“At least I think I am,” my voice breaks.
Within a heartbeat, he draws a dagger from his belt, yanks my back against his chest, and presses the cold blade to my throat. My whole body goes rigid. My lower lip trembles as I fight back tears. I couldn’t coax a hum from my tongue even if I wanted to. Even if I could, it wouldn’t be strong enough to soothe himanyway. He is like the storm that thunders above the Sea of Crowns. Destructive and unforgiving.
“Never in my twenty-nine years have I heard of a siren without a tail,” he spits into my ear, pressing the dagger as deep as it can go without breaking skin, his arm locking me in place like a cage.
“I am telling the truth,” I breathe, knees shaking. As stupid as I may be for admitting my secret to him, only a fool would tell a pirate they are a siren without actually being one. Even he must recognize that through his anger.
He goes still, weighing whether he should believe me or not. Then, ever so slowly, he lifts the dagger.
“So my nickname for you is not so wrong after all, little fish,” he finally says, and lets the tip of the dagger travel down the side of my throat, until it slides over the scales covering my collarbone.
“I bet you know that such scales are worth a heavy penny?” he says into my ear. “Maybe I should count these up and see if it’s worth my while to cut them from your flesh.”
He gathers my hair and pulls it over my shoulder, as if to check for more scales on the other side, and I hate the way my body reacts to the closeness, a shiver running through me in response. Salt and spice slings to him, as if he carries the sea with him, whether it wants him or not. He lingers there, his breath brushing faintly against my neck, and I curl my fingers into fists, forcing myself not to react.
Both of us jump out of our skin as the hatch above slams open, cracking through the thick silence. Light bursts into the orlop.
“Sable.” Grim’s voice cuts through between us.
Sable’s body goes rigid behind me, and my mind goes blank. I count the time that passes with my heartbeat. One. Two. Three. Four. Finally, his grip slackens, and he lowers the knife. My knees buckle as air rushes back into my lungs, and he holds me upright with a trembling hand against my waist. I continueto pull in air in desperation, as I do after breaking through the surface of the waves after my failed attempts to shift.
I stumble forward, creating distance between us. When I turn back, he is already looking at Grim, anger twitching the muscles in his cheeks.
“She is a siren,” he says. His voice is steady, but it lacks the bite it had before. “Though a broken one, it seems.”
Broken. The word bites at me like salt in an open wound. I watch him carefully, like prey anticipating its predator’s strike. He pulls a key from the pocket of his breeches and crouches in front of me to unlock the shackles around my ankles. The cuffs spring free as he glances up at me, the anger vanishing from his features.
I furrow my brows at him, trying to understand what has sparked the sudden change of heart, but come up blank. I don’t know what inner demons he fights, but that’s no excuse for threatening me. When he straightens and walks out of the cell, he avoids my gaze.
"That explains a lot," Grim says, eyeing me up carefully. I do not like the way he looks at me now, like I am a risk to be evaluated with the utmost care and precision. Pressing his lips into a thin line, his harsher stare lingers on my legs.
"But it also raises many more questions." His eyes find mine again, and I hold his gaze, bracing myself for the one I know is coming– why I have legs instead of a tail, one I cannot really answer. I force myself to stay still under his gaze, even as everything in me strains to look away. If I give him even an inch of fear, he’ll take it. Finally, Grim breaks the tension and looks at his captain.
"What are the orders, Cap?"
Sable rubs a hand across his mouth, thinking, still avoiding my gaze.
“Take her below the quarterdeck,” he says at last. "She’s injured. She cannot remain here if the sea breaks through the hull. She’ll lose too much.”
He turns and climbs the ladder without so much as another word. Grim exhales through his nose and gestures for me to step out.
"You’ll have to see the bonesetter,” he says. “You‘re bleeding, and the ship isn’t fully patched. Do you really want to be in here if the water comes flooding in, taking memory after memory until there is nothing left to give?”
I clench my jaw so tightly that I fear my teeth will splinter under the pressure. I am stubborn, and sometimes I make poorly thought-out decisions. I can admit as much, given the situation I am in. I wonder if this is some kind of trick, and why they would care if I lose my memory. Trick or not, I need to see a mender, so I decide to accept the small mercy offered to me and walk out of the cell on unsteady feet.
Grim helps me up the stairs and onto the main deck, as the handcuffs still bind me. The bright blue of the cloudless sky blinds me, and I squint against it, trying to adjust my eyes. The sails flap lazily as they catch the wind, wood creaking as ropes are pulled tight. The sharp fragrance of salt floods the air.
I don’t think word has spread about my siren identity yet, judging by the curious, but not fearful, glances of the crew. At the corner of the main deck, Lark scrubs the planks with a holystone, and I give him a slow smile. It seems the boy got his punishment for forgetting his message for me. As usual, his eyes widen for a heartbeat, but to my surprise, he gives me a shy smile in return. I cross his name off my list of people seeking revenge.
“Come on, we don’t have much time. This way.” He points to the stern of the deck, and I limp awkwardly in front of him, each step sending a fresh wave of pain up my leg. We enter the heavy door to the quarterdeck and move down a narrow hallway.Rooms line both sides, I count six dark doors. At the end, a wooden door decorated with stained glass comes into view. It must lead to the captain’s quarters. Grim walks me down the hallway and fishes a key from his breeches as we stop at the last room on the right. He makes quick work of my handcuffs and removes them without another word.
Grim leans over to push open the door to a small, dimly lit room. The sharp smell of rum and herbs fills my nose, and I recognize the smell instantly. One of the few things I remember vividly from the short time I spent on my father’s ship was that one time when I climbed the rigging and fell, spraining my ankle. My father took me to the bonesetter, and the room smelled just like this one. He is called “surgeon” on most ships. He sets bones, tends wounds, and performs amputations if necessary. Luckily, my ankle just needed a bandage.
An older man sits at a large wooden table, and from the stains of red in the grain, I can tell what it’s used for. The wall is covered with built-in shelves and makeshift racks that hold jars and bottles. Iron tools hang from nails, and by the Seas, I hope none of them will ever be used on me.
My eyes wander back to the pirate, who is now looking at me. He furrows his gray brows. His skin looks leathered and worn, probably from spending countless years at sea in foul weather. His eyes look tired but hold wisdom and warmth. He does not frighten me nearly as much as most men, and the coiling dread in my stomach eases at the thought.
“Mm,” he says at last, breaking the tension. “Come sit here, lass. Let me see what I’m working with.”
