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Artus directed a grunt of warning at Lovel, which Jarin supposed was all the noise he could make without his tongue. Lovel turned just in time to see Drue sneaking up on him, dagger in hand.

Lovel wrestled with Drue, subduing him, while Berolt went after Terrick and locked him in a fight. Jarin swung his elbow, aiming for Artus’s face. But the older man, as wily as a snake, ducked around him with a flash of silver.

It took several moments for Jarin to realize the flash of silver had been a knife and Artus had stabbed him.

At first, the wound didn’t hurt. The side of his body simply felt wet and strange. Then, he looked down and saw dark red spreading across his shirt.

He hadn’t meant to die yet. Drue and Berolt and Neve were in danger, and he hadn’t even set eyes on Riella. Where was she? What if she was already dead?

All he could do now was go out with a fight.

He lunged at Lovel and tore him from Drue. Artus’s other men were upon Jarin at once, wrenching him back to the stern. Jarin managed to bury the blade of his dagger in the chest of one and elbowed another in the face. He couldn’t seem to stand straight or catch his breath. It was a decade since he’d been injured and not begun healing right away. His strength was waning at an alarming rate.

The blade of a sword sliced so close to his face that he felt the air move. Jarin punched the pirate holding the sword in the stomach, then picked him up and threw him to the deck, unconscious. He couldn’t see or hear Drue and Berolt anymore, which surely meant they were dead or gravely injured.

Jarin struggled against Artus and Lovel as they closed in on him. He threw off Lovel, but Artus bore down on him before he could regain his footing, trapping him against the railing. He groped for the handle of his dagger, but Artus stuck a blade in Jarin’s back while holding him in a grotesque bear hug. The older man withdrew the blade rapidly, plunging it straight into Jarin’s other kidney.

Jarin stumbled, the sky and the vessel and the captain’s face beginning to blur and swim before him. He was losing blood, and lots of it. Death was so close that he could feel the promise of its warm embrace.

Through the darkness, a luminous angel came toward him. Then he blinked, and realized it was Riella in her pale-gold dress, running along the deck, completely unarmed. A terrified female scream came from the bow—Seraphine or Neve. The two were on their own against Polinth. Jarin had to make Riella leave. His life was already over, but hers wasn’t.

“Jarin!” she yelled.

Lovel pounced on her. She ripped her talons across his face, making him yowl. With his last drop of strength, Jarin swung his fist at Artus. Jarin connected with his jaw, but not hard enough to do real damage.

Terrick closed in on Riella, as did a bleeding Lovel and the other men. They knew Jarin was Artus’s kill, and had gone for the siren instead.

“Riella, get out of here!” said Jarin with a rasp. “Go save Seraphine and Neve!”

“But you . . . ” she said.

Her blue gaze met his, the siren torn between saving them and helping him. But he couldn’t let her remain here. With Jarin on the verge of death, Artus and these ghouls could very well overpower her.

“Go!” he shouted. “I can’t be killed, remember! I’m right behind you.”

He fought to make his voice strong and even. Another scream came from the bow, which tipped the scales. Riella had seen Jarin survive a shard of glass to the heart. She trusted him to live. He hated lying to her, but this was the last gift he could give her. A final act of love.

To his staggering relief, she turned on her heel and sprinted toward the scream.

Artus stood directly in front of Jarin. Lovel and Terrick flanked their captain, grinning like hyenas, the third man leering farther back. Artus held his sword at his side.

“We heard a whisper on the docks earlier, all the way from Velandia,” said Lovel with an excited, high-pitched laugh. “We heard your dear old mother died. Ended the curse.” He pointed at the wooden deck, where Jarin’s blood steadily pooled. “Looks like condolences are indeed in order.”

Jarin closed his eyes, the life draining from him like sand from a broken hourglass. Had his actions been enough to disrupt the prophecy? Had he taken her place by saving her just now? She had outlived him, at the very least. That was something.

Artus struck as Jarin opened his eyes again. The long blade plunged into his stomach, burning like fire. With a determined gleam in his eye, Artus leaned into the hilt, making Jarin’s insides rupture and implode.

Absurdly, he wondered how he was drowning even though he wasn’t in the water. Then, he coughed. Blood streamed from his mouth, and didn’t stop. His chest rose and fell in vain, his vision fading, and he knew he’d never take another breath.

Lovel and Terrick rammed him. Artus gripped the sword handle and when Jarin fell backward, the blade tore violently from his stomach. He tumbled over the railing and crashed through the surface of the water. His body sank quickly and silently, pulled under by the powerful current.

The last thing he remembered was endless dark blue and his love for Riella and a hauntingly beautiful Song that seemed to emanate from the waves themselves.

CHAPTER 38

Riella sprinted back to the bow, knowing Jarin could survive anything.

The screams came from Neve. Her sword, which glowed red when she came to Riella’s aid, lay dull and discarded on the deck. She was sprawled on her back, grimacing in pain. Seraphine convulsed against the railing, so weakened that she couldn’t stand. The elf was a whisper away from death.