Chapter Thirty-Three Zephyra #2
The sea doesn’t drain all at once, in some peaceful evaporation; I have to fold it.
Using more magic than I ever have before, I create a spiral at the very center of the trench.
A maelstrom. Deep, deep below. It should be harder than this, a small and distant part of my brain notes, yet the sea responds as if part of my body, as if it’s just been waiting for me to ask all along.
The surrounding waters fold in on themselves, contracting and compacting over and over and over again, and then—
Then everything breaks.
The ship lurches with a violent, earsplitting creak, and my stomach pitches with it. Wood splinters. Riggings snap. People scream.
The deck tilts beneath us as the stern lifts and the bow drops—plunging us straight into the vortex below.
“Hold on!” Amaya bellows, attempting to ease our fall with her winds.
But we’re moving too fast. The ship is falling apart.
And I—I’m on the fucking plank. I’m hardly on the ship at all.
Arion reaches out, grabbing me again and hauling me against him as his wings flare out to shield us.
To anchor us. He snatches a loose rope, using our momentum to swing back to the deck, even as the others flail.
Gavriall vanishes behind a wall of foam-white seawater.
Vesper tumbles down the stairwell, shrieking.
Amaya stands at the helm, desperate to control this, but the mast splits down the center.
It ruptures. Half begins to keel over her, and her first mate—Felix—throws her out of the way a split second before the mast crashes on top of him instead.
I hear the brutal collision of wood against bone.
Smell a faint hint of copper as blood spills.
“Is he… is he…” I can’t get the question out between my breaths. I can’t even move. Arion has hauled me onto the deck, pinning me down with his body and cradling me beneath him. Protecting me, even as the sea continues to swirl at my command.
“Felix!” Amaya screams.
“Shit!” Gavriall’s voice comes out ragged, breathless. “He’s bleeding. He’s not waking up—”
Arion doesn’t stand. He doesn’t try to help them.
In this moment, there is only us. In his eyes, we are the only ones who matter.
I should fault him for it. If I were a better person, I’d shove him off me and crawl toward the others, try to salvage what’s left of Felix after he sacrificed himself for Amaya.
My stomach contracts, clenches, as I remain exactly where I am beneath Arion.
Because I am not a better person. That’s why we’re here. That’s why all this is happening.
The sea spins faster, tighter, collapsing inward, and with a thunderous bang, it yanks the ship downward in one final lurch before we land in a semi-obliterated heap at the base of the trench.
And finally—silence.
The waters have vanished, imploded on themselves, and the rest of the trench sits still and lifeless—eerily empty—around us.
There is just the moan of the hull. Just the sound of groaning wood and someone—one of the crew?—whimpering.
I peel myself from Arion’s arms and look around.
Felix is unconscious, his hair matted with blood and his leg trapped under the mast. Gavriall cradles his head while Vesper breathes fast and shallow above them, clutching her side.
Her legs have remained. She didn’t get wet.
But her skin bleeds and a large splinter spears her hip.
Amaya stands from where she was thrown, soaked to the bone and utterly frozen save for her eyes as they rove the ship.
We’re all alive. Barely.
“An ominous omen, to be sure,” the skull chitters beside Felix’s unconscious body, “mind your hearts and beware of her.”
Amaya kicks her away with a growl. A few of her crew rush toward Felix, freeing his leg before bandaging his wounds. He’ll survive. For now. In fact, he’s the lucky one. Lying here, unconscious, without needing to continue on.
“Fuck,” Gavriall curses, rising on unsteady feet. “That was—”
“Let’s just do this already.” Vesper storms past him, brandishing a sword from the bandolier strapped across her chest. “Warlock, dry the mermaid. We’re wasting time.”
“It’s been… seconds,” Gavriall sputters. “What do you mean we’re wasting time?”
Because she knows, I think, my throat constricting at what we’re about to do.
She knows how much danger we’re in if the sorcerer finds us here.
But I don’t say that. Can’t find it in me to speak, only breathe.
Just keep breathing. Arion moves to dry me with the magic he definitely shouldn’t be using, but Amaya beats him to it.
She stalks forward, around us, to the railing and peers out over the trench.
With a wave of her hand, hot winds dry my scales.
Instantly, I transform back. Long legs bare beneath my skirt. I climb to my feet hastily.
Amaya doesn’t acknowledge me. Only her crew. “Ready your weapons. We don’t know what truly awaits once we set foot off this ship. We need to be prepared for everything. Move in units of four. Do not let your crew out of your sight. If we lose one another, meet back here at dawn.”
“About our ship,” a young woman with a shaved head and pitch-black brows says. “How are we going to leave? It’s decimated.”
Amaya glances over her shoulder, her feline expression sharp. “We have a warlock on our side. When we return, he will repair it with his godly magic. Won’t you, Arion?”
“Yes.” Arion nods without question, without hesitation. He joins Amaya, and together—side by side—they appear as two fierce warriors, an almost palpable air of anticipation crackling between them. My stomach roils. “It won’t be a problem.”
Amaya grins, heedless of the horrors below. “Good.”
Goddess. We really need to find that fucking heart.
My limbs refuse to cooperate when I try to step forward, and instead I hesitate, feeling Vesper move beside me.
Though she doesn’t speak, she glances at me, her navy gaze wide and worried.
Any and all remaining pretense falls away from us.
This isn’t just any other theft. This is more dangerous than anything we’ve done before.
She takes my hand. Surprisingly, she squeezes it.
And then she lets it fall. “Great luck, Zephyra,” she whispers.
“Great luck,” I murmur back.
Amaya joins us in the next second, fingering the sharp tip of her dagger. “What will be our first concern when we breach the castle?” she asks us.
“The guards,” I say at the same time Vesper says, “Everything.”
Amaya’s eyes flick between us before she nods once, as if satisfied. She has no idea though. None of them do. Not even Vesper, who seems to grasp the danger of our situation better than anyone else.
If we survive the night, it’ll be a goddess-damned miracle.
Swallowing hard, I force myself to say, “Let’s go.” And together, we climb down the shattered wood planks and into the Sceleratus Trench. There is no more turning back. There is no more running.
This is it.