Jenli sat between Ren and Riven, all sharing one blanket as they huddled below the railing near a few crates. Alec stood beside them, blood dripping from his lip as he stared blankly down at the floor, looking traumatized.
Draevyn shook the water from his hair, his fiery gaze sweeping the deck as he stood next to her.
From the corner of her eye, she watched Samwell as he broke away from Atlas’s gathered crew. His face was streaked with soot and smeared blood. Relief shone in his eyes when they landed on Draevyn, but there was no joy in it as he reached him.
Samwell’s hand clapped firmly against his shoulder, and he returned it, their grips tightening. In the next second they pulled each other in, foreheads pressed together as they patted each other on the back.
The corners of Esmyra’s lips lifted at the sight. Regardless of how she felt about Samwell, she knew he was Draevyn’s Jak.
But then she noticed his face when they drew apart, his expression growing heavy and dark. His friend spoke, lips moving in a low rush of words.
She couldn’t hear over the deck’s noise, but she could read the way Drae’s jaw clenched, the way his eyes shadowed as he gave one small reluctant nod.
Her gaze flicked to Samwell’s lips.
Tommydidn’t make it.
Esmyra’s stomach dropped, her vision blurring as she processed the words. NotTommy. The man who had sat next to her just the night before, offering her comfort instead of judgement when she knew she didn’t deserve it.
Samwell lifted his hand, pointing his finger toward the far corner of the deck.
Esmyra’s gaze followed, and there, huddled beneath torn canvas, lay the still shapes of the fallen.
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head.
Before anyone could stop her, she was running, her bare, wet feet pounding against the wood. She fell to her knees beside the covered forms, her fingers trembling as they reached for and lifted the cloth.
Tommy’s weathered face was slack now. There was no spark in his eyes nor warmth in his crooked smile. The rough lines of a man who had lived a hard life at sea were frozen in stillness.
Her hand shook as she touched his cheek, talons extending as her emotions surged.
Cold. He was far too cold. Her fingers lingered there as though she could press warmth back into him.
When her eyes fell lower, her breath caught in her throat.
His chest was torn open. A gaping wound marred his sternum, jagged as if a spear had been driven straight through him. Blood had dried in thick, dark rivers across his tunic, staining it as it soaked through to the deck beneath him.
The violence of the wound screamed of cruelty, as if his attacker had wanted him to suffer.
Her teeth clenched until her jaw ached. “No…” Her whisper cracked into a sob. “No, no, no?—”
Tears blurred her vision, dripping down onto his lifeless chest. She bent closer, clutching his shirt in her fist as though she could drag him back from death itself.
Kaelypso stirred within her, feeding on her fury, whispering with a venomous edge: “They took him just as they took everything else.”
Something inside her snapped at the words. Her sorrow ignited, burning itself into rage so sharp it seared her veins.
Her trembling ceased, her tears drying as if scorched away. She lifted her head, eyes blazing as the wound on his chest seared itself into her memory. Her grief twisted into something savage and merciless.
Esmyra would avenge him. Just as she’d avenged her father.
Draevyn knelt beside her, the wet boards creaking beneath him. “It’s not your fault.”
Her hands balled into fists, resting on Tommy’s chest that refused to rise and fall. “Isn’t it?” she whispered, eyes lifting to his.
“No.” His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. “It’s theirs.”
Her fury cooled just enough for clarity to seep in. The blame belonged to those ordered to strike them down, not her. The person to blame for his death, and all others, wasSyrena.
