Page 10 of The Withering Dawn (Wicked Tides)

I peeled open my eyes against a beam of sunlight flooding in from a small window at the back of the cabin.

Nazario’s cabin. The captain’s quarters.

I froze at the thought, blinking a few times to get my bearings. Slowly, I recalled all that had transpired the night before. The way Henry invaded my cell with his thugs. How they pinned me down and tried to cut out my tongue after I’d only just gotten it back.

Then I woke and saw Nazario hovering over me, his touch gentle. My heart was so confused at his careful handling of me. More than one of his men wanted me dead and yet I was laying in his bed, his sheets covering my nearly naked body.

It was the best sleep I’d gotten in years. I woke sore and stiff, but not because I had slept uncomfortably. Because I had not moved. My mind wasn’t plagued by dreams. I woke up knowing I’d slept straight through the night.

I sat up, realizing the storm had passed and the Amanacer was on a steady course.

And I was not in a cell or tied or chained. I was unbound. Free.

Suspicious, I pushed the blankets off me and swung my legs over the edge of the bed, standing on stiff joints. I was alone in the room. Draped over a chair was a blue garment of some sort. When I lifted it, I could see that it was a dress. It was large for me, but it seemed better than the oversized shirt I was wearing. I pulled the shirt over my head and replaced it with the dress, letting it drape over me and cover my scarred legs. There were laces down the front and despite tightening them all the way, the fabric still hung loosely over my waist.

Perhaps it was time to eat more.

I brushed the soft cotton with my hands and wandered slowly around the room, getting used to the weight of clothes. On the desk in the middle of the cabin, I saw papers and ledgers stacked in various piles. I leaned over them, reading a few lines of what I could see and realized I was looking at documents from the Perry Smith. I furrowed my brows wondering why a pirate would care about records and documents.

Then again, Nazario wasn’t any pirate. He seemed to have motives. Plans. And he certainly seemed to be more empathetic than most men.

It did not take long to put pieces together. He was looking for someone. Perhaps one of the men I heard him address in his sleep. Looking around, I saw shelves of books, some of which had been knocked to the ground in the storm. I bent to pick a few up and place them neatly on the desk, reading titles in different languages etched on the colored leather binding. Picking the last one up, I smelled the spine, recalling the very few times someone gave me reading material on the island that wasn’t religious text. They were only fairytales, but they were my favorite.

Outside, I could hear men talking and boots clomping across the wood flooring. I stepped up to the door, leaning in to peak through the cracks. I couldn’t make out any distinguishable features, but I could see a dozen or so men tidying the disheveled deck. It took some time to build up the courage, but eventually I stepped out. I was slow and quiet about it, testing myself as well as the men as I moved out into the sun. It was midday and I was astonished that I had slept so long. The clouds had cleared and the storm was long gone, but it was evident that the ship needed a couple minor repairs.

Nazario was on the far end of the ship, his coat removed and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up past his elbows. He had a tattoo on one forearm and his wrists were covered with leather cuffs and beaded bracelets, but I knew the scars that hid beneath them.

He was glistening with sweat, like all the men, as they hauled a heavy cannon upright and secured it into place with ropes. His bronze skin gleamed and his muscles bulged at the effort. The man helping him was Cathal. He had removed his shirt, putting his bulkier build on display. There was a man with a thinner figure at the helm, the sides of his blond hair shaved short to show the tattoos that decorated his scalp.

I stood close to the wall, watching the men go about their business. Part of me wondered if someone was going to spot me and throw me back behind bars, but the first person to notice I’d come out of the cabin was Cathal. I saw him straighten and then tap Nazario on the shoulder. He was crouched over, tying a heavy knot against the cannon, and turned to look at me at his friend’s behest.

The two men started to approach me and I felt my chest squeeze. I bit my lip, wondering if I should be nervous, but Nazario seemed strangely distracted or maybe just disinterested in my presence.

“You’re awake,” he panted, using a tattered piece of fabric to wipe sweat off his arms and neck. Cathal rested his hands on his hips and watched Nazario closely. “I need to bathe,” he continued, running his fingers through his hair like the sweat-soaked strands falling in his face were infuriating him. “Cathal will look after you for a moment.” He turned his head toward him. “You will bathe today as well. All of you, clean yourselves up. There’s plenty of fresh water onboard.”

His tone was as agitated as he looked. I watched him step past me into his quarters and slam the door shut behind him, sensing something wasn’t right. When I looked up at Cathal, he shrugged, letting out a heavy sigh. He was covered in sweat and dark smudges of grease or soot from the equipment they’d all been handling.

“Don’t take it personal,” he said, lifting a brow. “Cap’n’s obsessed with cleanliness and we’ve been at this for hours under the hot sun in this humidity. We all smell,” he chuckled, but then dropped the smile like it was against the rules. “It’s no laughing matter,” he cleared his throat. “But ye best leave him be. He’s probably scrubbing his skin raw in there like the madman he is.”

I drew my brows together at the image and turned to look at the closed door, concern nipping at my heels and encouraging me to go in there.

“Hungry then?” Cathal said. “Human meat is still not on the menu, but…”

I reached for the handle and opened the door, stepping into the room.

“You shouldn’t…”

His voice faded behind the door as I closed it behind me. Sitting on the bed was Nazario, his sweaty shirt discarded on the floor. He had a bucket of fresh water in front of him and a soaked rag in his hand lathered with soap. He looked up at me when I entered, still seeming irritated by… something. His scent permeated the room. The smell of sweat and hard work mixed with hints of black tea, perhaps from the soap. I took a deep breath, finding it all quite pleasant, and slowly stepped closer.

The air in the room was charged with tension and I ached to ease it. I continued toward him as he dipped the cloth into the water, wrung it out a little, and brought it to his neck, wiping sweat and grime off his skin.

“I meant for you to wait outside,” he said flatly.

I stood in front of him as he dipped the cloth again and began scrubbing at his forearms. I reached out, taking his wrist in my hand. He stilled as I turned his arm over, brushing my thumb over the raised marks on his flesh. The urge to ask about them was an itch I couldn’t scratch. I knew he needed to be clean first before anything. I didn’t know why, but his desire to bathe was important and I wanted to help.

I grabbed the cloth and slid it out of his hand, dipping it in the cool water. The scent of black tea began to completely replace the smell of sweat as I lifted the cloth to his back and began gently washing his skin. I cleared damp hair off his neck and paused at the sight of a prominent scar between his shoulder blades. I couldn’t make out what it was. It seemed to have healed poorly and turned into a mess of lines that once meant something. When I touched it, Nazario reached back, taking my hand and straightening to look at me.

“You do not need to clean me,” he said.

I hated what I was feeling from him, but I let it in nonetheless, wanting to understand. Slowly, I got to my knees, dipping the cloth in the water again and bringing it to his shoulder. He’d removed the stitches entirely it seemed, but the wound was healing. Slowly, but nicely, despite how he’d aggravated it. I gently circled it and then continued to clean his arms. His chest. For a brief moment, he almost seemed to be enjoying it. He let his eyes fall closed and sighed with what I thought might be contentment, but then he took the cloth from my hand and dropped it in the bucket.

“What are you doing?”

“Cleaning what you cannot reach.”

“You don’t have to. Is this some attempt to not be thrown in the hold again? Will you be offering other favors, too?”

His words were harsh, but I’d heard harsher things. Whatever he was feeling at that moment had skewed his attitude and the longer I stayed silent, the more I could see the realization dawning on his face. He sighed, rubbing his temples with his thumbs.

“I am not throwing you back into the hold. You do not need to earn that. It’s just what I’ve decided.”

I recalled all that I’d observed in my time on his ship, trying to put the pieces together to better understand him. I recalled the names he’d said in his sleep. The ledgers on his desk. His scars. All of it.

“Who is Leo?” I blurted out.

His expression froze. When he finally blinked, I feared that he might chase me out of his room and leave me wondering. But then he let out another deep breath and reached into the bucket to retrieve the cloth. He continued cleaning himself in a manner far less tender than I had been.

“He was my brother,” he said. “And he’s dead.”

I sat back on my heels, hands in my lap. “Why is he dead?”

“Because the same man that carved his initial into my back killed him.” He spoke with less emotion, but his scrubbing became even more aggressive. “For helping us escape.”

“Was it Antonio?”

His gaze darted toward me for a second and then drifted away with a nod.

I slouched at the horror of it, watching Nazario rub his skin raw with the rag and dip it into the water only to repeat the process over the same area. His damp hair fell into his face as he did and I simply watched, feeling the thickness of his disgust and sorrow fill the space between us. When I couldn’t take it any longer, I reached out, clutching his hand. He stopped scrubbing and met my eyes.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” I muttered, gently brushing my fingers across his overly washed arm.

He lingered for a moment, wordless, and then let out a soft, empty chuckle.

“Do not worry yourself over my flaws.”

I raised my hand, lightly cupping his jaw. His short facial hair scratched my palm as I ran it down toward his chin and traced his bottom lip.

“I see no flaws.”

I could practically hear his heartbeat relaxing and I was quickly addicted to the sound. I slid my fingers down his arm to his hands, turning them over and finding his knuckles bruised and battered. Gods, I hated that he was covered in pain. I lifted his hand to my lips and kissed the tops of his fingers, wishing I could take it away like he took mine away the previous night.

I remembered the way he wrapped his arms around me and turned every painful thought off like he had blown out a candle. I wished I could do the same for him because I knew he was filled with strife.

Slowly, I raised my head and caught him staring down at me, his eyes bright with emotions half hidden behind a very thickly built barrier. His heart started to beat loudly again. His scent changed. I felt my pulse quicken and suddenly, he was cupping the back of my neck and pulling me toward him. His lips met mine and I rose up onto my knees again, eager to get closer. I raked my fingers into his hair, tilting my head. My body shivered at the warmth of his as he pulled me closer, his tongue urging my lips apart.

I opened for him with a soft moan that seemed to excite him. He hooked his hands under my arms and lifted me up into his lap. I straddled his hips, settling against him, our lips still connected. His body against mine felt so solid and sturdy, like nothing could knock him off his feet. His tongue delved into my mouth, his teeth grazing my bottom lip every time he moved his head.

Never. Never had I hungered for a man’s touch like I hungered for his. Never had I been able to crave anything without the threat of punishment behind it, but somehow, it didn’t stop me from being drawn to him.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, rolling my hips over his groin, and felt his length straining against the cotton of his breeches.

But what should have been enjoyable instantly made me stiffen. I pulled away from our kiss, a mixture of disappointment and dread fighting inside me at the feeling of him being between my legs. My eyes shot open, desperate for a glimpse of Nazario to remind me who I was with.

We were both panting—both heated with need. My lips felt sensitive and raw and ached for another kiss, but my mind denied it to me. Nazario’s gaze traced over my face, reading every expression like they were words written on parchment. I could see the hunger in his eyes. I could feel the heat coming off of him and sense the speed of his eager pulse, yet he restrained himself.

“You need to eat,” he said, catching me off guard. I drew back, blinking with confusion, but rather than explain, he just brushed my hair out of my face and said, “Let me take care of you.”

I barely understood his words and shook my head, wondering if I had heard him wrong. When he realized my puzzlement, he tucked my hair behind my ear and gently moved me off his lap. I stood before him as he leaned forward, dunking his head into the bucket. His fingers scrubbed at his scalp a little before he lifted his head back up and squeezed the excess water out of his raven locks. Then he flipped his hair back and stood, grabbing a clean shirt from the foot of his bed and slipping it on.

“Come,” he said. “You need food and so do I.”

As he walked toward the door, he extended his hand behind him as if to invite mine into it. I was taken aback by the gesture. He made it seem so nonchalant. So natural. He led me out of the room and into the warm sun again and then we headed below toward the smell of food.

I moved in close, preparing for scrutiny and judgement from the other men in his crew. After what Henry had done, I felt as if any of his men could be thinking similarly so I kept my head down, trying to appear as nonthreatening as I could.

When we came to the galley, there were only two others in the cramped space grabbing stale buns from a table piled full of items. They both looked our way when we entered, at first missing me entirely, and greeted Nazario with respectful nods.

“Capitán,” one said in an accent similar to Nazario’s.

But then their eyes found me tucked behind him and they both paused.

“No questions,” Nazario sighed as if the idea exhausted him. “If you disagree, bring it up to me later. We are all tired, are we not?”

Hesitantly, the two men nodded and stepped aside, allowing Nazario and me to move into the tight space.

He released my hand to take a stack of dried meat and salted bread, handing me one of the meat strips as he bit off a large chunk of one of the rolls.

“Eat it this time, yes?” he said.

I took it from him and brought it to my nose. It did smell wonderful. I hadn’t had meat in ages. The mere scent of it made my stomach growl eagerly. I brought it to my mouth and gnawed off a bite, chewing the salted beef thoroughly.

It was bland, but I wasn’t sure I could eat anything that wasn’t. Not yet. To me, it was divine. I chewed the leathery strip and swallowed, taking another bite. Across from me, Nazario was watching as if to make sure I consumed it all.

“We have different food,” he said, leaning on the table. “Beans. Fish, if my men can catch any. What do you eat?”

I shrugged. “Whatever I am given.”

“No men then.”

I wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, but I shook my head anyways.

“Humans have a lot to learn about us,” I said under my breath.

“What was that?”

“Not all sirens are the same.” I absently traced the grains of wood on the old table with my nails. “My people stayed far out at sea. When we existed, that is. We did not try to cross paths with man.”

“You said the Kroans destroyed your people.”

“And they are trying to destroy yours. Their boldness has tainted all of us. And their voice can make you do anything. Their stories haunt us all. Many sirens fear them as much as humans do.”

“So, do you have a song? Like these Kroans do?”

“Not like them. We are…” I hesitated for a moment, trying to find the best way to explain and avoid suspicion. “We feel emotions. Strife. Joy. Hatred and anger. And we can inspire emotions, but never something that isn’t there in the first place.”

“Inspire emotions?” He narrowed his eyes at me with a half-smile. “You would not be inspiring me to feel a certain way about you, would you?”

I defensively shook my head. “No. I don’t… I don’t have that kind of pull. If I had, perhaps I would not have grown up the way I did.”

He stared at me, his smile relaxing. I felt like I was being stripped down with his eyes. Like my secrets were out in the open and it felt both terrifying and comforting to be so naked.

“I wouldn’t say that,” he exhaled. I cocked my head at the comment, but before I could think about it, he handed me a stale bread roll. “Eat more.”

He took a big bite of food and stepped back, leaning against the wall with his arms folded over his chest. His eyes wandered as if he was deep in thought and I watched him, captivated by his features. His bronze skin and earthy eyes. His sturdy build. Mostly because he hadn’t used it to hurt me.

“Your men do not like that I am out of the hold,” I said. “Will it cause more trouble with your crew?”

He chuckled. “Absolutely. Which is why I have given them the option to leave when we reach a port.”

“You would choose me over your own crew?”

“No, I would choose my morals over the others’ lack of morals. I can replace a crew. I cannot mend a betrayal to myself.”

It all sounded so complicated. “I should leave.”

His eyes flitted toward me. “You should have left when I told you to. But you said you were afraid. I wanted to ask what that creature was that you seemed so scared of.”

Even the mention of it made my skin crawl. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen one. It’s a Kroan belief that there is an ancient god deep down, farther than any siren can swim, and his sons are horrid, beastly things that feed on us as Kroans feed on men. But even my mother thought they were just a story. She and many others thought it was a superstitious way to explain when sirens disappeared. Seeing that thing… it was unsettling and now I wonder if our myths hold some truth.”

“I would not like to be in the water with a foul creature like that.”

“There is much about that world that I’ll never understand. All who could teach me are gone. I have not even shifted in many, many years. I do not think I would like it.”

“Why?”

“It’s painful, even for those who are used to it. It is like being skinned alive and when your body is still raw, a glove is pulled over it, burning into your bones and muscles until you think you cannot stand it, but then it’s over. And your body is… different. Of course, the men I was with before never allowed me to shift.”

“That sounds… awful.” He cleared his throat, scratching the scruff on his chin. “And the men who held you captive. Who were they?”

“They called themselves ‘The Order of Purity.’”

“How did you come to be in their possession?”

“My mother. I was born in cold waters, but a siren alone is vulnerable. She had no one. She fled to land. The brothers in the Order found us and they took pity. Or so they pretended. I don’t remember much outside of being with the Order. My mother was taken from me when I was young and she never came back. I was told she killed herself. The brothers raised me and when I came of age, things changed.”

“What changed?”

“They became fearful. They punished me for things I did not do. I lived with them on their island for many years, forced to attend sermons and recite prayers to a god I did not believe in. And when I became a woman, they cut my tongue for the first time.” I took a bite of bread, trying to cover the sour taste rising in my throat over the memories of my first trimming.

“You said you had been with them since you were eight.”

“Yes.”

“When was that? Do you have any idea how old you are?”

“Hmm. There was a boy on the island. He spoke to me sometimes. He was barely older than I was. Nine, perhaps. By the time I was taken from the island, he’d just turned twenty.”

His brows raised. “You can be no older than nineteen.”

I bobbed a shoulder dismissively as Nazario rubbed his forehead as if he was stressed. I couldn’t imagine why. Men in the Order took wives far younger than I was. Cold shame washed through me at the thought of him regretting our kiss because of my age.

“Does my age bother you?”

“All of this bothers me,” Nazario continued, an air of disgust in his tone now. “You said someone tried to force themselves on you.”

I paused chewing and swallowed what was in my mouth. “Philip. The Order forbade touching me like that. They touched plenty of other women, but not me. It would have tainted their souls. But Philip had been drinking excessively and he came to my room one night.” I reached up, touching my throat. “I bit him. On his arm first. He hit me and I bit him next on his throat.” I swallowed again, trying to gulp down the lingering taste of his flesh. “It was forbidden for me to consume a human, but I didn’t mean to.” I looked up at Nazario, shaking my head. “I truly didn’t mean to. He just… the way he touched me. I panicked. I forgot all the rules and I bit him. And I swallowed him. And I watched him bleed out on the floor. It was a terrible sound that came from him as he died.”

I dropped the bread and pressed both hands to my neck, closing my eyes. I hated the memory. It was one of many that were seared into my head like a brand. He tasted bitter in my mouth and the sourness of wine in his blood did not help. Despite that his flesh had long left my stomach, I felt a need to throw up. Even Rourk’s taste lingered and our encounter was far more fleeting.

“Aeris,” Nazario spoke, his voice leading me back to the strange present where we were standing in the small galley with food all around us.

I opened my eyes and saw the half-eaten roll on the table in front of me. Slowly, I lowered my hands and took a few deep breaths, focusing on the table and every groove in the aged wood. I began to count them, concentrating on numbers and details rather than the memories.

“They needed to get rid of me after that,” I muttered, carefully reaching for the roll again. “So they put me on a ship and sailed me out to sea.”

“To starve you,” he said. “I found a journal that said as much.”

I met his eyes and picked a small piece of bread off with my fingers, putting it in my mouth.

“The men on the Perry Smith sacrificed their safety to distance me from their island. They wished for me to die purified.”

He hissed a curse and ran his hand over his face before pushing off the wall and walking toward me. He rested a fist on the table, leaning into it and giving his body a relaxed curve, but his expression was anything but relaxed.

“I am conflicted,” he said. “I find myself enraged at people who are no longer alive to feel my fury.”

He took the roll out of my hand and pressed his thumb into the middle, splitting it into two halves.

Then he stepped around to a shelf stacked with jars and boxes, taking down a small glass container of something in a pale, dusty yellow color.

He popped off the top and tossed it on the table before taking a wooden utensil out of another box.

I watched him dig out a spoonful of the golden substance and smelled something sweet permeating the air.

Gods, it was honey. My mouth watered at the thought as he spread the thick gold over the two halves of the roll.

“You, mu?equita hermosa, could very well have me exactly where you want me, but I find that I am caring less and less if that is the case.”

He handed me one piece of honey-covered bread and as soon as the scent hit my nose again, faint hints of a smile teased my lips. I took it and looked up at him, part of me waiting for permission to eat it.

Nazario took the other piece of bread and leaned on the table, cocking his head curiously to the side.

“It’s honey,” he said.

“I know what it is.”

“Eat it. It is good for settling the stomach.”

I licked my lips, slowly bringing the bread to my mouth and taking a small, heavenly bite of the overly sweet treat.

It tasted like pure happiness if I had to give happiness a taste.

I chewed it far too long, savoring the way it melted in my mouth. Before taking another bite, I saw Nazario staring at me, slowly chewing his own bite.

Why did his gaze weaken me so much? Like it had when he found me on the Perry Smith.

Or the way it had when he gave me the chance to leave.

Now, the honeyed bread that was actual paradise on my tongue had all but been forgotten when I noticed the way he was looking at me.

I feared him then. Perhaps more than some of his men feared me. I feared him because he could very well make a fool of me.

I had spent my life around malicious men and yet I trusted him as if I had not learned anything about the cruelties of life. My guard was down. Shattered. At the risk of my own demise, my defenses crumbled when he met my eyes.