Sable’s mouth tightens. “It appears when you’re on deck. That’s no coincidence to me.”
“That doesn’t mean I can control it.”
His gaze shifts again, scanning my face, clearly searching for a lie. When he finds none, he exhales through his nose.
“Then you’ll have to learn,” he finally says.
I almost laugh. Learn. As if the sea can be trained into obedience.
“Why are you so sure I’m connected to it?”
As I ask the question, I try to catch something in his face that will give him away. He looks past me now, toward the horizon. His brows draw together slightly, focused, as if he’s turning the memory over in his mind.
“Because the Glim saved us from certain death. We were trapped in the harbor of Aurelith. The Royal Navy waited for us in the west, so the only way out was through the intermaria. We weren’t sure it was the right choice, but then the Glim showed us the way.” his voice is quiet, contemplative. “And it appeared the night you came aboard.”
My stomach dips.
“You may think I brought it here with me,” I whisper. “But I can’t remember how I boarded the ship.”
“I think you’re tied to it,” he corrects, drawing in a deep breath.
“And if I can’t call it?” My palms are slick with sweat as I consider the impossible task ahead.
“Then you keep trying.” Sable turns his back toward the open sea. His dark hair whips in the wind, and like yesterday, the light turns his eyes to polished metal. “Until I’m satisfied.”
His words make my skin crawl. I can’t afford to fail, but I know what the ghost said—that it won‘t be an easy task. It only appearswhen the sea needs it to. And I don’t want to find out what will happen to me if I cannot summon it. Right now, I need it more than anything.
A creaking sound shifts my attention. The crew is gathering behind us, their expectant eyes boring into me. Rat stands among them, leaning against a coil of rope like he’s waiting for a show. His jaw is bruised where Sable struck him yesterday, the swelling warping his sneer.
Good. My inner siren is very satisfied with the sight.
Sable notices my glance. “Eyes forward,” he grunts.
I face the sea again with a sharp exhale.
“Do it,” he says, as if it is a simple task.
My throat tightens. I grip the rail, my fingers curling around the wood, and force myself to steady my breathing. The wind presses against my skin, and suddenly I feel very small standing here with their stares boring into my back. If I fail, I am not sure Sable would consider me worth keeping.
My pulse stumbles as I reach inward, searching for the magic within me, grabbing at it and pulling. There isn’t much to take, but the salt from yesterday recharged me a little.
Nothing.
Just water. Just the sound of the ship cutting through the waves.
I close my eyes and try again. I can’t even pretend I know what I am doing, what I’m searching for within myself. This time, I picture the Glim as it looked before—thin as a strand of hair, shining far brighter than is natural. I imagine it slipping between the gap that separates the sky from the waves like a silver snake.
My muscles strain with effort. Wielding sea magic takes time, and I barely had any practice with the swarm. And even if I could, if the Glim truly belongs to the sea, I have no authority over it. Behind me, the crew’s attention presses like heat against my back. Some chuckle at my failure to muster up any power.Others simply sigh, most likely in disappointment that they were wrong about me.
Sable speaks, low and close. “Again.”
I bite down hard on my tongue until I taste blood. I won’t give them the satisfaction of watching me fail. I definitely won’t give Rat that pleasure. And most importantly, I won’t allow the sea the satisfaction. It has witnessed my failure too many times before.
So I try again.
I open my eyes and stare at the water until my vision blurs. For a heartbeat, I consider stepping onto the rail and letting myself fall. Letting the sea take me. Maybe the shift would finally come. My fingers tighten until my knuckles ache.
Sable’s hand lands on my shoulder, squeezing gently. His breath is hot in my ear. “Don’t.”
