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“You cannot sail this ship alone, not in your condition,” he reasoned, leveling me with a stare. “Just a few hours of sleep while we sail, and we will stop pestering you.”

I was not sure why the Mortal cared, nor why I listened. But when he extended a hand towards me, I did not sneer. My hand clasped around his forearm and, as much as it pained me, I allowed him to help me stand. Solas came to the other side to steady me.

“Alright, alright,” I groaned, pushing them both away and limping towards the cabins. I saw a look of amusement pass between the two. Clearly, they had bonded since we had been at sea.

The deck creaked beneath the uneven fall of my boots as I crossed it and stepped through the double doors leading below-deck.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Scribblings of a Mad Man

Rythos

Ibraced a hand against the timber wall as I descended into the narrow corridor below deck. The ship rolled in slow, heavy arcs, its timbers groaning beneath the relentless swell. Lanterns swung gently overhead, washing the narrow passage in amber light that only seemed to deepen the shadows between each doorway. Salt saturated the air, while beyond the hull, the Dead Sea whispered against the planks like something patiently waiting to be invited inside.

There were four rooms aboard this ship. Mine waited at the far end of the narrow passageway: the captain’s quarters, a room I had not entered since I had last been aboard this ship.

The door groaned on its hinges when I pushed it open, protesting the disturbance after years of neglect.

Stale air greeted me and I scrunched my nose against the dust motes floating softly in the air.

Windows lined the far wall, looking out over the rear of the ship and the endless sea beyond. I stepped inside slowly, my gaze dragging over the room I had once known too well. The desk still stood near the glass, its surface buried beneath old papers and half-faded scribblings from the man I had been before the curse.

Melted candlesticks clung to the wood in hardened rivers of wax, gathering dust over memories I had long forgotten. My satchel had been placed carefully on the ground next to the desk. Solas must have moved it here for me.

I ignored the sitting area and the wet bar tucked behind it, though I knew the bottles of rum and whisky still waited there, untouched and patient. For once, I did not want the burn of liquor. I did not want anything to wash away the taste of Lyra’s blood still clinging to my tongue.

I reached for the leather satchel and pulled out the worn journal, tracing the cracked leather beneath my thumb before opening it to a blank page.

I sifted through the sketches I had done for her. One of Aldric looking out over the ocean. One of Solas with the brightest of his smiles that seemed to be infectious to even my dark nature.

And last, one of me. Without the rot. Without the shadows. A sketch of what I wish I could be for her forever.

Alive.

My teeth ground together as I turned to a blank page. I should not waste my time on hope… It will only make it hurt more.

I brought my quill to the paper, ink staining it with a story that would be pieced together after my death.

Lyra,

How could you?

The quill snapped between my fingers, splattering ink across the page the way blood splatters when you drive a blade into an artery. I took a steadying breath, trying to contain my rage. No, I would not use this journal to hurt her. It would only peel back the scab of a wound better left closed after my death.

I knew she still loved me. Could feel the steady ache of it radiating through the bond.

I picked up the snapped quill and brought it to paper once again.

I visited your home today, Lyra.

I wanted to destroy the castle that was your prison until nothing, but dust remained, but it seems the Mortals are already doing that themselves.

Stonebriar is in a crumbling heap while the Mortals kill each other faster than the monsters can.

With the sand collected and a Siren aboard my ship, there is only one item left to fulfil. The scale of a sea serpent. A beast of legends. Something I am not even sure exists.

It makes me question whether this is all some trick Helion is playing, toying with me with the promise of getting you back.