Page 8 of Craved By the Kraken Warlord

They’re tucked into a shadowed alcove, half-hidden behind a curtain of swaying kelp. Twelve figures, all women, carved in smooth black stone. Their faces are eerily detailed—wide eyes, parted lips, hands frozen mid-reach. A thirteenth plinth stands empty.

My stomach drops.

“Previous sacrifices,” I whisper.

The kelp brushes my shoulder, making me jump. Each statue’s base is etched with symbols I can’t read, but I don’t need translation. The dates span centuries. The last one—a girl with braided hair—is marked just ten years ago.

*Gone*, he’d said. *The sea took them.*

I back away, knees weak. The empty plinth gapes like an open mouth.

A splash echoes from the pool.

Va’thar emerges, water cascading off his shoulders. Four tentacles balance a woven kelp basket laden with fist-sized fruits, their skins glowing faintly pink. He freezes when he sees me, gaze darting to the statues.

“You could’ve warned me,” I say.

He sets the basket on the slab. *“You did not ask.”*

“Right. My bad for not inquiring about your creepy shrine.”

The tentacles still. *“They are memorials. Not trophies.”*

“Semantics.” I cross my arms. “Did you carve them?”

*“Yes.”* He won’t look at me. *“To remember… failure.”*

The admission softens something in my chest. Stupid. I nod at the basket. “What’s that?”

*“Food. You need strength.”* He plucks a fruit, offering it. The flesh shimmers like a pearl. “Eat.”

I take it, wary. The skin gives under my thumb, releasing a sweet, citrus scent. “Poisonous?”

*“To me. Not to you.”* He watches me intently. *“Bite.”*

I sink my teeth in. Juice bursts over my tongue—tangy, effervescent. It’s the best thing I’ve tasted in years. I devour it, sucking pulp from the rind. Va’thar’s markings flare brighter with each bite.

“What?” I wipe my chin.

*“Nothing.”* He turns away, tentacles coiling. *“You… enjoy it.”*

“Starving does that.” I grab another fruit. “How’d you even get these?”

*“Harvested. From the shallows.”*

“You left?” The idea unsettles me. “What if I’d tried to escape?”

*“You would have drowned.”* He says it matter-of-factly. *“The air bubble is bound to me.”*

I pause mid-bite. “So I’m on a leash.”

*“A tether. For safety.”*

“Yours or mine?”

He doesn’t answer.

We sit on opposite ends of the slab. I eat; he stares at the pool. The silence stretches, taut.