Embarrassing.
Absolutely undignified.
I shuddered, still shaking, and thought hazily:So this is how I die—slightly hungover and vomiting on a pirate deck.
The deck swam above me. Faces hovered—pale, streaked with blood and rain. Garen’s voice cut through the chaos, all command.
“Back—give her space.”
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, throat burning, and dragged in another breath.
I turned my head—
—and met Alaric’s gaze.
He was on one knee several paces away, blood soaking his shoulder, one hand braced against the deck. He hadn’t come closer. Hadn’t reached for me.
His face was unreadable—but his eyes weren’t.
Fear was there. Raw and immediate.
But tangled with it—something else.
Calculation.
Restraint.
The reflex to step back instead of forward.
Like a man standing too close to a fire he knew could burn him—and choosing, this time, not to reach.
For a heartbeat, he looked like he might move.
My crescent mark flickered weakly beneath my skin.
22
Nerina
The Black Marrow
The Black Marrow dragged itself through the waves, its magic fraying like a wound that wouldn’t close. Every groan of the hull vibrated through my bones. Alaric had warned me what happened when the Marrow’s magic ran thin: it didn’t just slow—it bled.
The Marrow ran onfuelyou couldn’t stockpile. Store too much aboard and it turned on the ship—rotting wood, souring wards, eating its own hull. Morgra kept the supply in her cove because no one sane kept it anywhere near their sleeping deck.
I stood at the bow, watching the ocean stretch endlessly before us. My thoughts tangled with everything that had happened. I’d spent days staring at maps like they were stories meant for someone else. Now one of those inked coastlines waited ahead—real, solid, and dangerous.
The crew moved around me, working in grim silence. Even the usual banter was gone. They felt it too—the ship’s weariness, the lingering weight of battle. Garen organized repairs as best he could, but there was only so much you could do at sea.
Footsteps approached behind me. I didn’t need to turn to know it was Alaric. His presence carried a weight of its own.
He huffed a quiet laugh, but it held no real amusement. "The last time we came here, we were ambushed by the Covenant. Barely escaped with the Black Marrow still intact."
“The Covenant,” I echoed, unfamiliar syllables tasting strange on my tongue. Something about the name sent a ripple down my spine. “What is that?”
He exhaled through his nose, voice low and laced with memory. “A cult of hunters with ships full of silver hooks and holy rhetoric. They’re not pirates. Not poachers. They’re worse. "
"To them, mermaids are trophies. Vampires? Weapons. Fae? Test subjects.”
