He takes a careful step forward, then another, moving toward Lark and me with a childlike hesitance that mirrors Lark’s own. Each step pulls him closer, the darkness pulling inward instead of spreading wide around him. When he reaches Lark, I do not stop my hum. I keep it steady, pulling another thread from the power inside me. It is in this moment that I realize that I am no longer only singing for Lark, but also for his shadow. The song not only soothes it, but seems to call it back to where it belongs.
My eyes widen as the shadow gravitates forward, folding back into Lark’s body which swells slightly, as his shadow returns to him like breath returning to lungs. The edges of the silver silhouette dissolve. The darkness sinks into his chest, his legs, slipping beneath skin and into bone until there is nothing left on the deck but the faint glow of lantern light.
Every instinct in me urges me to keep going, to hold the song steady and press further, as if letting go would undo everything. I still feel Lark’s shadow testing the hold I have on it, and I fear it might tear free again if I loosen my grip. So I don’t. I push, drawing more and more power, forcing the song deeper, to not just return the shadow to Lark, but to bind him there. Finally, the resistance falters, and it feels as if two halves no longer pull against each other but align, coming together as one.
Lark releases one long gasping breath, and my hum comes to an abrupt stop. His hand flies to his chest as he seems to come to life again, the boy and the shadow made whole. He looks down at himself, then around the deck, eyes wide and searching.
The space at Lark’s feet is no longer empty. His shadow lies where it should be, tethered and flat, in the distorted shape of his tiny body. Most importantly, it is synchronized with the boy’s movements, its arm retreating from the shadow of my skirts when Lark hesitantly lets go of my gown.
“See,” I whisper, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Everything is fine. You’re fine. All is well.”
He doesn't respond, but I don’t expect him to, seeing him calmer and looking more like himself is enough for me. As I glance up toward the helm, Grim looks at me with his brows set in a straight line and his jaw set tight, like he’s asking me a question I don’t have an answer to.
It is only then that I notice the silence around us. There’s no singing anymore, no splashing against the hull, and when I look out across the dark surface, it lies unnaturally still. My fingers tighten slightly against Lark's back. The dark water sirens surely would not simply let us pass, and yet there is not even a ripple to suggest they are circling below.
I glance toward the helm, then lift my hand and gesture for Grim to remove the wax from his ears.
“When did they stop singing?” I call out, my voice carrying across the deck as I keep my other hand moving over Lark’s back in slow, steady circles to settle him.
Grim pulls the wax free and pushes it into his pockets before straightening, then puts his hands back on the wheel.
“It looked like they retreated when you started singing,” he says, his gaze fixed ahead. “Maybe they showed mercy because you’re one of them, or because they heard Lark.”
Swallowing, my eyes drift back to the water, as if one of them might just break the surface. Maybe they really retreated. They are sirens, and they are the most vicious kind, but I know for a fact that we do not kill without reason, and we are not without a heart, no matter what the sailors might believe.
“Put the wax back in,” I say, quieter now, though the unease has not left me, my gaze lingering on the dark stretch next to us before I force it away. “It’s not worth the risk.”
I adjust my hold on Lark, settling his weight more securely against me as I turn toward the cabin.
“I’ll bring him inside.”
Grim nods, takes the wax out of his pockets and pushes them into his ears again.
I wonder where his shadow is, and what it costs these men to lose them. But one question outweighs all the others, growing in my mind like an uncontained flame.
What have I just done?
Chapter Twenty-Five
Thedarkwatersirensremain in their unsettling silence, but the threat of their presence still presses in on us like a looming storm cloud. The sea feels too still beneath us, as though it is holding its breath. Watching us. Waiting. Whether they have been deterred by my song or are simply waiting for the next chance to strike, I cannot tell. But I will not take a risk with Lark’s life. Or the life of any man in this crew. Not after what I did to Rat.
I hold out the wax pieces to Lark. Lantern light glints off his damp hair, and for a brief moment, I am struck by how small he still looks standing there in the dark. He likes to think of himself as a little pirate, twice as brave as any man, but the reality of it is unavoidable. He is just a boy.
“Put them back in,” I say, keeping my voice steady despite the tension overcoming my body. “Then we’ll find your father.”
I manage a soft smile, hoping he feels the sincerity of it. “Okay?”
“Okay,” he answers. His voice wavers, but he takes the wax from my hand and presses it into his ears with careful fingers, his jaw set as if fear is something he can command into obedience.
I kneel beside him and check the seals, pressing gently until I am sure the wax sits properly. When I rise, my hands linger on his shoulders longer than they need to. I tell myself I am steadying him, though I know it is myself I am bracing. Together we cross the deck toward the cabins beneath the quarterdeck, the boards creaking softly beneath our steps.
Sable must be somewhere around here. I wonder if the same can be said about his shadow.
Grim’s vague answer to my question on where Sable is sits poorly with me.
Trust that he’s doing what must be done.
I know for certain that he’d never leave his crew alone without reasoning, so whatever he must do, it must be important enough to distance himself. Sable does not step away when things turn difficult, and he certainly does not leave others to shoulder his burdens. That has never been who he is. The thought of him being unaccounted for tightens into a sharp, persistent stabbing beneath my ribs.
