Page 42 of Sea of Evil and Desire (The Deep Saga #1)

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Morgana

T he darkness was playing tricks on me. It festered in the corners and moved across the walls. Now and then, I cried out, convinced something was creeping through the gloom, only to find it was just shadows flickering against the rocks. They sometimes felt almost gentle , brushing my cheeks like the phantom touch of a long-lost lover.

Perhaps I was losing my mind.

It was cold in the cell. We must have been deep below the rock face supporting the castle. Had we been imprisoned for hours or days? Maybe it was weeks—no, it couldn’t be. I would have died from lack of oxygen already.

Eventually, I found the courage to inch toward the back of the enclosure. Relief and disappointment warred within me—it only stretched thirty feet. Had it gone on endlessly, escape might have felt possible. Deep holes pockmarked the walls, some large enough to swallow my entire arm. I forced myself not to wonder what might slither from them as Edward and I rested. Who knew what lurked in these black corners of the ocean? Even the ever-probing humans hadn’t uncovered all its secrets.

The cell was large enough to offer permanent unease about potential unwanted company, and there was also a sense of something ancient down here—something nameless and timeless that permeated the darkness, something that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. We huddled in the meager pool of light against the wall nearest the bars and tried to speak of other things.

“You told me that you believe the Drowned are souls who have been wicked in some way or another. When you spoke of your sin, what were you referring to?” I asked.

The anxious tightness had begun in my chest. This time, I knew what it meant. Soon, I would need to breathe. I might as well pry. After all, what else could we do down here but talk? It distracted me from the images of the pirates’ hands on my body, the dead mergirl’s face, and Donahue’s silver veins that crept into my mind from the darkness whenever I let my guard down—not to mention the throb of hunger that was gnawing out my insides.

“Supposedly Manannán claims all souls because no one is free of sin, but no one really knows the truth. Perhaps it is a myth.” I could see a hint of Edward’s sad smile as he leaned his head back.

“But what’s the worst thing you ever did when you were alive?” I urged, tracing lines on the algae-covered floor.

He breathed into the darkness at my side. “When I was younger, I lived with my parents in a grand manor in Belgravia,” he said, leaning further into the slimy wall.

“You lived in a manor? I assumed you were poor.” I gestured to his porter’s uniform.

“Who said I was finished?” Edward’s tone darkened, and I could tell he had returned to his past.

“My lover’s name was Peter. He was a handsome boy who delivered our paper each day. I would watch him with my nose pressed against the window, admiring his curly hair and beautiful brown eyes.

“One day, he looked up and saw me at the window. I quickly ducked down and hid. The next day, I watched him again. This time, he waved and beckoned me to join him. After that, we wandered the streets together and grew into our teenage years, though my parents disapproved, as he came from a different class. Thus, we began meeting in secret. As time went on, we realized our desire for one another.

“When I was sixteen, my father caught us embracing. He told us we were sinners and would be punished by the Lord, and then he beat us both something ghastly. He banished me from the manor, so Peter and I moved into a poor neighborhood. At first, times were tough”—Edward sighed, and I found his cold hand—“but during the early 1900s, tourist travel proliferated, calling forth a new wave of construction on passenger liners. This was interrupted by World War I, but right before the outbreak, I got a job on a boat headed for New York as a porter. The plan was to sail to America on SS Jones’s Lady and look for more work. After I had enough money, I would return, and we would move to the country together.” He shifted uncomfortably.

“Peter made me vow that I would return. He gazed at me with those beautiful eyes of his. Even now, I can still see them—flecked with amber and framed by dark lashes. Time and again, he made me promise. I looked into those eyes and swore that I would.” Edward rubbed his jaw and looked at me. His gaze was filled with anguish in the half-light.

“As you know, SS Jones’s Lady never reached New York. Not only did I break my promise by drowning, but my father’s words had begun to eat at me, and I had made up my mind that I would never return for Peter. I was planning to start a new life in America alone.”

He shook his head and stared into the darkness before continuing. “You see, Peter may have discovered, or at least assumed, that I drowned, and he would have believed that was why I failed to keep my promise. Yet I must bear the knowledge that I intended to betray him . . . I shall carry that burden for all eternity.” He turned to me, and I saw his eyes were dry. He had no tears for his self-hatred.

“Edward,” I whispered, my throat tight as I said the words that had been haunting me the whole way to the Mer’s castle. “I am sorry for bringing you on this quest, and I am sorry for guilt-tripping you into helping me on the dune top.”

“It’s okay,” he murmured.

“After reading my grandmother’s diary, I started to believe that, just maybe, I could end this war somehow. That maybe I was the chosen one . . . but it all feels so stupid now.” I blew out a breath.

“At least we tried.” He turned to me in the darkness. “I don’t regret it, Morgana.”

“There’s something else,” I muttered. “I didn’t tell you because I was embarrassed.”

“Whatever is it?” He tilted his head.

“Louisa said I might have powers. Ancient powers. The powers of Siana Selich. I guess I thought we would be . . . protected or something.” I swallowed.

“Well, do you?” Edward’s eyes widened with hope.

I shifted on the damp floor. “I thought I sensed something stirring within me, but now I’m not so sure—unless you think sensing emotions or finding a juicy fish might help us.”

He chuckled.

“It’s strange,” I continued, “but I think I have been dreaming of Siana and Manannán my whole life.”

“What the devil do you mean?” Edward’s brows drew together in the dim light.

“Well, you said she died on the battlefield from arrows, and for as long as I can remember, I have had these dreams of swirling darkness, blood in the water, and a rushing sound. I never knew what it was until Jackie tried to kill you with his crossbow, and I realized it was the sound of an arrow being released.” I exhaled slowly, sending a stream of bubbles swirling between us. It felt good to tell Edward what had been weighing on me.

“I just wish my grandmother were alive so I could speak to her.” I shook my head slowly.

“I’m still thinking about Donahue and what might have been.” Edward sighed.

“I’m sorry about him,” I whispered, trying to meet my friend’s eyes in the gloom.

He was silent, gazing into the darkness.

“Did you notice how Jackie’s and Donahue’s faces had decayed?” I wondered aloud, staring into the black as if I would find an answer there.

He nodded slowly. “Donahue’s face was always handsome, but he looked sick.”

“This is going to sound strange, but I think I saw Donahue on land before all this happened.” I thought again about the cloaked figure by the Ferris wheel.

“B-but that’s impossible,” Edward spluttered.

“I know.” I said, running a hand through my matted locks.

I shuddered, and Edward put his arm around me. He pulled my head into his shoulder and stroked my hair. His wonky badge dug into my cheek, and I could feel the damp patches of decay on his coat, but I didn’t mind. I didn’t tell him about the tightness that had begun in my chest and that I didn’t know how long I had until I would need to surface.