Chapter 7

Iset aside the bottle of rum and plant my hands on my lower back as I scan the hot, stuffy infirmary. The few lanterns that survived the roll cast the morose scene in an amber glow, creating a wistful illusion only disturbed by the odd deep, nasally snore. No footsteps overhead. No creaking sounds.

No agonized moans.

The men wounded badly enough to require heavy intervention are passed out either from the rum or the pain or the night bark.

“Go to bed, Orlaith.” I look at Alon draped in the wobbly chair at the end of the room. He rubs his eyes, mouth cranking wide, wrestling his next words through a yawn. “We’ve done what we can for now.”

I thread my hand around the back of my neck to knead the stiff muscles there. “I doubt I’ll be able to switch off while the ship’s still taking on water.”

“The hole’s been fixed.” The gruff words batter me from behind, and I spin to see Captain sponging his forehead with a cloth he then dunks in a pail of water. His chin is dusted in tawny stubble, the undersides of his eyes bruised from lack of sleep.

“We’ve also fixed the sails best we could, but we can’t go anywhere until the wind gets up,” he says, crouching by the med box and frowning at its contents. He splashes something on his bleeding knuckles, stabs the bottle back into place, slams down the lid, and pushes to a stand.

“That was hemorrhoid tonic,” Alon calls helpfully from the back of the room.

Captain just grunts and continues to stare me down. “Alon’s right. Get some rest. It’s late.”

My thoughts are lured to the crow’s nest—to the way Gage’s blood puddled around my fingers—my stare tugged to the floor by this anchor of guilt I can’t seem to shake.

Rest …

Chances of that are slim.

With a nod, I flip the blood-splotched cloth off my shoulder and onto the end of a nearby cot, then turn for the stairs.

A big hand wraps around my elbow, and I look back, straight into the Captain’s unveiled eyes, the lines around them deeper than they were this morning. “You saved my nephew’s life today.”

I put it in danger first.

“I’ve been told you didn’t hesitate to dive in.”

Don’t thank me.

Please.

“He would’ve done the same if roles were reversed,” I rasp, filling the void with words so he can’t bask me in pleasantries I don’t want to hear.

Don’t deserve.

“Is he, ah ...”

“He’s well.”

My chest loosens a little, my sigh of relief hewn from somewhere deep and dark and bruised.

The corner of his mouth twitches. “Though he keeps asking about his cape.”

Shit.

“And you.”

I look away, swallowing the ache that has risen in my throat.

He grips my shoulder, his hand warm and heavy. “You did the right thing today.”

“People are dead.” The words come out flat.

“And sea serpentshave thick plated skulls.”

I look at him, frowning.

“Vanth was aiming for the head,” he grinds out, “but that boy hasn’t traveled the Shoaling Seas and seen one of their skulls up close—prized for their impenetrability. If he’d struck between the eyes, that bolt would’ve bounced right off, riled the animal, and we’d all be dead. Instead it struck close enough to the heart that it’s fair to assume you saved most of our lives today, not just Zane’s.”

I clear my throat.

The reproving stares of the crew won’t burn like they did, but there is no surge of relief. Just more death on my hands.

He pats me on the back and weaves between the beds, checking his injured men. Like a thief in the night, I head for the stairs, rising from the dense humidity of the infirmary, though the smell of sweat and blood still plagues every breath. I doubt any amount of swabbing will lift the morbid veil that now seems to haunt the ship.

I walk onto an eerily silent deck, the static night clinging to my tacky skin. The topside lanterns must have burst, leaving only the smile of the moon to guide my path across the warped floorboards.

There’s a heavy splash not far from the ship, and moonlight bounces off the glassy wrinkles.

Seems the sharks are still hanging around.

I give the prickling backs of my arms a brisk rub as I make for the aftermast, ignoring the sound of my howling stomach. The thought of breaking my fast without Zane feels more hollow than this hungry ache. It’ll be worth it tomorrow when we share a meal together—a thought I cling to with aching fists, trying to ignore the tremble.

Beginning the steady incline up my ladder, I pull myself above the noxious smell of sun-baked blood, absorbing the sip of familiarity like the lifeline it is. Perhaps if I manage to fall asleep, I’ll wake tomorrow and realize this day was just a nightmare.

I wrap my hand around the next rung, lifting myself up, and the notched piece of wood comes away with a splintered snap that mimics my heartstrings.

Shock snatches my voice as gravity grips me, and I plunge, arms flailing, yielding to the punishing pull.

Time seems to slow. Stretches so thin I study my nest cast in the moon’s silver glow, stark against the black velvet backdrop.

It looks like Stony Stem …

Such a strange thing to notice while I’m plummeting to my death.

I almost laugh, wondering why my fear has tucked tail in the corner while mania rears her wild head and gnashes her teeth at the smiling moon. Something that should probably concern me, but I can feel the floorboards rushing at my back.

I’m all out of beats.

My fingers tangle in my bucket rope, and my survival instinct has me gripping.

Hard.

Palm burning with the fire of an angry ember, I feel a painful pop blaze through my shoulder an instant before I collide with the deck.

Thwack.

I can’t feel a thing.

Not my toes, fingers, heart …

It’s a peace that seems to hold its breath, as though death is wielding a scythe to my throat, deciding whether to slash.

Live or die? Live or die? Live or—

Pain strikes like hands gouging through my ribs with the force of their violent punch. They snatch my organs and squeeze.

Hard.

Mouth agape, I try to suck air down my too-tight throat.

I can’t move. Can’t breathe.

Can’t scream for help.

Wild panic finally erupts as a shadow shifts across the smiling moon, and I watch the silhouette tip a bottle. Hear a full swallow, then a hissed release.

“Are you afraid, witch?”

Vanth.

My heart takes short, sharp punches at my battered ribs.

“He was. He was fucking petrified. Do you know how I know?” He crouches, bringing his face so close to mine that I can feel his stale breath hitting my cheek. “He hated the water. Ma couldn’t bathe him as a child without listening to him scream.” He pushes a lock of hair off my face and cocks his head to the side, voice cracking as he says, “Kavan died screaming, and you will, too.”

My stomach rocks.

I pull the smallest breath—fuel for a pitiful, half-croaked whisper. “Va—”

He tips the bottle, filling my mouth with a deluge of rum that sprays the back of my throat.

I choke and sputter and heave.

“Are you not going to scream?” he drawls, tipping …

Tipping ...

I rock my head, but he grabs my jaw and locks me in place beneath the blazing waterfall.

“Try harder, witch. Scream!”

A gurgling sound bubbles up my throat. A drowning plea.

He stops the spill, snatches my ankle in a vice-like grip, and drags me along the deck, my head smashing against a barrel.

The stars and the moon blur and sharpen.

Blur and sharpen.

Pressure builds, surging through my veins, hunting for freedom. A vile voice slithers against the underside of my skin, singing to me from the ugly depths of my scorched soul …

Break it ...

I’m dragged up the stairs, head bouncing against the sharp steps, but the strikes of pain have nothing on the bulging weight inside my skull as all my ugly tries to spill.

Vanth drops my foot and fists the front of my shirt, lugging me up until I’m seated on the railing—the vast ocean stretched behind me like a hollow throat waiting to gulp.

“Scream,” he snarls.

All I can smell is rum and wrath. All I can see is Vanth’s hollow eyes, his moonlit features ripped with rage.

Warmth dribbles from my nose.

My ears.

I wrap my legs around his waist while gouging his shirt and skin with clawed fingers, clambering for traction with my one responsive arm. He flings the bottle overboard, then uses the same cold hand to grip my throat.

He pulls me so close our noses crush together. “It’ll come in those final moments. You’ll beg me to put an arrow through your heart, but I won’t.” He drags his lips along my cheek and plants them on my ear. “I’ll just stand there and watch them chew.”

He shoves.

The fabric of his shirt slips through my fingers as I plunge, spinning, hand reaching. I snag the lower rung of the railing, and my body whips against the side of the ship, knocking a strangled scream from my lungs.

There’s scuffing, yelling, fleshy thuds that sound too far away. My sweat-slicked fingers yield a little more with each tight breath.

There’s a loud splash from somewhere beneath me, and panic fires up my throat.

“H-Help …”

My desperate sounds are too soft.

Too brittle.

My fingers give up one by one until the entire weight of my body hangs off two remaining digits …

I slip.

My wrist is snatched in a hold firm enough to snap bone, though my stomach continues to dive as I’m reeled skyward to the blare of frantic voices. I’m hauled over the balustrade, pulled against a warm chest, and cradled like a child.

“I’ve got you.”

Captain’s rusty voice offers me a sense of ease.

“You’re safe.”

Safe.

That word hurts more than everything else. Reminds me of home—a different sort of safe that felt impenetrable …

Darkness tugs me under.