Lord Kevhan Applegate was generous to me, more so after I proved myself and quickly rose to become his most dependable and skilled captain. I worked hard and bided my time, going by Victoria instead of Elizabeth and even lying about my age to prevent Charles—anyone, really—from knowing I was alive. I wanted to protect my family; I believed that if Charles had known I was alive he would’ve gone after them. Little did I know Charles already had.
When I finally reached out to my family, as discreetly as possible, the truth came out. The council got involved. The orderly new life I had been trying to build for myself became messy quickly.
Fortunately, by then, I was in a position to pay Charles the cost of my freedom every year and have enough left over to help my family relocate to the city. We all worked. And struggled. And made something for ourselves.
Five years…so much time, I had thought on that cold night… over in a blink.
“We should begin preparing for the passage. Now, please, sir, get belowdecks,” I say.
“Are you sure you won’t reconsider me being on deck this time?” he asks. I give him a tired look that prompts chuckles. “All right, all right. I won’t risk distracting you even though I’d been hoping to see a monster or siren.” He steps away with an encouraging smile. I bite my tongue to stop myself from pointing out that he really doesn’t actually want to see one of those horrific creatures. “Good luck, Victoria.”
I hope his wish of luck works. No matter how many times I do this, how many times I charge into the tempest seas of the sirens’ lair, my heart pounds.
The Gray Passage is a perilous channel weaving through a strip of fang-like rocks that jut out from a rocky coast and break the worst of the waves coming off the perpetually violent seas of the vast unknown—farther than any sailor has ever been able to sail before and live to tell the tale. Even I, with all my siren magic, never dared it.
There were always abnormal storms here, and rumors of ghosts. But after the sirens began attacking about fifty years ago, an already dangerous passage became downright lethal to all. I was the first captain to manage the pass in decades thanks to my immunity to the song.
But that doesn’t mean it’s easy.
“Dog hatches! Tie town! Ready sails!” I command the crew with large, sweeping movements so they all see.
They do as they’re told, readying themselves and the vessel in the last hour of calm seas we will have.
As the rigging groans under the force of the winds, I head toward the bow with Jivre. The rest of the crew tie themselves to their places. There are four tubes strapped to the railing at the very front, two on my left and two on my right. Each holds a furled flag, not much larger than my hand. With flag movements, I can communicate to the crew behind me without having to turn or sign complex gestures.
Jork finishes fastening himself to the railing next to me. I nod to him and he nods back. He holds a chain in one hand and a stick in the other, each reflecting one of his duties in the passage. The stick is to get my attention—he’s the watcher for if my crew needs to speak to me. The chain is connected to a large bell deep in the hull of the ship—a miniature version of what I would ring in the lighthouse to disrupt the siren songs. The bell on my ship is too small to make any lasting difference, but large enough to be better than nothing.
We pass a large, pointed rock that I know as the start of the Gray Passage.
The storm descends on us in a breath. Lightning cracks, closer to the ship than I’d like. We’re moving at a good clip, tacking well into the changing winds.
I free my compass from my trousers and slot it into a spot in the railing I’ve carved just for this. It’s part utility so I can confirm my instinct, and part good luck charm. As long as I’ve been out on my own, the compass has guided me. It was the first thing I bought for myself with moneyIearned.
As we pass the second landmark rock, the howling winds turn into screaming. The sirens are loud today. Hungry. Deadly.
I thrust out a finger and hear the first chime of the bell. It rings, loud and dissonant to the sirens’ song. Confusing them, breaking their spells. I might be immune to the sirens’ calls, but I’ve never trusted them to avoid my crew.
The muscles around my ears strain for when the song will inevitably pick up again. Rain begins to hammer the deck. Another strike of lightning illuminates the dark horizon, showing swirling shadows just underneath the waves. Monsters or ghosts, waiting to feed off our living flesh.
Even though we entered the Gray Passage in the early morning, it now looks almost like night. The clouds are so thick overhead that they almost completely blot out the sun. I take a blue flag from its canister, holding it overhead and waving it in a circle.
Sails lower, the movement says.
Then I take a red flag and hold it left. I can hear the rudder groaning against the waves as the ship veers. I listen for any abnormal sounds that might be a sign of my ship cracking under the strain. This old vessel is an extension of my own body. I know every creak and crack that’s normal, and which ones are not.
The carcasses of other ships line the passage. Adding threats just below the water that could tear up our hull. The depth of the passage varies, from shallow enough to see the details of shipwrecks, to unfathomably deep as we pass through its middle section.
The singing is returning. The sirens are howling for blood in a tone I’ve never heard before. It’s so sharp that it’s almost animalistic. I thrust out my right hand. The bell rings again.
I use the sounds of the song to help me navigate. They always come from the east, so far as I’ve ever been able to tell. That helps me keep heading despite the storm. The landmarks of ships and rocks give me time and place.
The song returns faster. I thrust out my hand again and raise a flag. We pick up speed. I can hear the crew scrambling on the deck behind me, as far as their ties allow, grunting and groaning. But I don’t look back. I trust them to do as they know they need to—as they always have. I wipe the rain from my eyes and squint ahead, keeping my focus.
Everyone is a part of our success. Together, we’ll make it through.
The ship is in a volley of waves. Every one is worse than the last, tipping us dangerously left and right. I grip the railing with one hand at all times, always keeping my other free to communicate with those behind me. We’re in the thick of it now. Halfway through the passage. It only takes me half a day to navigate this violent sea but I swear I’m a week older every time I get to the other side.
The siren song picks up again, but this time it’s shifted.
