Chapter 3 #2
His eyes go wide. “Oh, no. I don’t even have the key.
I’d have to ask Rune. Or Tavi. Tavi would probably beat him here, honestly.
She’s fae so she’s really fast. And she hates Vipers.
She’s mad Rune hasn’t tied you up and tossed you back into the ocean yet and Elio mostly agrees but he always sides with Rune.
Anyways you don’t want Tavi down here—once I saw her pop a watermelon with her thighs.
She did it on a dare but it seemed strange to waste food.
The quail ate it though. She likes the eggs!
Hates the quail though because she says they shouldn't be in the galley but I keep the lights out when I’m not in there because she’s afraid of the dark so she won’t go inside—don’t tell her I told you that by the way she’d probably pop my head like the watermelon anyways, can I have that fork, please? ”
His expression is so open that I snort and relent, groaning at the pain in my shoulder as I reach down to grab it.
“Oh. And sorry for not checking your injuries. Captain wouldn't let me.” I watch him for a moment before tossing it out through the bars. Rune can’t be very experienced if this is the crew he keeps.
I’m sure if I’d tried to hand it to the boy directly, he’d have made the mistake of getting too close.
I don’t want that temptation, so I back away, letting my weight settle against the hull wall as he disappears up the stairs.
Sleep stays out of reach, though the ship rocks gently.
It’s always been strange to know that, down here below deck, water surrounds me on all sides.
Nothing but wood stops it from spilling in, filling this cell, crushing me to the top even as I struggle against the inescapable pressure.
There is no malice in the sea, but it is vicious all the same.
Sweeping, powerful beyond that of kings or gods.
I shake my head.
I’m used to pushing down the fear. But panic has always had a strange way of sneaking in, coiling my muscles into loaded springs, drawing me tight like a crossbow, a hair's breadth away from violence.
When I can take it no more, I stand, preparing to let the shift take me.
I’d swept the sand from my skin, ripped away my already-torn sleeves and tied the mess of my hair back with a strip of the fabric.
But none of it matters if I can’t remove the chains on my wrist. My stomach flips in anticipation, my gut a mess of flittering minnows.
The world quiets as I draw inward, but the sensation makes me panic, instinctively averse to the idea of being vulnerable while the change happens.
I shake my head again. There’s no one here.
There hasn’t been anyone here for hours.
I try again, breathing deep, letting the air in my lungs be a reminder that in this moment, I am alive, breathing.
I’m safer here than I have been for the last sixteen years, since the last time mother took me ashore to doze in soft meadows and sprint through towering forests.
A warmth blooms in my middle, and I hold on to that memory, relaxing into the change in my limbs, feeling the shape of the world mold around my shifting perspective.
The bars feel closer now, the cell smaller.
The edges of my vision blur, magnifying in the centre.
Delicately, I flip my front two feet, flinching away from the clanking of the chains.
The movement causes my hind end to bump the wall, and it’s an act of furious willpower to stifle the instinct to kick out.
It’s been too long since I tried this. There’s no way I’ll be able to control her for long.
The feeling of being caged already has my heart racing, prey drive overriding frustration in this form.
I can’t stay this way, so I drop down, tucking my legs beneath me, nestling into the straw.
This body is bigger and clumsier than it used to be, and much more foreign: thin, delicate legs, short spotted fur, ears that twitch at every sway of the ship.
My legs tense, registering the threat—no, I can’t think of the water now.
Breathe.
Breathe.
It’s an effort to tuck my muzzle down, to focus on my breath and the distant irritation of my human mind.
When the scent of the straw fades to normal, I open my eyes. It’s a bittersweet relief to see my fingers splayed on the ground. My head still feels heavy, weighted wrong, and when I reach up, a thrill sparks through me. My antlers stayed, a hand’s width tall, coated in crushed velvet.
It never happened in the times before, but it’s not something I can dwell on for now. Shifting doesn’t affect my human form, thankfully, so I keep my clothes, and the bladed pin is still in my hair.
Free of the chains, I snatch it from my hair, then weave my arm through the tight grid around the handle.
The pin’s narrow end finds the lock. My dry lips threaten to split, but I can’t help but grin, imagining the look on Rune’s face when he finds the brig empty.
Maybe we’ll meet on the deck, and he’ll finally be forced to realise it wasn’t just any Viper he caught.
He’ll come to see that his arrogance was his downfall.
By then, it’ll be too late, and that annoying smirk won’t be enough to save him.
Time seems to slow, elongate. My wrist aches at the awkward angle, and it only takes me a few minutes to realise this cell is more secure than the one on the Sea Bane.
A few minutes more, and a light snick sends a wave of boiling rage through me before I even look to confirm that the tip of the pin has snapped.
I spin and hurl it with a muffled curse, watching as it bounces onto the straw.
I stare at it for a moment, trying to drudge up some satisfaction that its end is still wicked sharp, even if it’ll be no use as a pick now.
Instead, exhaustion settles over me, heavy and insistent.
I’m going to need a different plan, but first, I need to sleep.
I’ll be useless without it—might already be useless, with how I sink down, scooping the small blade and tucking it into my hair.
A realization whispers, so soft I barely catch it.
I pause, gingerly patting the top of my head. Hmm. The antlers are gone.