A sailor. His head drooped forward, chin resting on his chest, arms limp around an empty mug. Asleep. Or drunk. Or both.
Aran lifted a hand, motioning for us to wait. So we did. Breath held. Muscles tight. The man didn’t move at first, just sat there slumped, one hand still curled around his mug. Then, slowly, he shifted. A yawn tore through him and he stood, wobbled, and wandered off toward the tavern. The others were likely inside, loud with laughter, full of ale.
A strange thought rose in me. How did the tavern still have food? What could they possibly be serving, when the orchards had withered, and most of the villages we passed were stripped bare or burnt to the ground.
“Go,” Aran whispered. The moment my feet touched the deck, the wood rocked beneath me, subtle but disorienting. Like the grounditself no longer knew how to hold me. I had never been on a ship before, and I don’t even think I’d seen the ocean before. It was just a vast, black canvas stretching further than light could reach.
The ship rose before us like a sleeping beast, groaning in its rest, ropes swaying gently in the cold, the sails pulled tight against the wind. Aran pointed toward a narrow hatch near the bow and without a word, he opened it. We slipped through and below deck, the world changed. The air thickened, unmoving, and the walls seemed closer than they should be, like they were leaning in to listen. Every step downward felt like sinking, like being buried. We kept going, past the bunks and hanging hammocks, deeper than I thought the ship could go, until we reached the hold at the very bottom.
The place where daylight never reached. It smelled like mildew and piss, old salt and something rotting. Something small skittered nearby, claws scratching through the dark. We buried ourselves behind sacks of grain and kegs of cider and rum, but it didn’t take long before I lost sight of the boys. The dark was thick enough to swallow everything. I reached out for Will’s hand, needing to anchor myself to something,anything. But all I found was splintered wood and rough canvas. And in that drowning dark, time slipped away from me completely. I didn’t know if it had been hours or days. Just that every moment stretched too long, bloated with silence and the constant threat of footsteps overhead.
I don’t remember falling asleep. I don’t remember waking up. But my body knew time had passed, even if my mind had lost track of it. I don’t want to go into detail about what we did down there. Some things are better left unsaid. But it probably helped that the hold already smelled revolting.
I think I drifted in and out of consciousness, with nausea creeping higher with every tilt of the ship. I pressed my face into the canvas sack beside me and forced myself to breathe through my mouth. Throwing up would only make it worse. They say when you lose onesense, the others sharpen. Maybe that’s true. Or maybe I was just so desperate not to lose my mind that I clung to whatever I could. I started listening like it was a game. Like I could build a whole world from the noise above me. I remember laughter—loud and sudden—cracking through the boards. Then a curse. The clink of glass rolling across the floor, bumping into something. Someone started singing. Off-key. Too loud. Others joined in, slurring the words.
Something slammed against a table, cards, I thought. I pictured the sailors sitting around it, boots kicked up, sleeves rolled back, laughing over bad hands and cheap rum. They’d probably spent the day hauling ropes and shouting over the wind or whatever you did working on a ship. I imagined they’d known each other for years. Or met at sea and formed something close enough to friendship. Some of them might’ve had wives. Families. Stories they clung to in the dark, just to feel a little closer to home. Did they live in Alevé? Or were they just headed there, like us? What if I’d gotten it wrong—what if the ship wasn’t going to Alevé at all?
I focused on the sounds to stay anchored. Footsteps, voices, the scrape of boots against old wood. Anything to keep my mind from slipping. Feet moving across the deck. Shouts. Laughter. The dragging rhythm of what might have been dancing. The kind people only do when they’re drunk and full and know no one’s watching. Then came more footsteps. Closer.
A man muttered to himself as he came down the stairs. His lantern swung low, streaking the floor with gold. He bent to lift a keg, grunted with the weight, and disappeared again. I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe.
The second time was worse. The lantern returned, swinging wider. Brighter. Boots scraped close, near my knees. I felt the warmth of the flame on my skin and heard the man’s breaths. My heart pounded so loud it drowned everything else. I bit down hard, tasting metal, trying to quiet the panic rising in my throat. If I didn’t move, I didn’t exist. IfI didn’t exist, he couldn’t see me. But he did. He turned his head, slow as death, and looked straight at me.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The flickering light caught his face just enough for me to see him clearly. He had heavy lines carved deep into his skin, dark hollows under his eyes and sweat clinging to his brow, glistening in the lantern glow. He was massive, broad-shouldered, strong, and his rounded face seemed almost gentle. But I’d learned that gentleness could be a mask.
My thoughts scattered as every muscle in my body locked into place, bracing for a fight I knew I couldn’t win. Not unless I was willing to burn the whole ship down, and us with it. Then, without a word, he reached for the sacks again and tugged them back into place, covering me up as if he hadn’t seen anything at all. The man straightened, turned, and went on rummaging through the crates like I wasn’t there. Like I was just another shadow in the dark. I watched him move, barely breathing, the tremble in my limbs caught somewhere between shock and fragile, disbelieving relief.
That’s how shit the world had become. A stranger sparing my life felt like unimaginable mercy. The man then disappeared up the stairs, the light shrinking with him. I waited, heart thudding in my throat, and I was certain he’d return with reinforcements, with rope or chains or something worse. But when he came back, he was alone. He knelt by the sacks again, just where I was hiding, and held out a flask.
I stared at it, my instincts screaming not to trust the stranger, but thirst roared louder. The air below deck was thick and heavy, and my mouth was dry as ash. So, I reached out and took it from his hand, sniffing it first, expecting the sharp burn of alcohol or maybe poison. But it just smelled like stale water, so I drank. Then he offered a strip of dried meat. The moment I smelled it, my stomach clenched so hard it hurt. I chewed slowly, even as the salt burned my lips, and I wanted to ask for more. Enough for Will and Aran, they needed food and water too. But I didn’t ask, because I was afraid. Afraid he’d only spared me because he thought I was alone, and if he knew I wasn’t, if he knew there were three of us, would that have changed his mind?
So I stayed quiet, ate what he gave me, and swallowed my shame along with the meat. Hours or days later, when the ship finally groaned and lurched to a stop, I almost cried. Muffled voices echoed above, boots thudding across the deck, ropes creaking against strain. I tried to listen, tried to catch anything useful.
“Coast clear?” Will croaked, his voice rough and cracked, slipping across the dark. I shifted, and blood surged back into my legs. The pain hit fast and sharp, needles stabbing through my thighs and calves, but I pushed myself upright.
“Move!” Aran barked. “Now.”
I scrambled toward the edge of the hold, my hands searching for something solid to push against. Light spilled through the open hatch ahead, almost blinding after so long in the dark, and Aran was already at the stairs, dragging himself up one step at a time. Will followed, slower. His limbs looked too heavy, like he was moving through water.He gripped the rail tightly, shoulders hunched, barely holding himself upright.
I was last. The moment I stepped onto the deck, the sun slammed into my face. I staggered, blinded, as the sky exploded in my eyes, white and gold and searing. I squinted, but everything burned. I couldn’t see a thing as heat pressed down on me, thick and suffocating, and my legs nearly gave out beneath me. We must’ve looked like corpses dragged from the sea. Our clothes were stiff with salt and sweat, my dress clung damp and rancid to my skin, and my hair stuck in greasy strands against the back of my neck.
I could feel theeyeson me.
Will and Aran, hunched and grimy, could maybe have passed for dockhands if no one looked too close. But me? I didn’t blend in. I couldn’t.
A girl with golden hair in a sea of men, I stood out like blood on snow. I kept my eyes down and pushed forward, Will staggering beside me, weaving like a drunk. Aran wasn’t much better, but of course, he still leapt off the ship like it was nothing, landing gracefully on the dock like he hadn’t just spent days rotting in a ship’s belly. A hand shot out just as I stepped onto the plank. His grip clamped around my arm, yanking me back. I didn’t see his face. Only a blur of sunburnt skin and calloused fingers.
Heat flared through me before I could stop it. He screamed. The sound ripped across the harbour, louder than the gulls, louder than the water slapping the hull. He dropped me, clutching his hand, skin blistered and smoking. His eyes went wide.
“She burned me!” he screamed.
Oh fuck. Did I?
I didn’t have time to think. The scream carried. Heads turned. Guards in forest-green coats and golden sashes snapped toward us. One barked something I couldn’t hear. Then came the thunder of boots against the dock, fast and heavy, charging straight for the ship.
I bolted. The plank shuddered under my feet, my arms flailed for balance. The dock tilted as I hit it, boards groaning, and the guards were already there, rushing straight at me. Their faces blurred. Hands reached for me. I ducked, veered sideways, weaving between them. Will was there, a blur at my side, staggering but somehow keeping pace. A guard lunged for him, and I shoved my shoulder into the man’s chest, hard enough to make him stumble, and Will slipped free. We wove through them, weaving, dodging, every grab too close, every heartbeat louder than the last. My legs burned. My mouth tasted of blood and fear.
