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“What…why do you want a mermaid?”

Silence fills the air. There’s only the sound of the bow sluicing through the water and the steady beat of wind in the sails.

Finally the captain clears his throat and turns to face me, looking relaxed as he leans with one arm on the railing. “Mermaids are valuable, darling. Very valuable.”

“To the world at large or just to you?”

He barks out a laugh. “Astute. The world at large doesn’t believe in mermaids, don’t you know that?”

“But you do.”

“Aye we do. It’s not a matter of belief, you’ll soon see to that. They exist. But I’m not about to argue the points of nature with you,” he says, giving me a dismissive wave.

“I believe it,” I say quickly, and he lifts his chin as he glances at me. “Tell me more.”

He exchanges a glance with the other man. “What do you say, Quartermaster? Should I tell her more?”

So the other man is the quartermaster.

The quartermaster shrugs. “No point asking me when you’re clearly going to do it anyway.”

The captain narrows his gaze at him then looks back to me, grabbing my arm and handing his spyglass over to the woman. “Let me know when we’re close to the islands. I’ll be in my chambers.”

He pulls me along and I wish my legs weren’t so unsteady in general. Right now they barely work at all, my gait uneven. He glances down at me in quick look of concern. “You hurt your leg?”

I shake my head. I most definitely wouldn’t explain it to him now.

“So, tell me more about the witches and mermaids,” I say as he leads me down the stairs to the main deck.

“So you can humor me?” he asks.

“No. Because I want to know more.”

“How about we discuss it over dinner?” he asks, his voice dipping down to something low and gravelly. It makes the hairs stand up at the back of my neck. He pulls me to him just outside of his chambers. “No apples and hardtack. I’m talking a proper dinner. Hot food. Wine.”

I want to stay strong and say no but I’m already drooling at the thought and my stomach pinches hungrily, overriding anything that I want to say out of spite.

“What kind of food?” I ask, unable to help it.

“Boar,” he says. “Fatty crispy boar with all the drippings. And any fish you could desire. Grilled, poached, you name it. We could finish off with a nice cup of coffee.”

I let out a quiet moan, imagining the taste, the feeling of a full belly.

“Don’t let your pride deprive you of this, Princess,” he says to me. Then he brings me inside and over to the cage. “I’ll get you another bucket to bathe with. You’ll have all the privacy in the world, and if you want to throw it at me again, be my guest. I rather enjoyed it. I imagined it was a…release of sorts for you.”

I don’t have to read between the lines to get what he means. I don’t think I ever need to do that. What he means is always clear on his face, the heat in his eyes, the part of his lips.

I swallow hard and nod as he puts me back in the cage. The thought of bathing and putting on my clean gown wins.

Once I’m locked inside he comes back with a full bucket of water and puts it back in the cage with me.

“I’ll return this evening,” he says with a wink and then he’s gone.

* * *

Water had never felt so good.

It wasn’t just about cleansing myself of the dirt and blood and filth—though the soap that was made from olive oil and ash and a sprinkling of herbs worked divine—it was that my body physically feels weaker without water. It’s as if despite not being a Syren anymore, the blood in my body remembers that I once lived under the sea and had water over my skin at all times.