Garen smirked, shaking his head. "You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?"
"You wound me," I muttered, turning back to Nerina. She was still grinning, though her head lolled slightly to the side, as if the world was tilting around her. "How much did you drink?"
She squinted at me, swayed, then lifted her fingers and began counting—badly, pausing once to hiccup before continuing. "Umm… two? Maybe five? What comes after five?"
I muttered, "Damn it, Nerina."
I sighed, scrubbing a hand down my face. "You know, for a creature of the sea, you’ve got the tolerance of a cabin boy on his first shore leave."
Nerina gasped, placing a dramatic hand over her chest, slurring every word. "Rude. Iam.. a majesticalmagical being."
"Uh-huh. About as majestic as a beached fish."
She giggled again, tail flicking against the water, sending another splash over the edge. "I like you, Pirate. You’re funny."
"And you're a nuisance."
Nerina’s tail flicked, sending another splash over the edge, drenching my shirt.
"That was on purpose," I muttered.
"A little," she admitted with a smirk.
I exhaled slowly, bracing myself for whatever nonsense was about to spill from her lips. The crew held their collective breath, waiting.
The gods themselves were laughing at me. Nerina tilted her head back and burst into uncontrollable giggles.
Laughter—cautious at first—bubbled up like a tide after a storm. The tension broke, soft and steady, as the crew leaned in, easing under the weight of shared relief. Someone snorted. Another let out a deep belly laugh.
"Well, Captain," one of the deckhands said, grinning, "she's got good taste, at least."
Garen smirked. "A drunk mermaid singing your praises? That’s a new one."
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Glad you’re all enjoying yourselves. Someone get her a blanket. And something to eat—if she drank that much on an empty stomach, she’s going to regret it soon enough."
Not that I had the slightest idea how to care for a sober mermaid or a drunk mermaid—let alone the hungover one I’d be dealing with later.
21
Nerina
The Black Marrow
The candlelight was weak, flickering like a heartbeat near its end. Shadows stretched long across the room, draping maps and sea charts in veils of gold and ash. Alaric sat at the desk, haloed in that fading glow, his fingers tapping against the wood. Each tap landed behind my eyes. I stood in the doorway, pulse fluttering a little too close to nausea.
My skin still itched from where it had dried out—tight and papery. I remembered the way the thirst had hollowed me out, not just in body but in mind, how even my magic felt brittle and starved. I’d never gone that long without water. Without the sea. It felt like dying in slow motion, like something sacred inside me was cracking. Part of me was still afraid I hadn’t fully come back.
I stepped inside, the wooden floor cold and splintered beneath my bare feet. My body ached—not from pain, but from the strange weight of magic that still hummed under my skin. Salt clung to me like a second skin, dried in a crust at my collarbones and behind my ears, itching faintly. My thoughts swirled withthe echoes of the dream—the place of sea and stars, of endless water and ancient voices.
He didn’t look up.
I pressed both palms to my temples and sighed, willing the world to stop swaying. The world did not cooperate. The world doubled down. "It feels like a whale parked itself across the back of my head."
“That’s the rum,” he said. His voice was a warning and a taunt and a little too pleased with itself.
“I thought it was water,” I muttered, squinting at him through the throb behind my eyes.
“It’s called a hangover,” he repeated, slow and patient in the way people sounded when they were not patient at all. “It happens when you drinktoomuch rum.”
