The Fisherman hoisted the Captain higher, until they were eye to eye.
“You,” the Captain rasped as he took in the man’s face.
The Fisherman’s smile was a cruel slash, his silver eyes gleaming as the scales along his cheek caught the light. He tightened his tentacle, and the Captain slumped against it.
“The Protector has fallen,” the Fisherman growled to the remaining Drowned, his voice dark as a bottomless ocean cavern. “SSJones’s Ladynow belongs to us. Let’s move on.”
He let the Captain’s body fall to the floor, where he collapsed in a crumpled heap of white and navy fabric, his cap landing beside him. His breaths were ragged, worn from the effort of protecting us with his magic.
As the beast strode toward the door, his tentacled arm slithered back, curling over the Captain’s cheek. Bile rose in my throat as it retracted. Where it had lingered, faint suction patterns radiated outward like bruised halos, the Captain’s skin turning a sickly greenish hue as if tainted by salt and rot. The Fisherman had left a circular brand.
The swinging doors closed behind him. Teachie and Rackham were on his heels, the remaining Drowned shuffling after them. One or two cast a guilty glance toward the Captain, whose chest was still rising and falling, though barely.
The magical shield still held. I continued to hammer my fists against it, sobs rasping from my throat as the Captain’s chest shuddered. With one last shaky breath, he disintegrated, joining his two loyal friends, Daniel and Evelyn, and my heart broke as the bubble collapsed.
The Captain was dead.
Tears brimmed in my eyes, and I dropped to my knees where he’d lain moments before. My mouth thinned, fists clenched, and I let those tears harden, frosting over into seething anger.
I now had four people on my turn-to-dust list: Teachie, Rackham, King Neptunus, and the Fisherman.
19
Morgana
We walked in silence, following the gnarled pillars of Therme Skótos upward, traveling at Edward’s slower pace. The mood was somber, as if a dark cloud hung over each of us. Anguish shrouded Edward’s face, and Skye’s expression remained impassive as she scanned the underwater surroundings, but I could sense her lingering pain.
The world seemed to fade in and out of focus as I repeated the same story to myself over and over.
The Captain was dead. There would be no more of his kind smiles or all-knowing nods; his little sea snake was gone, too. There was one less Protector in the Kingdom of the Deep. Edward had said there were seven—the spirits installed by the gods to keep the Drowned in check. With Port Royal and SSJones’s Ladyfallen, only five remained.
The world felt like an ever-darkening abyss. I wanted to curl up in a ball and sleep for days, but I couldn’t. The Captain, Daniel, and Evelyn had given up their lives so we could continue on the quest to find the prophecy.
It had been the Captain’s dying wish.The rest of the prophecy must be found. Find it, and end this.
Every twisting strand of seaweed resembled a tentacled arm, every glittering fish a flash of the mottled scales on the Fisherman’s cheek.
“Teachie, Rackham, King Neptunus, the Fisherman,” I muttered, repeating my turn-to-dust list as I clenched my webbed fists. And Finn—should he be on that list? I didn’t know. But I couldn’t say he shouldn’t be, either.
My chest tightened at the thought of seeing him again. I kept scanning the dusky gloom ahead, half expecting his Mer form to emerge from the shadows.
“Do you really need to drink that now?” Skye’s reprimand snapped me from my churning thoughts. Her brow furrowed as she watched Edward pull a bottle of rum from his jangling sack.
“Don’t mind if I do,” he said, popping the cork, but there was a pained look in his eyes, as if he were trying to hold back tears. “To the Captain—and Daniel.” He took a generous swig.
“To the Captain.” I grabbed a bottle from Edward, grateful for the brief reprieve from my mind, and tossed back the spicy liquid.
Skye shrugged and accepted one as well. Her long curls swayed as she angled her chin to drink.
We followed the stalagmites of Therme Skótos until the gloom thinned and the Atlantic’s rainforest unfolded before us. Skye gasped as a flourish of colorful fish burst from between coral-clad pillars. Wispy branches swayed in the current, wavering masses of pearl, crimson, and dark green in the midnight waters. Now and then, their delicate tips brushed against our ankles as we passed.
“Best not put your hand in there,” Edward cried.
Skye was peering into a giant clam, her dainty, clawed fingers clutchingits lip. She jumped back like a guilty child. “Why? It’s amazing,” she gasped, emitting a sea of bubbles.
“Why? Because they’ll snap shut and hold you fast! Everyone knows that.” Edward let out an exasperated sigh. He broke off a branch of coral and rolled it between his freckled fingers before letting it tumble to the seabed.
After a few hours of walking, Edward’s rum sack was considerably lighter, and the coral had begun thinning, replaced by plain stones.
