone sour.
Darkness swallowed me whole. They wanted me broken. I would not give them that.
The hatch slammed shut. Darkness settled.
And then I heard it. Breathing. Chains shifting.
My eyes adjusted slowly.
Dozens of shapes surrounded me—tails, horns, wings bound in burning metal. Some stared hollow-eyed. Others looked away. But a few watched me closely. Curious.
The fire in my chest burned hotter. I wasn’t alone.
The ship rocked. Silence pressed in.
I curled inward, tail numb beneath the burning bands, feeling the prickle at my hips as fins began to unravel into flesh.
They didn’t know. They thought I was just another mermaid to sell whole, to turn in for the bounty.
But when the water dried—I would have legs.
And maybe… just maybe—
That would be my chance to escape.