Page 46

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

IRENE

T he hold was cloaked in hushed darkness, broken only by the faint light slipping through the cracks and splintered windows. Irene traced the rough wooden circles of the barrels, her fingers moving, her mind briefly soothed. The air smelled of salt and damp wood, grounding her, a familiar scent that steadied her thoughts. The night had been calm, uncharacteristically so. The prince was silent, asleep in her cabin. Only the gentle rocking of the StormBreaker, anchored near the island, broke the stillness.

A faint smile touched her lips. For once, everything felt… quiet. The chaos of the last few days seemed to dissolve into a soothing silence.

But peace never lingered long.

A dull creak split the air, the kind only a poorly oiled hatch could make. Irene froze. The sound lingered, followed by a sharp, final snap. Her head whipped around, her pulse quickening.

The door to the main deck slammed shut with a heavy finality. She froze, instincts rumbling beneath her calm exterior. Then she let out a low, exasperated sigh. “Probably the wind…” she muttered, but the unease tightening in her chest wouldn’t let go.

Then, a dull jolt reverberated through the hull, faint but unmistakable, followed by the low, metallic scrape of steel. Moments later, chaos broke through—metal clashing, screams ripping through the night. Her chest tightened.

Her boots thudded against the wooden planks as she sprinted to the door. She grabbed the handle and yanked, but it didn’t budge. Locked. She pulled harder, throwing her weight into it, but the door refused to move.

Trapped.

Her breath came faster now, panic bubbling beneath her skin.

Then, a laugh. Low. Cold. It slithered through the shadows like poison.

Irene froze. Every muscle in her body locked as her breath hitched. Slowly, she turned her head, her eyes searching the thick, suffocating darkness of the hold.

“Dax,” she whispered, her voice brittle with exhaustion and dread.

She cursed herself for leaving her weapons in the cabin.

A figure emerged from the shadows, slow and deliberate. Dax. He still wore that burning look, halfway between arrogance and absolute control. But this time, something in his eyes had shifted. They burned red, betraying a rage so raw it felt almost painful. He looked… broken.

Irene felt a shiver run down her spine, but she refused to flinch. “Don’t you ever get tired?” she snapped, her voice sharp, masking the unease curling in her chest. Her fists clenched as her gaze darted around the hold for an escape, or even a weapon. But she already knew—she was trapped. “What the hell is wrong with you, Dax?!” she shouted, walking toward him, fury overtaking reason as she ignored the screams and clashing steel from the deck above.

Dax didn’t answer. His smile vanished, replaced by something darker, and in the space of a single breath, he closed the distance between them. His hand shot out, rough and unyielding, wrapping around her throat as he dragged her backward. Irene gasped as her back slammed into the long wooden table, the edge biting into her ribs.

She fought back, her nails scratching his arm, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he leaned closer, his grip tightening just enough to make her feel the weight of his control—not choking her, but holding her, keeping her locked in place.

A sharp, searing pain radiated from her ribs as she tried to knee him, but he forced himself between her thighs, locking her movements with a force that left her breathless.

“My problem,” he said, his voice a low snarl, his brow furrowed and jaw tight, “is you. Always you.”

The cold kiss of steel grazed her cheek as he pulled a dagger free, the blade trailing along her skin with a deliberate slowness. Irene’s breath caught, her chest rising and falling as adrenaline and fear coursed through her veins. Her hands slid blindly along the table, searching for anything she could use, but Dax pressed his body against hers, pinning her completely.

Their eyes locked, and what she saw sent a chill through her.

Rage. Hatred. And beneath it all… something raw. Something desperate. His red-rimmed eyes shimmered with unshed tears, pain so visceral it burned. Dax had cried.

Her voice faltered, her lips parting, but no words came. His grip stayed firm, his body impossibly close, the dagger trembling slightly in his hand. Dax slid the blade along her cheek, tracing it slowly down her neck. Irene gasped, her breath catching as the edge grazed her skin. A sting bloomed, and she felt the warmth of her blood trickling down her throat, slipping over her collarbone, before trailing between her breasts. Her lashes fluttered shut.

“You and I, little siren,” Dax whispered, his voice low, fractured, and heavy with unspoken weight. “We are made of the same poison. Always remember that...”

Their eyes locked, and Irene felt the air shift between them. His gaze burned into her, tears gleaming in his eyes, their presence shocking her more than the blade. It was enough to unravel her. Enough to pull her into memories she thought she'd buried.

She saw herself at eleven years old, meeting him for the first time—the boy already nicknamed the Viper. She remembered becoming his rival, then his obsession. She had wanted to surpass him, equal him, own him. A toxic obsession, dark and inescapable, weaving them together in a way that was as twisted as it was fated.

The shock hit her like a wave. Her hand closed over his, trying to twist the blade away, but her resolve faltered under the weight of his words, under the strange, intimate violence of the moment. Their bodies tangled together, a feverish collision of hatred and something forbidden. Every encounter between them grew more unhinged, more dangerous, pushing them closer to a truth neither wanted to face.

Her breaths quickened, her vision blurred, and Dax’s stare rooted her in place. He had never looked at her like this before. So raw. So broken. They had spent so long hating each other, fighting each other, that the reality of this moment, of his body pressed against hers, of his hand controlling her air, left them both shaken, confused, and scared. And so Irene did what she did best—she fought back.

Her voice was a ragged whisper. "Then I’ll make sure you choke on this poison first... Leave me alone. I’m not yours anymore. You’ve lost your privilege to touch me," she mocked, breathless.

Dax’s lips twisted into a bitter sneer, a sharp, humourless laugh rumbling in his throat. His grip tightened, on her neck. Fingers pressed into her skin—not enough to hurt, but enough to steal the air from her lungs. Enough to make her world narrow to him, and only him. The chaos above intensified—screams, clanging metal, and furious shouts. But here, in the hold, the world had shrunk to just the two of them. Dax pulled back, and Irene felt the rush of cold air on her skin. She opened her eyes, gasping. He was gone.

For a moment, she thought she’d hallucinated him—a shadow born of her own fractured mind. But the bruises on her throat and the tremble in her legs told her he had been real. She straightened slowly, her gaze locking on the now-opened door to the hold.

The chaos of the main deck filled her ears, and her heart clenched.

"My crew!" she thought.

For a moment, she thought she’d hallucinated him—a shadow born of her own fractured mind. But the bruises on her throat and the tremble in her legs told her he had been real. She straightened slowly, her gaze locking on the now opened door to the hold.

When she burst onto the deck, she froze.

The Stormbreaker was battered and broken.

Some sails hung in tatters, flapping like cursed banners in the wind. Broken barrels spilled their contents across the bloodstained planks. Chains, snapped or abandoned, littered the deck. The acrid stench of blood, burnt wood, and sweat clung to the air like smoke.

Lan knelt over Fionir and Fynlee, hastily wrapping blood-soaked bandages around their wounds. Blade staggered across the deck, pale-faced and bleeding from a gash on his leg, but still dragging torn sails back into place with Javier.

“Where were you?!”

Zahra's scream ripped through the air. She stumbled toward Irene, with anger.

“Where were you when we needed you?!” she yelled.

Irene opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came. Her gaze darted across the deck, taking in the devastation, but her mind refused to process it. Guilt wrapped itself around her. Zahra’s words felt distant, muffled, drowned out by the high-pitched ringing in her ears.

“Because of you…” Zahra choked out, tears streaming down her cheeks. “They took?—”

The crash of a body hitting the deck silenced her.

All heads turned. Egobor.

He collapsed onto the wooden planks with a sickening thud, an arrow lodged deep in his chest, another buried in his side. His body convulsed under the weight of the pain, his bloody hand clawing at the shaft embedded in his torso.

“Egobor!” Irene and Edwina screamed in unison.

They were at his side in seconds, their knees slamming against the blood-soaked deck. Edwina’s hands trembled as she pressed them over his wounds, desperate to stop the flow of blood. Her sobs rose above the stunned silence that had fallen over the ship.

“No, no, no, no…” Irene stammered, shaking her head violently. “This isn’t happening. No.”

Lan sprinted over, his healing bag clutched tightly in his hands. He dropped to his knees beside Egobor, throwing open the box of herbs and needles.

Egobor’s lips quivered, his breaths coming in shallow, rattling gasps. His tear-streaked eyes locked onto Irene’s, and for the first time, she saw fear etched into his face.

“You’ve never stopped being mine,” he said. “And you never will.” He leaned in, his voice a low growl that rumbled through her stomach. "You are mine to hate," he rasped, his hand tightening just enough to steal her breath.

"Mine to tease," he whispered, his lips brushing her ear as his fingers trailed down her side, setting her skin on fire.

"Mine to torment," he said, pressing the cold edge of the blade against her breast, feeling the rapid rise and fall of her breath beneath it.

"Mine to obsess over," he murmured, his voice heavy with possession. “Press the wound, there—now!” Lan yelled.

Irene obeyed instantly, her hands pressing against Egobor’s chest. Warm blood seeped between her fingers, soaking her palms. She pressed harder, harder, but the blood kept flowing.

Egobor’s eyes fluttered open, his irises trembling with emotion. “Not now…” he whispered, his voice hoarse and weak. His hand found Edwina’s, gripping it tightly.

Lan shook his head silently. “The arrow hit too many organs… if I try anything, it’ll only make it worse.”

Irene’s head snapped toward him, her eyes blazing with rage and despair. “Shut up! You can do something! You’re a healer, damn it—save him!”

Lan held her gaze, his own heavy with exhaustion and sorrow. “I can’t fix this.” He hesitated. “All I can do is… make it less painful.”

“No!” Irene screamed, her voice cracking. She grabbed Lan by the collar, shaking him. “I’ll give you my share of gold! Anything you want! Just save him!”

Lan gently pushed her hands away, his own resting on her arm. “It’s not about gold, Irene. It’s not your decision. Or mine.”

Hezra, standing nearby, “Destiny decides, not us.”

Further away, the Amorian company stood in tight ranks, hats clutched over their hearts. Their faces were heavy with grief, silent tears, their silence deeper than any wail.

Irene felt the lump rising in her throat, her hands trembling and slick with Egobor’s blood.

“The shore…” Egobor whispered, his voice so faint it barely reached her.

Irene froze. She understood. He wanted to die on the sand, as a true Amorian should.

Edwina stood abruptly, her movements unsteady, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Help me get him down!” she cried.

Javier and Blade rushed to her side, carefully lifting Egobor’s massive body. Their faces were tight with pain, their steps slow and deliberate. They descended into the small boat, Edwina never letting go of her husband’s hand. Irene followed.

When they reached the shore, Javier and Blade laid Egobor down on the warm sand. Edwina knelt beside him, cradling his face, her trembling hands caressing his blood-streaked cheek. Irene dropped to her knees, the weight of the moment crushing her chest. Egobor lay sprawled on the blood-soaked sand, each breath a shallow, labored rasp. His trembling hand reached for Edwina’s, her sobs cutting through the crash of the waves like shards of glass. “I love you,” he whispered. “I will love you forever… until my soul rests with yours in Amoria.” His bloodied fingers weakly squeezed hers as a tear slipped down his cheek.

Edwina collapsed against his chest, her cries muffled as she clung to him, pleading for time the sea would never return.

“No!” Irene’s fist struck the sand, fury and denial swirling in her chest like a storm. But when Egobor’s bloodied hand reached toward her, she froze.

His trembling fingers brushed her wrist, smearing her skin with warmth already fading. Irene leaned closer, as his head turned toward her.

His lips twitched, curving into a faint, fleeting smile as the strength drained from him.

“I’ve seen you grow, Irene,” he rasped. “From the reckless girl who cursed the sea… to the captain who commands it.”

Her throat tightened, strangling the words she wanted to say.

“It was my honor to serve under your command… one last time.” The words held quiet pride, a final gift from a man who had never faltered in his loyalty. Egobor tugged her closer. His lips moved, but the words were drowned by Edwina’s sobs and the relentless roar of the waves.

“What?” Irene whispered, her voice cracking. “I can’t hear you.”

He drew one final breath, forcing the last of his strength into his voice.

“It’s… not him. I’m sure now.”

Her heart thundered in her chest as his body trembled with the effort. His lips quivered, forcing out his final words:

“Find… the real enemy.” His hand fell limp. His chest stilled.

Irene stared at him, paralyzed, as Edwina’s wail tore through the silence. The sand beneath him darkened, swallowing the last of his lifeblood, his lifeless hand half-buried in the earth he would never see again. Edwina let out a cry so raw, so broken, it seemed to tear the air apart. But Irene didn’t move.

Something inside Irene shattered. Not a crack, not a fracture—an explosion, jagged and violent, tearing through her.

She reached for Egobor’s body, her hands trembling, desperate to touch him one last time. But a brutal slap from Edwina, snapped her head to the side.

“Go away!” Edwina’s voice was a broken scream, ripping through the air. Her eyes burned with rage, her face streaked with tears. “Go away, Irene! Leave us! This is all your fault!”

The words hit harder than the slap. They sunk into her chest like poisoned arrows, each one twisting deeper, splitting her open. She opened her mouth, trying to answer, but no sound escaped. Excuses, promises, justifications, all of them swirled in her mind, clawing for release, but nothing made it past her lips.

But instead, she heard them . The laughing voices. The acrid whispers, hissing like venom: It’s your fault again. You weren’t there. You’re never there. You ruin everything.

She clutched at her temples, nails digging into her skin, desperate to silence them. But the shadows were alive again, scratching, tearing, ripping her apart from the inside out. The world blurred, colours bleeding away into black and white. Shapes distorted, their edges crumbling. The voices roared louder. The earth felt like it was slipping out from under her, and the void yawned open to swallow her whole.

“You’re cursed, Irene Delmare!” Edwina screamed, shattering the fog of her mind.

Irene staggered backward. Her breath came in sharp, erratic bursts, like she was drowning. Her hands clutched at her chest. She couldn’t breathe. The sea stretched out before her, endless and gray, eerily silent. She stepped into the icy waves, their cold grip biting at her legs. Salt stung her skin, but she barely felt it. She fell to her knees in the water, her arms too weak to catch her.

She tried to rise, but her body refused to obey. Strong hands gripped her shoulders, one on each side. Blade on her right, Javier on her left.

Together, they lifted her, forcing her to stand. Her legs dragged, and her head hung low, but they didn’t let go. They carried her forward, step by agonizing step, through the waves and back to the boat.The StormBreaker loomed before them. Blade and Javier hauled their captain back on board. The voices around Irene were faint, muted and far away. Zahra was screaming; Irene could see her mouth moving, her face twisted in anger, but the sound never reached her ears. Just that high-pitched whistling again.

Everything around her moved wrong—too slow, then too fast, blurring and shifting like the world couldn’t decide how to exist.

She stumbled toward the edge of the ship. The island where Egobor and Edwina had been left shrank in the distance, swallowed by the horizon, smaller and smaller, until it disappeared completely.

The pain in her chest clawed its way up her throat. She lifted a trembling hand to her neck, trying to ease the tension away. But her fingers found nothing. Her necklace. Her neck was bare. “The necklace…” she whispered, her voice hoarse and breaking. She clenched her fists, nails biting into her palms as the realization struck.

She could still feel it—Dax’s hand around her throat, his grip stealing more than her air.

“He took it,” she muttered, the words hollow. “The ashes…”

“We won’t need any more ashes." Zahra’s voice cut through the haze, snapping her back to the present. Irene’s head snapped toward her, eyes narrowing.

“What?”

They stole the last fragment! Before I could decipher everything!”

Irene froze. Zahra’s words came fast, “I only had time to decipher half of it—the directions to the Sapphire Island—but the rest is gone! The story! The legend! All of it! It’s incomplete! Forever!”

She clutched her stomach, as if to hold back the pain, the anger, and the shame threatening to burst free. The black-and-white world she’d been trapped in pulsed violently. A new colour was creeping into her vision. Flashes of red. And she knew exactly how to bring it to life. A hysterical laugh ripped free from her lips.

“The… prince,” she suddenly breathed. "He… he’s in the cabin,” Blade answered. “He won’t come out.”

“A ship!”

Baelor stood at the rail, pointing to a ship cutting through the waves, closing in on them. Panic spread through the crew. The air erupted with frightened whispers. “We’re not ready for a battle!”

“We can’t fight like this!” “Who sent them?” “They’re here to finish us,” Javier said.

Amidst the chaos, Irene stood still. She felt nothing but ice in her veins. Cold. Resigned. She turned to Fionir. “Open the guns. All of them. Ready the cannons,” she said, her voice disturbingly calm.

They stared at her, wide-eyed, like she’d gone mad. Maybe she had. But Irene? Irene had never felt more sane than in this moment.

They don’t understand me. They don’t see what I see.

The world is colorless now. It needs color. I’ll paint it red.

The enemy ship loomed closer.

“Now!” she screamed. “It’s an order.” Javier grabbed her arm. “What are you doing? They didn’t even attack us yet!”

Irene tilted her head toward him, “Do you want to wait for them to kill us?” she whispered, her voice soft. She leaned in closer, “Maybe you’ll be the next one to die.”

She pulled herself away from his grip abruptly and turned to the crew. Her voice rang out, sharp, “Ready the cannons!”

The crew hesitated, hands faltering, gazes flicking to Javier, hoping he'd intervene. The sound of cannons being loaded filled the air.

“Look at them!” Javier’s voice broke. “They’re just boys, Irene. Kids! They were probably just sent by the king—or the commander. It’s not their fault. We can talk to them, reason with them. We don’t have to do this." Javier begged.

Irene shook her head, her voice trembling. "No... no. They won’t talk. They want to send me back there ... they want to steal him from me."

The voices in her head swelled, louder now, crying out like desperate wails. "Don’t let them send us back! Do it. Before they take everything from you. Don’t be weak!"

Javier yanked Irene back, his voice raw and desperate. “Life isn’t just about revenge, Irene!”

“Life has lost its worth. I crave blood and ashes now,” she said, her voice calm.

Javier took a step back, his breath hitching. Irene’s eyes weren’t just red from tears—they shimmered, an eerie, unnatural red, almost pink. Something alive and terrifying burned in her.

Javier exhaled, defeated. “You’re going to kill them.”

She tilted her head, a faint shrug lifting her shoulders. “I intend to.”

She turned, walking along the deck, her hair flying in the wind. Her gaze locked onto the young sailors on the approaching ship. She didn’t see boys. She saw shadows.

The voices clawed at the walls of Irene’s skull, a thousand nails dragging across her mind.

They didn’t whisper. They screamed. One word. Over and over, until it pulsed through her veins.

Her sanity suffocated. Her chest tightened, and her lips cracked open.

“Fire.”

And with her smile came flames.

The cannons roared, shaking the ship as the horizon split apart in smoke and ruin.

There were many lessons to be learned that day aboard the StormBreaker. But as the crew stood frozen, staring in stunned, uneasy silence, only one lesson echoed louder: When Irene was happy, she was reckless—unguarded, prone to mistakes. But in her rage and spite, she found a terrifying clarity. And that was what made her truly dangerous.