“Thirty. Former pirates, most of them. Survivors who had nowhere else to go.” I join her at the window. “They’re loyal enough. They know what’s out there, and they know Dreadhaven is the only thing standing between the Wrecktide and the coast.”
“Thirty against an army of the drowned.”
“Thirty against whatever Oreth throws at us. The drowned are deadly, but they’re not clever. They follow his commands, but they can’t think for themselves.” I watch Thorne cross the courtyard below, barking orders at two younger guards. “Kill enough of them, and the rest lose focus. Destroy Oreth, and they fall apart entirely.”
“So you’ve been holding them off. For years. With thirty people and some blue fire.”
“It’s not about holding them off.” I turn from the window. “It’s about protecting what I can while I figure out how to end this. The coastal villages depend on Dreadhaven—depend on me—to keep the Wrecktide contained. Every ship I warn away, every sailor I pull from the water, that’s one less body in Oreth’s army.”
“Penance.”
The word lands harder than a boulder. I don’t flinch—can’t afford to, not in front of her—but my chest clenches.
“Yes.” No point denying it. “For what I did as a pirate. For what I did to Oreth. For all the people who died because of choices I made.” I meet her gaze.
She’s quiet for a long stretch. Studying me with an intensity that makes me want to look away. I don’t.
“I had a partner once.” The words come out soft, almost reluctant. “Finn. He taught me the salvage trade, gave me skills that have kept me alive. We were going to build something—a real operation, not just scraping by.” She looks away. “Years ago, our ship went down. My fault. Bad route, bad timing. I swam for the surface.” Her jaw tightens. “He didn’t make it.”
Ah.
“The curse feeds on it.” It’s not a question. “Uses him against you.”
“In my dreams. His voice. His face.” Her hands curl at her sides. “Promising that if I just let go, just stop fighting, I can see him again.”
“The curse lies.”
“I know. Doesn’t make the dreams easier.”
We stand in silence. Shared guilt hangs between us—different circumstances, same poison. She left someone to drown. So did I. We’re both still paying for it.
“The sea-witch.” I break the silence, my voice steadier now. “Thalira.” I move away from the window, grateful for the change of subject. “She knows things. About the gold, about Oreth, about the deeper magic that powers it all.”
“Can she help us?”
“Maybe. Her help comes with a price, and she doesn’t explain her prices in advance.” I’ve dealt with Thalira before—traded information, purchased charms, listened to warnings that usually proved true. “But if anyone knows how to destroy the hoard, it’s her.”
“Then we should talk to her.”
“Her cave is only accessible at low tide. We have a few hours before?—”
A bell rings. Sharp and urgent, cutting through the morning quiet.
I’m moving before the sound fades, muscle memory carrying me toward the main corridor. Behind me, I hear Aviora’s footsteps matching my pace.
“What is it?”
“Warning bell. Something’s approaching the harbor.”
We emerge onto the wall walk, the wind hitting us in a rush of salt and cold. Below, guards are gathering at the chain mechanism, their attention fixed on the water.
Thorne meets us halfway, her face grim. Forty years old, human, former quartermaster before she joined my crew. I’ve trusted her with my life a dozen times over.
“Ship coming in.” She points toward the harbor mouth. “Emerged from the west ten minutes ago. No flag, no hail.”
I follow her gesture. And my blood turns to ice.
The ship is wrong. Everything about it is wrong. Its hull is crusted with barnacles and sea growth, its sails rotted to gray tatters, its masts listing at angles that should have snapped them years ago. But it moves anyway—cutting through the water with purpose, guided by something that doesn’t need wind or current.
