“Ladies first,” I mutter, gesturing for her to climb down the ladder. Her entire face tenses, as if she still somehow doubts me—as if she thinks I might lock her down there for whatever reason. But after exchanging a look with Zayan, she does as I say.
To give the two of them a semblance of peace of mind, I decide to go second, descending after her. Before long, the three of us are standing in a small, barely twelve-by-four-foot room with shelves along the walls and a single chest in the left corner.
With all of us here, it’s so tight there’s barely any air. It doesn’t escape me that I can hear the water sloshing against the hull on the other side of the wood, that the sea is closer than ever—a couple of planks separating it from my lungs.
But I swallow the fear and squat down by the chest.
The lid creaks as I pry it open, and inside, nestled among rags and scraps of old canvas, lies the artifact: a curved, yellowed bone, smooth and polished by centuries of salt and wear. A single, curved symbol is carved into it. Carved deep, worn just enough that they’re hard to make out in the dim light.
I shudder just by looking at it.
Gypsy leans in closer, her eyes widening. “Is that…?”
“A bone,” I say, picking it up carefully. Unlike what it may seem, the bone is heavy, weighing nearly as much as a cannonball. “A whale’s bone, to be precise.” I turn it over, tracing the symbol with a fingertip. “It’s tied to The Lady.”
Gypsy stiffens, a flash of fear crossing her face before she masks it. Zayan, on the other hand, clenches his jaw, his fingers twitching as if he can’t quite resist the pull of it.
“Let me see,” he says, voice low.
I hesitate. Passing this thing over? Instinct tells me to keep it close, but I force myself to hand it over. My mind whirs,searching for reasons why he’d want it—and then I catch myself. Even if he had some damned fool idea to smash it to pieces, we’re boxed in here, and I’d get to him before he could try. Besides, I suppose it’s time I start trusting these people. Alittle.
Zayan Cagney saved my life. He probably did it to save his own skin and keep Gypsy breathing, but it doesn’t change the fact. In one godforsaken moment, I’d been powerless, caught in the very position I’ve spent years bleeding to avoid. I gave everything to make sure The Lady would never have her claws in me again, not the way she did when my parents and I were thrashing in her waters with that monster beneath us.
But there I’d been, feeling that presence below, useless to stop it. And it was Zayan—of all people—who dragged me from that grip, the same man I’d dismissed as a cripple time and again.
The bone is important, but I pass it to him anyway, in good faith—a concept I thought I buried a long time ago.
“I’ve seen this symbol before,” he mutters, turning it over in his hands, the wariness in his gaze sharpening as he studies it. “When I was diving for sand, I saw it on a shark’s head.”
“Are you sure?” Gypsy asks, her eyebrows furrowing.
“Dead sure,” he replies, shooting a look my way. It’s as if only now he’s starting to believe—to really feel that this thing might be more than just a dead animal’s remains.
“It fits,” I say, glancing aside as a chill pulls over me. This symbol’s nothing new; it’s followed me for years, clawing into my nightmares. “The beasts under her command—they all bear her mark.”
“All animals of the sea are hers, aren’t they?” Gypsy’s voice breaks through, but the words barely register. I’m dragged back to the memory of pitch-black waters, the feeling of that cursed symbol lurking beneath me. My breathing feels shallow. Too shallow. My heart hammers in my chest.
The fear… it’s coming back.
My hands clench tighter, but it’s useless—I need to be out of here. “Let’s… let’s get out first,” I mutter, forcing myself to turn, already moving for the ladder.
Zayan offers to pass the symbol up to me, his hand outstretched, but I shake my head, refusing. He can handle it. I don’t need to touch that mark, not now.
I need to get out of here.
As I haul myself up the ladder, I fight to keep my breath steady. My fingers grip the rungs, almost numb against the cold metal, but each step up feels like dragging a boulder.
It’s only when we’re back in the main part of the armory and I feel the familiar scent of oil and rust and dust that I can calm down a little. All these weapons… they feel safe. Safer than whatever magic ever could. No tricks, no hidden costs, just iron and steel.
I rub the back of my head, trying to piece together what Gypsy was asking. Right. “She can control most animals,” I say, glancing at her, though the words taste bitter. “Sometimes even those on land, depending.”
“Depending on what?” Gypsy presses.
A flicker of irritation coils tight in my gut. Talking about the Lady—about how powerful she truly is—feels like baring my throat. Exposing just how little control we actually have. I hate it.
“Depends on how close they are to the sea and whether they’ve fed on what she provides,” I say, barely masking the edge in my voice. “Anyway, the animals we’re talking about here aren’t just any beasts. They’re built for war—she creates them that way, molds them to serve her.”
I nod toward the bone Zayan holds, pale and polished from age. “That? It came from one of those creatures.”
