Chapter 53 Nerina
Nerina
Poacher's Ship
Time passed differently here. The dark pressed close, thick as silt, broken only when the lantern swung low enough to catch the faint glitter in my shackles.
That was when I noticed her.
She sat slumped against the far wall, knees drawn up, wrists and ankles bound.
Her flesh was living green—smooth in places, rough in others, like bark worn thin by age.
Dark veins branched beneath the surface, slow and deliberate, something ancient still grew there.
Dew clung to her collarbone and throat, catching the light before slipping free.
Translucent fins veiled the edges of her long ears, gossamer-thin and veined like dragonfly wings. They quivered faintly with each movement. Her hair fell in damp, tangled coils, threaded with roots, twigs, and flecks of bronze, like fallen leaves caught in current.
Her eyes found me—pools of amber shifting to pale green, deep as eddies. A soft voice stirred from the dark. “Hello.”
I jolted, chains clattering. “You can speak,” I whispered.
A wry tilt touched her mouth. “As can you.” Her voice carried the cadence of rushing water—light, but edged with weariness. “I’m Moriko.”
I hesitated, then nodded. “Nerina.”
“I’ve never seen a mermaid with legs before,” she said, studying me. It wasn’t a question.
“Me either.”
Silence settled between us, filled only by the creak of timbers and the slap of waves against the hull.
“What are you?” The words slipped before I could stop them.
Her mouth curved in something that was not a smile. “Nerazhim. River-born.”
The name rippled through me, strange and old. I had read the stories once—spirits who walked like elves, whose rivers remembered every drop spilled upon their banks. I had never believed they were real.
“We have to get out of here,” I whispered.
A quiet laugh answered me—not cruel, almost kind. “Brave one.” Her eyes caught what little light there was, molten gold in the dark. “It’s no use. These shackles aren’t iron alone. They’re laced with Silver Salt.”
The name surfaced with startling clarity, dragging memory with it.
Shadeau—narrow streets and leaning stone, my sleeves brushing my wrists with every step.
Veyrion’s grip closing around my arm, not rough but unyielding, fabric hauled back before I could pull away.
The look on his face when he saw what the salt had done to me.
A stone well tucked between buildings. Cold water splashing into a basin.
Him kneeling before me, hands suddenly careful—almost reverent—as he lowered my wrists into the water.
Silver Salt. A poison meant to weaken without killing. To break you down piece by piece. I felt it now—not just the burn, but the deeper silence beneath it. No song answering back. No current. No pull of power. Just something essential being smothered. Strangled quiet.
I tugged uselessly at the manacles, heart hammering. The metal answered with a faint, merciless spark, the burn flaring hot and familiar. “There has to be a way out of these.”
Moriko tilted her head, the faint shimmer of her skin catching the gloom like riverlight through reeds. “Spoken like the sea itself. Always pushing. Never content with stillness.”
“I’m not content with chains.”
Her golden eyes softened. For a moment, I swore I heard water running—not here in the suffocating dark, but in her voice. In her memory. “Nor am I." Her voice wavered on that last word, and the weight of it settled deep in my chest.
“Then we’ll find a way out.”
A stir of sound drew my attention. Across the hold, a Korrathi pressed its antlered head against the wall, breaths rattling like reeds in wind.
A sea-elf knotted her fingers, humming broken syllables that died each time the shackles sparked.
In the far corner, something scaled and reptilian curled tighter into itself, weeping low. None of them looked at us.
The fire in me flared hotter. I would not rot here. I would not let them rot here. I turned back to Moriko, my voice steel-edged. “If the salt silences magic, then we don’t fight with magic. We fight with something else.”
For the first time, a real smile touched her lips—small, but alive. “A crack in the dam.”
“Yes.” My pulse quickened. “Water always finds a way through.”
The night dragged like an anchor through my veins. Chains burned. Creatures stirred, then fell silent again. Somewhere above the boards, laughter bled through like oil on water.
I didn’t sleep. Couldn’t. Every time my eyes closed, I felt the shackles searing—felt the salt pressing its silence into my blood like a thumb over a throat.
But morning came all the same.
The hatch opened with a groan, spilling a thin blade of light into the hold. Dust motes drifted in the beam, turning the manacles at my wrists into faint, cruel stars.
Boots descended the ladder—heavy, careless. The one with the scar on his cheek lugged a sloshing barrel between him and another man. They grunted as they set it down, cursing at the weight, then shuffled forward with ladles and bowls. Rations to keep us alive, nothing more, nothing less.
Across the dim, Moriko met my eyes. Her eyes burned gold in the half-light—steady. Watchful. Today, that look said. Today we are free.
I forced myself to sit still as the scarred man drew closer, keys jingling at his hip. Every clink of metal sent a hot spike through my chest. I pressed my palms flat to the boards to stop the tremor in my hands and reminded myself: water always finds a crack.
The scarred man sloshed water into a dented tin, tugging at the ladle with a curse. The keys at his belt brushed his thigh every time he bent, just out of reach, taunting. I kept my eyes down, feigning weariness, though my pulse hammered so hard I swore it rattled the chains.
A sound stirred across the space—soft, melodic, almost a hum.
Moriko’s head was bowed, but her lips moved in the faintest curve of song. Not power—not true magic. The shackles saw to that. Just a thread of rhythm, low and human enough to pass for mindless muttering.
The guard scowled. “Quiet, river witch.” He kicked her ankle, spilling water. The shackles sparked and she hissed, but the song broke into a ragged laugh.
The other poacher chuckled as they dragged the barrel closer, irritated with her. The scarred one bent again—and this time the keys swung forward, catching the light.
Close. So close.
I watched carefully, memorizing the angle of his belt, the loop that held the ring, the way the keys swung on the arc of his movement. One mistake. One slip. And they’d be ours.
I glanced at Moriko. She hadn’t looked at me once, but the ghost of a smile tugged at her mouth.
A crack in the dam.
The poacher grumbled, slopping another ladle into a bowl. Water splashed across the boards, seeping between the cracks into the bilge. He cursed, wiping his hands on his trousers.
“Thirsty, are you?” Moriko murmured, mild—mocking without sharpness.
The keys swayed loosely in motion, hitting his thigh. My pulse leapt.
Moriko shifted, chains scraping softly as she leaned toward the barrel. “Spill a little more, sailor,” she said sweetly, her voice carrying that river-lilt of ridicule.
The man snarled and kicked her bowl toward her. It slid across the boards, water sloshing over her hands.
She caught it, unbothered by the bruise already blooming at her ankle. Her eyes flicked to me for the briefest instant.
Now.
I let my body sag against the chains, my chest rising in shallow, uneven pulls. Salt clogged my throat, thick and metallic, as though the air itself had turned brine. I coughed—once, twice—hard enough to rattle my ribs.
As I did, I drew my knees upward, folding in on myself as if from pain.
Ankles crossed. Thighs pressed tight. I curled small, shrinking into the shadows cast by the hull above.
In the dim lanternlight filtering through the grates, the illusion would hold.
I let my head hang forward, hair spilling like a curtain to veil the rest.
The other guard turned. “What’s wrong with that one?”
The scarred man bent closer, frowning as though debating whether I was worth the trouble.
His keys swung forward again—just enough to brush the floorboards.
Moriko shifted her foot, nudging her empty tin so it clattered across the planks.
The sound cracked through the hold like a snapped rope.
The guard cursed and reached to shove it aside. The keys swung wider, dangling.
Almost within reach. My fingers twitched against the chains.
Not yet. One heartbeat too soon and we’d lose everything.
The keys brushed the boards. Close enough I could hear the ring clink with each sway.
I let my head loll forward again, hair falling across my face—the picture of weakness. Another cough tore through me, harsh and deliberate. My chains rattled as I dragged one hand toward the floor as though reaching for balance.
The scarred man sneered. “Pathetic little fish. Won’t last a week." He leaned lower, just to mock me. And that was all I needed.
My fingertips brushed the boards, curling slow—deliberate. A single link of chain caught the edge of the keyring, nudging it the smallest distance.
Masked beneath another rasping cough.
The keys slid, scraping faintly against the planks. The guard didn’t notice. His eyes were on my face, smug at my weakness.
Moriko’s laugh rose—soft, sudden—just enough to cover the sound as I hooked the ring with my chain and drew it closer, inch by inch, until cold metal kissed my palm.
My heart hammered.
I forced my body limp and still, hiding the keys beneath my bound hands. As if my fingers weren’t shaking with victory.
Moriko’s eyes flicked to me once—bright as sunlight on water. She didn’t smile. She didn’t move.