Chapter 31

Alba knewthe grated floor by how it scraped against his hands. It thrust a mouthful of adrenaline down his throat, landing like a rock in his gut and wrenching the rest of his body awake in an instant.

Jolting upward, he leapt to his feet with the slamming nerves—only to stumble as the world turned, tripping back to his ass with an echoing crash against the metal. He was in the lantern room, just like he first thought. The one he knew so intimately, the one he'd worked every night for just over a month. But that wasn't what alarmed him right away—it was the fact he was alone. There was no sign of Eridanys anywhere, not even his blood. Not a single piece of hair. No one but Alba and the giant glass lens.

He forced himself to stay calm, as impossible a feat as it felt. He bit down on his tongue to center himself in his body, to focus. Breathing hard through his nose, he quickly searched the perimeter of the room for any other sign of what had happened since they were found on the island, though it came up nearly as empty. Even the view through the weatherglass didn't offer any clues, as there were no more boats tied off to the lighthouse rocks than a single dingy banging against the edge. Moon Harbor looked no different in the distance. There were not more boats crowding her docks that he could see from so far away.

His cane was missing. The hatch leading down into the rest of the tower was locked. His head throbbed, the back of it caked with dry blood.

Finally, Alba called out in case anyone could hear him below. Not caring if it was one of Josiah's men or someone else. A part of him just wanting them to know he was awake. He was alive. And if they wanted to shut him up, they would have to come and do it themselves.

Come early afternoon, someone did. They commanded him to step away from the hatch, unlocking it and climbing up with a gun brandished to keep Alba in check. Alba obeyed, even putting his hands up before they had to ask. Knowing it was one of Josiah's men the moment he laid eyes on them, needing no other introduction. Letting them think they were intimidating, imposing enough to explain Alba's instant submission to whatever they said, whatever command they made. Perhaps not knowing how familiar Alba was with the Warrens, with Josiah, with how the man worked. Alba did not submit because he felt small—but because he knew how to outwit Warren muscle better than they could imagine.

Alba would submit until he could leave the lantern room. And then, until he could leave the lighthouse. Until he could step out into the fresh air, to see if Josiah was anywhere nearby. To find out if there was a reason he didn't kill Alba right away. Alba had ideas. He had assumptions. But all of those implications depended on one other thing: Whether or not Eridanys was still alive somewhere, too.

The man who came to collect eventually lead Alba down the stairs, out the door, through the wind and sharp rain back to the house. Inside, Josiah did not turn to look at him amongst the other four men crowding the small kitchen table, but Alba kept the disappointment off his face. Just observing how they helped themselves to what little supplies he'd had left in the fridge and cupboards. The men, meanwhile, only glanced at him in return. Just long enough to acknowledge his arrival, before one waved a hand, giving Alba a curt: ‘Well, get to work.'

Tendingto the lantern had always been grueling, only made more so in that state of limbo. Not sure where Eridanys was, let alone if he was dead or alive. Not knowing where Josiah was, what he was doing, when he would be back, except for the vaguest ideas Alba could cobble together from eavesdropping on conversations held between his babysitters. Occasional talk about whether or not there was enough food to last ‘another couple of days' until Josiah ‘was ready to leave.' How one hoped to get the job done early, wanting to be back in Belmar by the end of the week. Talking amongst one another about how the tides in Moon Harbor were said to be stranger than anywhere else, especially when the moon was at its biggest; making one of them grumble about how he didn't like being in such proximity to such barbaric pagans, making the sign of the cross as he did.

Enough sprinkled conversation for Alba to puzzle-piece together a certainty that Josiah would be back soon enough, and whatever he had planned had its own reason to need Alba. Perhaps only to collect his debt, the one he himself said Alba would pay off with his life—but even so, Alba would be ready. Until then, he would behave. Just like in the north, just like in Belmar, in Welkin, while Edythe Marsh was still held as collateral for his obedience. Alba would behave. Always in such a hurry. Take the bone from your teeth. Good things come to those who wait.

In the early morning of the third day, Alba spotted something entering the harbor from far out at sea. When sunrise came, he used a palm-size spyglass to search, recognizing the ship in an instant—an ancient wooden vessel with canvas sails, the size of at least three small fishing boats combined. A flagship of the Warren company, designated by the mermaid carved into her bow. The same one whose mast Alba fell from, breaking his hip and ending his life as he knew it only a few months prior. Like Josiah thought himself funny.

The sight of her made Alba's stomach sink, then turn over itself. Enough that he bent forward and nearly puked. Feeling her deck swaying beneath his feet, smelling the crisp northern air, with white-knuckled hands clinging to the netting of the mast. Waiting for the captain to call up to him. How he only had to hold fast a moment longer, a moment longer, before someone would surely call for him to come back. He remembered how cold his hands had been, stiff and calloused and as fatigued as the rest of him from a long day of pulling nets from the rough sea. How the call never came, never came, never came, before a wave did. Crashing over the ship and knocking Alba loose, sending him tumbling like an angel tripping from heaven to the hard deck below.

Josiah knew what he was doing, calling that ship in. Alba hoped to express his amusement to the man sooner rather than later.

Another day passed,and Josiah's men took Alba across the water to the town to gather supplies. They left him on a bench by the docks with a chaperone as they went about their business, not wanting him to walk around freely. Not wanting to risk him making a run for it and vanishing for a second time.

Alba had no intention of going anywhere. Not without knowing where his siren was. And especially not when the townspeople gave him the looks they did—as if, should they get the opportunity first, they would gladly strangle him before Josiah ever could.

Word must have spread. Not only was Alba in a relationship with the last merrow of their harbor, but also possibly behind the death of one of their most respected members of the community. Alba just kept his expression blank as they passed, even as they cursed him under their breath, eyes flitting between him and the man sitting alongside him as if searching for a way to take out their anger without being seen.

Alba focused his attention on the work being done to Josiah's ship. The ship that ended Alba's life. Being so close to her again after so long was bittersweet, knowing it was unfair of him to blame her for what happened, though even the briefest of glances up at the height of her mast made his world spin all over again. But after only a moment more, those memories were no longer the reason he stared.

Workers clustered around her bow. Hammers chiseled into the carved mermaid, and only when one of her arms snapped off and tumbled into the sea without a flinch from the artisans did Alba realize what they did with her. Chipping her away, laying the bow bare. Reminding him of something Eridanys had once told him, something Dawson Michaels once wanted to try. I'd seen drawings in his study, things he'd sketched, drawings of merrow tied off to the bows of ships…

"No!" Alba leapt to his feet, only to be grabbed by the arm and shoved straight back down to the road. Still, Alba shrieked, screaming and threatening the man like spitting blood through teeth, crushed beneath his weight and tied-off with rope looped on his belt just in case of that exact thing. But even as they bound Alba tight again, crushing the air from his lungs until his eyes bulged and every breath came in a wheeze, Alba just kept thinking?—

If anything—if anything?—

Eridanys was still alive—and Alba might even know where they were keeping him.

Once Alba knewwhat he needed, it wasn't hard to watch the men laze about the house while doing his own tasks. As they played cards, made a mess of the kitchen or the sitting room or bedroom loft, smoking pipes and drinking alcohol brought over by the crateful by a dingy. Watching and waiting, just like his mother always told him.

Waiting until the opportunity finally came, when just enough of them were dead-drunk on the couch, reclined on the rug in the sitting room, none the wiser to the wickie who gently prodded around in their pockets for a ring of keys he wasn't supposed to know the purpose of.

Once he had them in hand, Alba didn't waste a moment. He braved the stormy, mid-afternoon wind, hurrying past the house, the younger sister tower, to the retired lighthouse at the far end of the row. His siren was inside. He had to be. He had to be. Alba was sure of it. If not?—

He didn't want to think about what he would do if not.

"Eridanys?" Alba asked upon stepping inside and closing the door behind him. The floor was coated in a thick layer of solidified fatty oil, shimmery and white and smelling sweet and minty. Remnants from when they'd emptied the basin only a week prior, though the lantern overhead turned with rhythmic clanks again. Refilled. Rotating with a purpose, Alba knew. He just had to keep his nerves under control.

Footprints clustered in a path from the door to the bottom of the stairs, a few spots smeared where someone must have slipped, other trails demonstrating something heavy being dragged. The faintest streak of black blood spilled over top. Alba didn't waste a moment longer, hurrying for the stairs and throwing himself up them.

Just like the first time while guided by the drowned soul of his mother, he didn't feel the ache in his leg, or the exhaustion that came with climbing the circling incline so fast. Even faster, that time, knowing if he was right, time was of the essence. If he was right—Eridanys had been victimized by that turning light for days. Alba didn't want to be too late. He would never forgive himself if he was too late. He wouldn't let Josiah live it down if he was too late.

"Eridanys?" he asked again upon reaching the top of the stairs. Breathless, hoarse from the effort. "Eri? Please—say somethin'."

There was no reply, at least not from the voice Alba hoped to hear—but a faint scratch of something against the top of the hatch made Alba jump. He scrambled for the keys, nearly dropping them in his hurry. He climbed the ladder and unlocked the hatchway into the room above—but it barely moved. He checked the lock again. It should have opened, Alba was sure.

He rammed his shoulder harder against the underside of the metal. It gave way slightly that time, with a telling bounce on the other side, and he realized with a jolt in his chest—Eridanys was on top of it. Unresponsive except for small, rapid breaths, unable to lift himself upright to allow Alba through.

"Eridanys!" Alba gasped, shoving his arm through the narrow opening, partially to prop it up, partially to touch him. To brush the back of his knuckles against the siren's cheek. "Eridanys, I'm here, just—! Just hold on a second, alright? I'm gonna try and roll you off. Just hold on. Keep your eyes closed."

Gritting his teeth, Alba rammed the hatch again, then again, and again, managing to nudge Eridanys away slightly more every time. When he finally won out against the siren's weight, sweat dripped down his face. The light blinded him in an instant as the hatch flew open and slammed against the floor with a deafening bang.

Alba didn't hear it; he didn't feel the burn of the light on his eyes. He saw only his siren, his caller of the sea, his companion, lying limp on the floor. Stained with his own blood, wounds festering like congealed black ink on his stomach; eyes barely cracked open, a faint occulting glow in the far reaches of his irises; his chest rising and falling in frantic rhythm, like a fish trying to breathe on a dry dock. His silver hair draped in a tangled mass around him, tail chained off to the weatherglass, once-sharp fingernails worn down into bloody nubs. Beneath where he lay, claw marks were carved into the wooden boards. Signs of the siren's futile attempts to escape, to carve his way out, until he could do nothing but collapse and wait for death.

"Eri," Alba cried, throwing his arms out, grabbing Eridanys' face and turning it toward him. Tucking his eyelids closed, brushing messy strands of hair from his forehead, pulling him close to shield him from the light. "I'm right here, come back to me. You're still alive—thank god, you're still alive, I was so worried. Close your eyes, rest for a moment. I've got you."

Eridanys' face twitched slightly. Alba thought perhaps he was trying to smile, or whisper something to him, and he leaned in closer to hear it—but instead of speaking, Eridanys' hand lashed out, grabbing Alba's shirt and yanking him close. Sharp teeth snapped down on the side of his neck, and Alba bit back a scream, digging his fingers into Eridanys' shoulders and choking on every breath as pain surged through him. Still—he raised a hand to gently comb through the back of Eridanys' hair, staring at the ceiling and fighting to keep the discomfort out of his voice.

"Y-you must be hungry," he rasped. "It's alright—it's alright, t-take what you need, yeah…"

A part of him was prepared to die like that, despite all of his attempts to stay alive. He wouldn't mind—to die saving the person he'd come to care for so much, he wouldn't mind at all—but then Eridanys' grip on him softened. His sharp, burrowing teeth shifted, drawing out of Alba's flesh, replaced with a swirling tongue that licked over each crescent-shaped row of bleeding marks. He lapped up the blood that spilled out, before his mouth found Alba's suddenly, and Alba tasted the metallic sting of his own blood on the siren's lips.

The way Eridanys kissed him wiped away any possible disgust, kissing Alba with the same devouring intensity of the teeth in his shoulder, as if it took everything not to eat Alba in a single bite. Kissing him hard and demandingly, hungrily, but at the same time—with desperation, with a type of thoughtful tenderness Alba didn't expect. Like he truly didn't think he'd ever see Alba again, like he thought Alba wouldn't come for him.

"I'm sorry it took so long," he said breathlessly between their mouths, as Eridanys' lips never stopped pressing into his, muffling the words. "I came as soon as I could. I promise."

Eridanys still said nothing, just kissing him. As if his mind shuddered beneath the blinding glow of the lantern, unable to find the words, unable to recall how to speak. Saying everything he needed with his mouth on Alba's, lips forming the words he needed without ever uttering a sound. Spelling out his gratitude, his own relief in how he devoured Alba's existence with every breath passed between them.

When he finally pulled away again, Alba was nearly disoriented, closing his eyes as Eridanys pressed their foreheads together.

"My sea prince," the siren finally whispered hoarsely. "My caller of the shore. I thought just of you to keep my sanity."

Alba kissed Eridanys again, wrapping arms around him, holding him close. Wishing he could drag him from that floor, down the ladder, away from the turning light that drove his siren to near-madness. But Eridanys was too weak, Alba was too weak, and—he didn't know where they would go from there. There was no way for Alba to get Eridanys down the stairs by himself, let alone to free him from his chains, let alone to drain the fuel basin a second time.

When frustrated tears finally broke over his lashes, he attempted to squeeze them away, but Eridanys noticed. He sighed, using his thumbs to wipe them from Alba's cheeks before they could drip all the way down.

"There's enough salt in the sea," he whispered. "Don't add to it with tears, Albatross."

"I don't know what to do," Alba's voice shook all the same. "What the hell am I supposed to do? I can't help you—I can't even help myself. I don't know what in god's name I'm supposed to do now... I couldn't save my mother, I couldn't save myself—and now I can't even save you, after only just getting you. After just finding somethin' else to live for."

Eridanys wiped more tears from Alba's eyes. Alba hated it—hated how subdued his normally frenzied, bloodthirsty, angry, stormy siren was. He hated knowing why he acted the way he did, hated thinking of how much pain he must be in from both the swollen wounds in his stomach and the whirlpool in his mind. Alba hated how he could see the glow lingering in the back of Eridanys' eyes despite how he spoke, he hated how there was the slightest slur in every word.

"I wish to live for you as well," Eridanys said breathily. "It's going to be alright, Alba. We'll still find a way—to have a life together."

His voice weakened the more he spoke, drawing out, every effort exhausting him. But that weak smile never left his face, the soft shape of his eyes never hardened or even flickered from Alba's. Not for a second. All Alba could do was fight his tears, fight back the emotions, hating himself and everything he'd ever been, everything he'd ever allowed to happen to him?—

But then he thought of his mother. His father. How they'd suffered in all the same ways he had—but weren't to blame. It all stemmed from the same person—the same family, the same sailing company, the same debt, the same town, the same reasons. All of those things—that ultimately left Eridanys there, draped weakly over Alba's lap, barely able to hold his head up.

"I'll kill him," Alba said, voice trembling with rage. "I'll gut him like I should've gutted him the first time. I never should've bothered stabbin' him just in the leg—I should have plunged that goddamned knife into his chest! Into his goddamn head! Over and over, so I would never have to worry about him ever fuckin' again!" He took Eridanys' face, breathing hard, blood boiling hot with new life. He kissed his siren one more time. "The next chance I get, I'm going to kill him. I have to, if I want a life with you. I'll tear his throat out with my own teeth if I have to—and if there's anythin' left once I'm done, I'll throw him to you, and you can make a fine meal out of the rest."

Eridanys' smile remained weak, tired, but aware. He bared his sharp teeth in emphasis, and Alba hooked a thumb into the crook of his mouth to really see all of them.

"You'll get your revenge on the Warren family right along with me," he reiterated. "We'll enjoy the taste of him together."

"We will." Eridanys continued smiling. "Won't waste… a single piece."

Alba knew he couldn't stay much longer, both as Eridanys struggled to keep his eyes open, and knowing his chaperones would eventually notice their keys missing. The sun would rise, and Alba had to be back where they could find him.

Unable to do anything else, he pulled the cuff of his sleeve over the ball of his thumb and wiped his own blood from Eridanys' mouth and chin. Not wanting anyone to know their feral siren in the old tower had already been fed.

"Promise you'll live long enough for me to save you," Alba whispered. "I heard them talkin', they said Josiah wants to leave in a few days. I think he might be waitin' for the full moon—which is when you and me were gonna destroy this town, anyway."

He offered Eridanys a small smile, though by then the siren's eyes had closed, head resting on Alba's lap. He combed fingers gently through Eridanys' hair, undoing as many tangles as he could. "I'll take care of everythin'. All you have to do for me, for now—is keep your eyes closed against the light."

"I will," Eridanys answered. Slurred, drunk on his own exhaustion. Alba just kept stroking his hair, until he was sure Eridanys fell into a peaceful sleep.

Alba would be back. He would do something. He would help him. He would save him. Eridanys would get his chance to find a new home with someone who loved and cherished him, far from Moon Harbor where there were only bad memories and new nightmares.

Alba, who hadn't been able to save his mother. Who would fight tooth and nail to protect what else he'd come to care for, the only thing he had left. No matter if it left him wild and mad and deranged with bloodlust like a siren banished out to sea. He already knew what flesh tasted like on his tongue, by nature of the life the Warrens had forced him to lead—and he wasn't afraid to sink his teeth into it one more time.