Chapter 13
Jarin was grateful that Artus could no longer access Ferrante and his prophetic words. The captain hadn’t yet realized that Riella was valuable on a grander level. He was too focused on finding the amulet, and had only wanted to earn a pouch of gold from selling her.
If the siren fought on Jarin’s side during the mutiny, that might tip the scales of victory in his favor, thus altering the destiny of the clan like Ferrante said she would. All in all, Jarin felt sure he’d decoded the Seer’s prediction correctly, and could use it to his advantage. Artus would fall, that very night.
The docks were as crowded as ever, but as dusk approached, the mood changed. Everyone was in a rush to either set sail or finish unloading cargo. The stallholders packed up, and the beggars migrated uphill to the tavern district. No one was more generous than a drunken sailor stopped at port for the night.
At first, he could see no reason for the horn. Against the scarlet late afternoon sky, his crew mates hauled the anchor and climbed the rigging, preparing to set sail. But when he looked closer, he realized there were fewer crew members than usual, and the men were in a great rush.
Riella stopped dead, pointing at the ship.
“What’s wrong with that boy?” she asked in an uncertain voice.
Drue was hobbling along the gangway, holding his ribcage.
“That’s the cabin boy,” replied Jarin, a sense of doom descending on him like a dark cloud. “He’s on my side.”
The commander ran to meet Drue at the end of the gangway, where the boy sagged against the railing. Up close, his face was stained with tears and blood. The back of his grubby shirt was shredded and streaked red. He’d been flogged.
“Artus knows,” said Drue, fresh tears springing to his brown eyes. “I’m sorry. He made me tell him everything. About the mutiny, the royal ship at Skull Cave. I tried to hold out, but then he let Terrick?—”
Jarin held up his hand for silence, anger flaming in his gut. “He was about to find out, anyway.”
“It’s Berolt sounding the horn,” said Drue. “We hoped you’d get back before Artus left.”
“Left?” repeated Jarin. “What do you mean?”
Before Drue could answer, a short, sharp whistle rang out, cutting through the ceaseless ghostly drone of the horn. Two ships down, Artus waved from the deck of a merchant schooner, grinning like a jester. Terrick and Lovel and at least ten other crew mates were pulling the anchor and setting sail.
One of them hoisted a dark flag up the mast. Only then, Jarin realized the Dark Tide Clan flag was missing from the Pandora. They’d stolen another ship.
Artus cupped his hands around his mouth, amplifying his gleeful voice. “You wanted to be captain of the Pandora? It’s all yours!”
He dropped his hands and roared with laughter, his crew joining in.
Jarin gritted his teeth. This was so much worse than Artus discovering the mutiny. The captain loved the Pandora—he’d only abandon the ship if it was severely compromised.
Riella tapped her talons on his arm. “Uh, why’s that patrol coming down here?”
Sure enough, a cavalcade of royal soldiers rode on horseback toward the docks, from farther up the hill. Either Artus leaked the scuttling of the royal ship, or that soft-handed kid in the brig was faster at untying knots than Jarin had reckoned. He and his men and the siren were about to be ambushed.
“Artus tortured and killed many on the royal ship,” said Drue, his face turning from white to gray. “If the patrol catches us, we’ll hang.”
With a snarl, Jarin watched Artus depart in his schooner. The captain gave a mock salute as the vessel picked up speed on the glossy blue water, gliding to the safety of the open sea.
“We ought to set sail, no?” asked Riella mildly, still eyeing the incoming cavalcade of soldiers. “The mutiny was a success, strictly speaking, so you must take me to the Black Cliffs.”
“Oh, must I? Now is not?—”
Drue coughed. “There’s one other thing. Lovel put an axe through the hull before they took off. Ulyss is down there trying to patch it up.”
Repressing the urge to roar in frustration, Jarin hooked Drue under one arm while Riella took the other side. Together, they hauled the bleeding cabin boy on board and Jarin dragged the gangway in behind them.
“To Hieros Isle!” he hollered at his crew. “Fast as you can, lads!”
Then, he addressed Riella. “We’ll take Drue to the infirmary.”
The boy was losing blood and badly needed patching up.
Below deck, a single porthole lit the barebones infirmary. The only supplies were a box of tattered bandages and ancient ointments, but that’d have to do until they could get Drue ashore. Riella helped the cabin boy remove what was left of his shirt.
“I can do this,” she said without looking up. “Go.”
Relieved that Drue was in good hands, maybe, Jarin hurtled upstairs. The boy’s injuries wouldn’t matter if the whole bloody ship went down. The vessel, which had begun to pick up pace, gave a sudden creaking lurch as he reached the deck.
The shore rapidly disappeared in the bronze dusk.
The royal cavalcade was on the docks, a few of the horsemen dismounting where the Pandora had been just minutes ago. A solider watched the ship through a spyglass, while the others argued between themselves. Jarin wagered they were deciding whether or not to commandeer a vessel and give chase.
The royal guardsmen would surely realize they were no match for Dark Tide pirates when it came to sailing. Night would soon fall, and finding a ship in the dark was a fool’s errand.
But then, the Pandora also had a damaged hull, which made her an easier quarry. Did the royal patrol know about the damage? Jarin prayed they did not.
The deck lurched again, more violently. Jarin and the crew braced against the rocking with instinctive ease. Sometimes he thought traversing the deck of a ship was easier than walking on land—in more ways than one. On the water, he felt like he belonged. Not in the way of a siren, of course, but in the way of an outsider.
Once he was satisfied the soldiers wouldn’t pursue, he went below deck. Ulyss, the boatswain, was in the bilge with Berolt, a lantern swinging wildly from a nail on the wall. The two men frantically hammered boards over a splintered hole in the hull, through which seawater gushed. Left unattended, the hole was large enough to sink them within the hour.
“Evening, Captain,” said Berolt with a grin when he caught sight of Jarin. He was drenched from head to toe. “Fancy a bath?”
“Think we caught it in time,” said Ulyss, puffing. “The Pandora’s tough.”
“Aye,” said Jarin. “We aren’t drowning tonight.”
He worked alongside his men, sloshing through the bilge with boards and hammers and nails. They reinforced the hull until the leaking had slowed to a trickle.
Ulyss sat back, wiping his forehead with the back of his arm. The dreadlocked, dark-skinned boatswain had once been a master shipbuilder in the kingdom of Hatara. He left his homeland after he was caught pilfering a sapphire necklace from a noblewoman.
Artus discovered him in Port Hyacinth, where he’d been trading his ship-building skills for food and lodging, and promptly inducted him into the Dark Tide Clan.
“We’ll be out of action for a while,” he said to Jarin with a grimace. “She’ll need some major repairs. Where’re we headed now?”
“Hieros Isle.”
The boatswain nodded. “That’ll work. Plenty of space there.”
“How long will repairs take, do you reckon?”
“A week, maybe more.”
So much for getting Riella to the Black Cliffs anytime soon. Whether she liked it or not, she was about to be stranded on a desert island along with the rest of the crew.
Jarin sighed, rubbing his face. “Probably for the best, with the royal guard after us. We could stand to lie low. Let Artus cause mayhem with his new vessel, as he’s sure to do, and draw their ire.”
“Aye.”
Night had fallen when Jarin returned to the deck. He inhaled deeply, the fresh salty air clearing his lungs. A million diamonds sparkled in the sky. The slender crescent moon spilled silvery light across the ocean.
The crew were at ease, drinking and eating and joking around. Once the danger passed, a celebration was always called for—usually in the form of rum and tall tales. Their raucous conversations were punctuated by the great sails flapping rhythmically, like the wings of a giant bird.
Jarin considered the new reality. The Dark Tide Clan dividing meant the end of an era, and hopefully the beginning of a better one.
But Artus would want him dead, there was no question. Jarin, of course, could not be so easily killed. The older man would be even more singleminded in getting his hands on that blasted amulet now.
Jarin found Riella at the bow, her forearms resting on the railing and her face turned to the sky. Her platinum hair streamed behind her in the wind current, almost making it appear like she was underwater. She leveled her blue gaze at him, making his heart double its pace.
Had she bewitched him with siren charm? Sure felt like it. Back at Madame Quaan’s, when they were hiding from the guards, he’d never desired anyone so much in his life.
Why’d she have to run her tongue over his mouth? The last thing he needed right now was to be lusting after a bloody siren, to whom he owed death for stabbing him in the heart.
But then, he wasn’t exactly innocent. He’d gotten her on the bed in the first place. And he’d do it again, who was he kidding?
“If you’ve cast some siren witchcraft on me,” he said in a gruff voice, by way of greeting. “You need to stop it.”
“I haven’t done anything to you. Do you think I’d waste the energy?”
He scratched his stubbled cheek. “Right. Well.”
“The cabin boy sleeps,” she said, arching her brow at him. “His wounds will heal.”
Shame dumped over Jarin. The poor kid had been flogged to shreds, and all Jarin could think about was Riella’s soft pink tongue sliding over his lips. He was a scoundrel.
“Thank you.” He leaned on the rail next to her.
“I’ve never tended to a male human before,” she said thoughtfully. “The compassion I felt for him surprised me.”
“Why’d it surprise you?”
She shrugged. “I guess I never thought about men feeling vulnerable before. It didn’t occur to me. Although, you don’t, of course,” she added. “You’re invulnerable.”
“Just because I can’t die doesn’t mean I can’t be destroyed,” he murmured, thinking of his mother and her fate. Though she lived, she was destroyed beyond recognition, and by her own hand, too. “Sometimes, death can be a mercy.”
Riella’s voice softened. “Do you wish you could die? Would you give the protection up, if you could?”
“It’s not as simple as wishing I could die. I wish I had something I’d give my life for.”
“Everyone wishes that, don’t they?”
“Not everyone. But the ones worth knowing do.”
They were quiet for some time, the bow slicing through the dark water. It was incredible to think that Riella lived down there, just days ago. If he was honest with himself, he held a private, selfish desire that she’d not regain her tail anytime soon. He wasn’t ready to let her go yet.
Then, he remembered his conversation with Ulyss. “I’ve got some bad news for you. We’ll be stuck on an island while the crew fixes the hull. A week, give or take.”
Riella’s face fell. “A week? But Seraphine could be dead by then!”
“I’m sorry. Nothing about today went to plan.”
She sighed. “I suppose Polinth needs her alive. That might tip the odds in my favor.”
Jarin’s so-called invulnerable heart flared with warmth for the siren. She was so determined that he almost wished he could make her a Dark Tide pirate. If only the rest of the crew wouldn’t mutiny if he tried.
He nudged her. “From what I saw today, my money’s on you.”
She smiled sadly and looked to the horizon, where the obsidian-dark silhouette of Hieros Isle loomed against the twinkling navy sky.