“It came back,” he murmurs, more to himself than to me.
The light pulses once more, then slips forward along the hull until the angle of the stern hides it from our view.
“What was that?” I ask and swallow, regretting the question as soon as it meets the air.
He turns his head toward me slowly.
“That," he says, studying my face with a new level of intensity, “is the Glim.”
I remember them talking about it last night, the so-called Glim. That they want to follow it into the intermaria.
“And as a sea witch,” he continues, voice cooling again, “you should know exactly what that is.”
My pulse stutters as I force my features into indifference, raising my chin higher.
“Of course.”
His gaze lingers a little too long. His grey eyes search mine, looking for a crack in the mask I have carefully crafted. A knowing look passes over his face.
“Of course,” he echoes in a low voice, and by now, I am certain he knows I am lying.
The wind rises again, tugging at my gown, and I swallow down the knot that has formed in my throat.
“Well then, little fish. We will talk tomorrow. For now, I have a ship to steady and a crew to tame.” He turns and calls over his shoulder, “Lads, come get the witch.”
The glass door swings open. A broad pirate steps onto the balcony first, carrying chains and cuffs. A wiry one follows, a leather strap already looped in his fist.
“You must understand,” Sable leans closer, his voice low, sending a shiver through me. “We cannot let a sea witch roam free and play her wicked little tricks. Sorry, darling.”
He straightens, the faintest curve returning to his mouth as if this were all a performance staged for his own amusement.
“Take her to the hold,” he orders, his tone shifting into cruelty.
“And find my fucking hat,” he throws over his shoulders as he disappears into the galley, leaving his men to finish the work.
“Don’t you dare put that dirty leath—” My scream cuts off as the wiry one shoves a leather strap between my teeth and yanks it tight. Salt and old tannin flood my tongue. I try to spit it out, but I can only gag. The other pirate grabs for my wrists, but I refuse to give in without a fight. I twist away, nearly lose my footing, then lunge back into him out of spite. I throw a punch that rebounds off his shoulders. I scratch blindly at the air, nails scraping skin or cloth, as anger and fear take control over my actions.
“This one’s feisty,” one of them murmurs, grabs me by my wrists, and secures the cuffs with a metallic clicking sound. Naturally, I test them, tugging at the restraints, but the iron bites into my wrists, sharper than I thought it would.
“Aye, she is. Reminds me of Captain’s sister,” the other one adds with a chuckle.
Hatred burns hot in my eyes, but though they water, not a single tear falls. I will not give them that satisfaction, but the weight of it presses down nonetheless.
Within the span of a single day, my life has been overturned. Fate surely cannot be so cruel. To strip me of my tail and cast me into the hands of pirates. Anger coils sharp in my chest, at the world, at the sea, myself. Mostly myself. I shouldn’t have let it come so far, but I have had little choice in the matter.
They march me into the orlop without a struggle. My limbs drag with the weight of my exhaustion with every step, and Iknow there is nowhere left to hide, so I give in. The air grows heavy in the ship’s belly. Tar and salt thicken on my tongue until my throat stings. I have not missed that smell. They push me into one of the two cells, chain my ankles, and fasten the iron links to a ring sunk deep in the planks. The younger pirate tugs the chain once to test it. Pity flickers across his face before he looks away and turns the key.
“Match, be a good lad and bring the lady a bucket of fresh water to clean up,” his mate orders.
“Aye,” Match answers. His eyes meet mine for a heartbeat before he hurries off.
“There is a bucket for waste.” The mate jerks his chin toward the corner, where the bucket waits. Wait, how am I supposed to...? With my wrists bound, I cannot lift my gown. He reads the question in my face, and a small smirk shows through his beard.
“Figure it out,” he says with a shrug. He leaves without another word.
Bastard.
I take a deep breath and shuffle towards the wall opposite from the bars, then let myself slide down against it until my butt touches the cold boards. Darkness gathers, and with it comes the sorrow. I close my eyes and listen to the water rushing against the hull, trying to find comfort in it. For a moment, I can almost feel the hum of the swarm, the flick of tails in dark water, my mother’s voice telling me to go to the surface and take air. She had been loving, even when the others whispered that I was wrong, that a siren born without a tail should never have been born at all. They left me anyway. I wonder if it was all for nothing, if I will ever feel a tail behind me, cutting the current the way it should. I refuse to vanish in this belly of wood and iron. I am still here. I will make that mean something.
