As she shifted, her hand brushed his bare chest in an attempt to steady herself and he pulled her against him. His arms wrapping around her waist, his chin brushing her damp hair. He released her quickly, as though the reaction had been subconscious.
She moved past him quickly, attempting to banish the thoughts that sparked with his embrace.
-Alarik-
The dead had been claimed by the sea.
The crew stood in silence as the last of the wreckage was swept clean from the deck, shadows long under the retreating moonlight. Blood dried along the grooves in the timber. A shattered portion of the railing still leaned outward like jagged teeth.
Alarik stood with arms crossed, breathing in the salt-laced air. His skin still tingled from the magic, his blood humming like an old war drum.
The Argo creaked under strain, but she still floated.
“Your Majesty.” The captain approached, one eye wrapped in cloth, his gray beard soaked and dripping. “We’re too close to turn back now. If we push forward, we’ll make landfall by late morning tomorrow with the broken mast slowing her speed. But once we arrive… she won’t sail again till we patch her properly. We’ll have to stay a night at the Hollow’s edge.”
Alarik nodded grimly. “I understand, I’ll take responsibility if anything else comes crawling from the dark.”
The captain gave a kurt nod before retreating to bark orders at the weary remaining crew.
The moment the words left the captain's mouth, a pang of regret bit deep into Alarik’s ribs.
They’d come too far but obviously had not conducted enough research before voyaging.
But Maris could have died.
He turned, walking toward the corridor with long, determined strides. Every step echoed with the memory of her slipping into his arms wide-eyed, vulnerable. Then her pulse like thunder between them, after the chaos. He had cradled her for less than a breath, then realized what he was doing.
The narrow corridor was dimly lit, shadows pooled around crates and lanterns swung gently overhead. Alarik stopped before her door, hand lifted to knock.
The soft creak of hinges opening beat him to it.
Maris stood before him once more, her hair damp and curling at her waist, her form wrapped in a thick woolen blanket. Starlit green eyes met his like a challenge.
His mind raced. "I'm sorry Maris, I shouldn't have…" He couldn't finish the thought, he had too much to apologize for. He lowered his gaze.
“I’m not made of glass, you know,” she said softly.
Alarik’s jaw tightened. “You could have shattered, it could have pulled you into the depths, or if it had stirred your magic enough, you. —”
“And yet, here I am.” Her lips quirked before he could finish the thought. “Not even chipped.”
He drug a hand through his wind-wild hair, cocking his head to side. “This shouldn’t have been your burden. I should have found another way.”
“You didn’t drag me onto this ship, Alarik,” she interrupted gently. “I chose to come. To help.”
Her hand gripped the edge of the blanket tighter.
“I know what it means now. The dreams. The curse. The gods turning their eyes. I may not know everything yet… but I know enough to stop hiding from it.”
His throat bobbed as he shifted uncomfortably.
“You remind me,” he murmured, “of someone I failed once. I don't want to make the same mistakes again.”
She tilted her head, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Elenwe,” she guessed quietly.
His expression didn’t change but his silence was confirmation enough.
“I’ve heard the name. In passing.” She paused. “Was she… yours?”
