“Thank you,” she whispers, a tear slipping from the corner of her eye.
She takes the scale and curls her hand around it protectively, as if it were the most precious thing a person could touch. More crew members arrive at the pier and gather around us, cursing under their breaths and asking how they can help. Cailia orders Match to bring her saltwater, and Nightglass hurries onto the Noctis to gather more ingredients she needs for the potion.
When she has everything she needs, she gets to work.
With a stone, she grounds the scale into a fine, shimmering powder in a small wooden bowl, one of the many we have in the galley. Then she adds the salt water, seaweed, and—
She uses a knife to make a small cut in the palm of her hand, then presses her hand into a fist and lets the blood trickle into the bowl. As she is doing so, her eyes roll back, the same way they did when she used her magic on the guards earlier. I can feel it in the air, the magic, like a soft breeze against my scales, otherworldly and yet familiar, more familiar than whenI felt it in her home when we first met. Cailia whispers words in an ancient language that I don’t understand, the same phrase repeated over and over again, until she gasps for air, and her eyes roll forward again.
When the mixture in the bowl turns black and begins to glisten like obsidian, she sighs in relief, the tension almost fully leaving her body. She turns toward Grim, who is lying right next to her, and tears the fabric from around the wound, then lets the potion trickle onto his flesh.
“You know,” she says quietly without taking her eyes off Grim, “the sea was right after all.”
I frown, my gaze flicking to her face, searching for any elaboration in her face. “What do you mean?”
Her attention remains on Grim and on the wound that slowly stops bleeding. A gasp escapes my lips at the sight, and Cailia’s shoulders sag in relief.
“It told me,” she says after a moment, her voice softer now, “that you two would either be the beginning or the end.”
My chest tightens as I remember our visit to her cottage, how defeated Sable was at the time, and now his sister gave him hope again. The sea has told her that we will either be the beginning or the end of each other.
I glance at Sable. His gaze has already lifted, fixed on me now, but he is still pale, sweat glistening on his forehead.
“There were many ways this could’ve gone,” she continues. “If either of you had chosen not to follow the Glim, if your trust had faltered even once, not just toward the Glim, but toward one another, you would’ve brought about the end of each other.”
Her gaze flicks briefly to Sable, then back to me.
“But it didn’t.”
At that, a smile tugs at my lips, and Sable looks at me intensely with those grey eyes, as if I am his greatest treasure. I know he is mine.
Grim draws in a deep breath, his body jerking as the wound begins to close, as if drawn together by invisible stitches. He props himself up on one elbow, his other hand pressing tentatively against where the wound had been.
His gaze finds Cailia immediately, and something unspoken passes between them, making her appear softer than I have ever seen her before. She reaches out to him, steadying him as he tries to sit up.
“I’m fine,” he mutters, though his voice is rough.
“You’re not,” she replies, just as quietly.
Sable is still next to him, color returning to his face slowly but surely, and he whispers a quick thanks to the seas. It looks like his faith in it has finally been restored.
Cailia pulls back, her expression serious again.
“You two,” she says to two of the crew members, “please get him on the ship.”
They step forward at once, helping Grim to his feet, one on either side of him. He does not resist as they lift him, though his gaze lingers on her for a moment longer before he lets them lead him up the plank. Cailia rises too, already turning on her heel to follow them onto the Noctis. Then she stops, glances over her shoulder, and gives me a curt nod, as if to thank me one more time.
I lift my mouth into a smile, and she leaves without another word, following them. She didn’t have to thank me. She came to save me, even though I am nothing more than a stranger to her. And so did the rest of the crew, who are still standing around us in a loose circle.
I let my gaze drift through the familiar faces I have come to know.
Nightglass, the fearless father who would do anything for his son, who –despite fearing my kind– made me feel welcome. Match, the wiry young pirate who put me in my cell, but voted inmy favor at the tribunal anyway. The cook, who let me earn my space amongst the crew and treated me with respect, even let me eat while I was their captive. And even Harrow is here, though he is already boarding the ship, likely to help the wounded.
My tears begin to well at the sight of them.
“Thank you all,” I croak out, a tear slipping out of my eye. “For coming. For helping me.”
A few of them exchange glances, one of them giving a short nod.
