Page 58 of A Sea of Vows and Silence (The Naiads of Juile #3)

Cebrinne

A sharp pang cascaded down my spine as my eyes locked into the gaze of the man holding me. Not a sailor.

Deimos.

Frost fogged in my mouth. Goosebumps erupted down my arms. A chill trickled across my skin. I called to the moisture in the air anyway, knowing it was futile. Wherever they were, drones waited nearby.

Deimos shoved me over a crate, twisting my arms behind my back. I kicked blindly behind me, but he avoided my blows. Rough rope coiled across my wrists, a sharp sting in my shoulders as he pulled me upright.

From the corner of my eye, more of them dipped into the berth.

Sailors who had boarded the ship last-minute, each of them sending a prickle down my neck.

One of them set his foot over a crate, leaning his weight into his knee.

“Three days,” he said, shaking his head.

“Three days of waiting for you to wander down here, away from the railing, where you might have jumped into the sea and escaped. I knew when you left that book behind, that was the way to catch you.”

I shoved right and left, searching for a weak point in Deimos’s grip. Inside, I roared. But my open mouth betrayed not a sound. The Naiads stepped closer. Five of them, five drones closing in under the hatch above.

Suddenly, I understood why sirens hate to sail. Why a ship is little more than a trap set with sanded timber, a prison drifting over the water. A chamber crafted for torture, the freedom of water so close yet so far.

“What’s going on?” the quartermaster asked.

Our heads swiveled to his.

The closest Naiad stabbed him in the gut.

His mouth shaped an O of surprise, his hands meeting at his middle over the wound.

His body caved in as he bent forward into the knife.

The Naiad thrust the blade away, summoning a stream of blood to carve trenches between the quartermaster’s knuckles.

He stumbled and fell backwards in shock, still looking at all of us as though trying to unwind the words of a riddle he couldn’t understand.

A gasp came from the galley, the boots of the cook scuffling as he turned and fled into the ship. The Naiad with the knife wiped it calmly on the quartermaster’s shoulder. Then followed the sound of the fading steps.

“Did you think only one of us was following you in Calder?” one of the drones asked. A copper tint threaded through his hair, and I wondered if Rivea lingered somewhere in his ancestry. “There was only ever one of us that we let you see .”

Somewhere on the ship, a man screamed. The drone facing me frowned. “Where’s your sister?”

I gave a silent laugh. He wanted me to speak?

Winterlight , I mouthed mockingly.

His lip curled as he realized his mistake. “Tie her to the capstan,” he said, drawing a dagger and facing the steps to the main deck. “The rest of you, with me.”

Deimos threw me against the spokes of the nautical windlass, pushing me to the floor with a knee pinning my legs. His arm stretched over my head, reaching for a length of cable.

My heart bludgeoned against my ribs. Not fear. Anger .

A burning vat of acid rose through my throat, fire lighting in my veins. To have come so close and find myself here, unable to cross the final stretch between me and freedom.

Just three short years of freedom—that’s all I wanted.

I lurched forward, closing the space between us with a snap of teeth. Deimos swerved away, avoiding a chunk stolen from his chin. Teeth bared, I stared at him through the long strands of my hair, a silent snarl coiling my lips.

The cold eclipse of nearby drones fogged his breath as he cinched my bonds tight. He stood, thumb over the handle of his own knife, lupine eyes hard on me.

Shouts cracked through the sound of the sea. Cries for help. Heavy thuds punctuated the clamor, the sound of slow footfalls and dragged weight followed by distant splashes. Deimos held my book up, rotating it to catch my attention. He placed it on the stairs behind him, hand still over his knife.

We listened in silence to the percussion of murder. To hollow grunts and iron clanging. A dark puddle gathered between the seams of the plank boards above my head. It finally dripped, liquid splatting over wood, dull and soft.

Then quiet.

An eternity of quiet. Of freedom-snatching, heart-rending quiet.

I glared at Deimos through my lashes. I wished I’d killed him the day he’d pulled me from the docks of my home.

I’d felt my power that day. The force of it igniting my veins, rushing from my heart to every tiny capillary and back, masked by pain and fear for Selena.

Something felt but not understood. I should have summoned it anyway.

Thumb smoothing over the handle of his knife, he watched me as though he knew my thoughts. Without a trace of emotion. The same expression I usually wore. Then he drew something from his pocket and swallowed it. Knife in hand, he rounded the stairs to the main deck and vanished.

The puddle over my head continued to gather .

Drip…drip…drip…

The sound set my teeth on edge. I rocked my head against the capstan, ignoring the shiver that trickled down my skin when I remembered my bargain with Darkness.

The ship rocked onto its side, wood groaning as its sails turned. We were heading back.

Calder.

No. I’d come too far. I’d come too close .

I’d summoned Theia, Goddess of the Sea, and she’d given me my fate.

I’d sacrificed my sister, my voice, the remaining years of my life.

I would not return to Calder tied to some wooden axis in the hold of a ship for Thaan to command for the rest of my days.

The rest of my days were mine , and I would not give them back.

I twisted my hands, fighting the cable Deimos had tied.

My left wrist was too tight to budge, but my right hand had never uncurled from the clawed fist I’d cursed myself with by writing in Selena’s book.

Fire seared into the tendons of my wrist, a sluggish burn that lingered even after I paused to breathe through the heat.

Sweat beaded across my forehead. I gritted my teeth and tried again, turning, turning, turning. Until it came free.

My hand and wrist were ghost-white. I watched the color return, flexing blood back into my fingers, but they barely moved. The burn flared down my arm, but I reached around to my other hand, numb fingertips searching for a knot to untie.

A sound from above made me freeze. Sharp and flat. Unidentifiable. I waited for only a moment, listening for steps nearing the stairs. But the quiet returned. The ship bobbed left and right, pumping through island swells.

I scrambled to set my stiff fingers into motion.

Frayed cord. The ribs of a knot. Gentle tugs, one at a time. My heart sped as the rope relaxed. Another pull, and my hand came free.

Success.

I shoved to my feet, flinging open the weapon cabinet and grabbing the nearest sword. I’d never held one before. It dangled awkwardly from my left hand, ungainly in my grip. I hesitated. Then lifted the skirt of my dress and grabbed a dagger, fitting the blade snug in my garter.

Thank Theia for obstinate pleasure servants.

My book sat on the steps, and I cut a length of burlap hanging from one of the crates, wrapping it around the book and tying the ends through my dress’s sash. Then lifted my head toward the sky above.

Silence unfurled from the main deck, broken only by the sound of the sea, the protest of stretching and shrinking wood. Sword in my left hand, my right destroyed, I leaned on my elbow as I fought for balance against the hard sway of the ship, climbing stairs back to the sun.

Halfway up, I paused to peer across the floor. The captain’s body lay across from me, a thick glaze already over his unfocused eyes. Blood leaked from the corner of his mouth, an open slash across his throat.

My hand tightened over the hilt of the sword.

I padded up the last few stairs, ducking behind the main mast. To my right, another motionless body.

One of the drones. He faced away from me, his arm tucked awkwardly behind his back in a bloodied stump, a severed hand leaning against the corner of a nearby barrel. A trail of crimson connected the two.

The ship gave a lurch. I dropped into a squat, keeping low as I crossed the helm. The dagger pressed into the flesh of my thigh, needling through my pulse like a sharp promise. I will not fail, I will not fail, I will not fail.

Steps sounded from the other side of a crate, scuffing and dragging as though wielded by injured legs. I froze, my back flat against the wood. Turned the hilt in my sweaty palm. My lungs refused to deflate. They pressed so hard against my torso, I thought my pounding heart might break my bones.

Behind me, the steps turned, following the curve of the crate.

I swallowed.

Step.

Anchored my weight in the balls of my feet.

Step .

Prepared to spring.

Step.

Deimos emerged from around the corner.

I leapt before his foot even landed.

He stared at me with those silver-wolf eyes as my sword cleaved his chest.