“You have the power to save the entire sea,” Kai murmurs. “You are her soul. It’s just about getting you there, so you can become all that you are.” I glance down at my fingers, picking at the skin around my nails. My thoughts began to spiral, faster than I can catch them. Kai must feel the shift in me. He reaches out, kisses my forehead. His lips are warm, grounding.
“You’re safe,” he whispers. “Nothing will happen to you, treasure.” The warmth of his words spreads through my chest, soft and bright. I know he feels it too. And suddenly, it clicks—the deal with the kappas. He didn’t offer me to them, they're manipulative. I’ve been too angry to see it, and now guilt crawls up my spine.
“I promise we’ll get you there,” I say.
“Mira, don’t. This isn’t my journey anymore—it’s yours.”
I look up at him, anger flashing in my eyes. “All of this,” I say, motioning to the crew, the ship, to me, “wouldn’t be here without you. I need you here. More than I care to admit, because you know you can be an ass. But I can’t watch you die.”
Tears burn at the corners of my eyes. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
Kai pulls me in tight, his heartbeat steady against mine. “I’ll be okay,” he says softly. “We’ll make it. You’ll get there—that’s what matters.” He pauses, a faint smirk ghosting his lips. “The sea’s not taking me yet.”
For someone staring down death he sounds almost at peace, and that’s what terrifies me.
I trust him with everything. My body. My heart. My soul. I kiss him, melting into the comfort of his arms. His warmth feels so good against my skin after the freezing droplets of rain. His tattooed hands pulled me close, his touch steadying the storm inside me.
I look up at him, heart pounding with purpose. “Now,” I say, my voice steady, “we search for the belly of the beast.” I turn toward the horizon, the moonlight casting a silver path across the waves.
“To Sirens Cove.”
Chapter twenty-one
Kai
The Price of Magic
My arm throbbed all night, heat radiating from the old wound like it was trying to warn me. By morning, I’d dug out two claws, long, jagged, and serrated along the edges. The same claws that tore into my flesh when I was a boy, now breaking through my skin all over again. It hurt like hell. But it was worth it.
I placed them in a small glass container and stashed them inside the captain’s quarters, above our bed, in the drawer only I open. These claws are more than just remnants of a scar. They’re one of the biggest, most important pieces to everything. I don’t know if more will emerge, but for now, we have two. That’s two wishes. One for Mira. One for me. I’d like to give her both, but now, with death breathing down my neck, my wish has to be to save myself, to rip out whatever curse that siren left in me. Whatever this black poison is that’s crawling through my veins, it’s eating me alive, making me weaker by the day. The pain lingers longer each time, like it’s learning how to stay. Saving myself means saving Mira too. Like Veyra said, there’s no one without the other.
Siren’s Cove has never been discovered by a mortal man. Only one warlock ever made it there, and he never returned to the sea. He lives in self-exile now, tucked deep in the Badlands, where even the tide won’t touch him. The entire island is his. Cursed, some say. Anyone who steps foot on that land dies screaming. Whatever he saw in those waters scared him so badly he refused to go near the ocean again. Won’t even dip a toe in.
I can’t imagine what their home looks like. Sirens slithering like sea snakes through coral caverns, guarding eggs and secrets older than time. The idea of it makes my skin crawl. A place that evil, that primeval, it’s not just dangerous. It’s unnatural, unholy.
Mira mentioned she wanted to visit Taika, an old witch friend of hers who gave her the map that led her straight to me. Though Taika isn’t just any witch. She’s the most powerful in the world. If anyone can point us in the right direction or help me understand what the hell is happening to my magic, it’s her. Speaking to a witch as old as she is, one who’s lived through countless tides and curses… that kind of knowledge is priceless. Rare. Dangerous, too.
But before we leave, there’s something I’ve been avoiding. It’s time I check on my father.
I’ve had members of the crew taking shifts watching over him, though I doubt he even notices anymore. Most days, he doesn’t know who’s speaking to him. Sometimes he doesn’t even remember his own name. Watching him like this, weak, slumped, muttering nonsense under his breath, is like staring into a ghost of the man I once feared.
Once, he ruled these seas, feared and respected. He was a pirate legend, my blood, my example, and my warning. Now he’s nothing but a broken shell of a man. His illness wasn’t a matter of chance. It was a curse, one he brought upon himself. He made a pact with the devil, and the devil collected. Maybe that’s why I’ve kept my distance. Not out of fear. But because deep down, I wonder if I’m next.
He only gets a few minutes of clarity each month. He’s locked away in a tiny room, guarded at all times. The door locks from the outside, but I placed a fake lock on the inside so he thinks he still has a shred of power left. During those rare, lucid moments, Mira can’t be anywhere near him. He still wants her dead. Wants to wipe out her bloodline entirely. If he knew she was on board, if he knew what I’ve been doing with her, with our ship, he’d have my head.
But I’m not him. I have someone to live for. I’ll fight for her. Breathe for her. Kill for her. My father let my mother slip through his fingers, ruined whatever they had for the sake of power. He never even told me who she was. Just another secret buried under his madness. Selfish prick.
I take a breath and step inside. “Father,” I say quietly as I enter his quarters. The room is small, but not suffocating. There’s a narrow bed pushed up against the wall, and a desk cluttered with half-finished maps, old ink bottles, and scribbled nonsense. Theonly thing that feels alive in here is the window, his view of the sea. The one thing he still loves.
He’s seated on the bed, eyes fixed on the waves beyond the glass. Then, slowly, he turns to me. “Son,” he says. “You’ve finally come to pay your old man a visit.” Of course. He’s lucid. Lucky me.
His eyes are dark brown, shadowed by heavy wrinkles. His long white hair is tied back with a faded blue bandana, the same kind he used to wear when he was feared across every corner of the ocean. He stands when he sees me. Still around my height, though age has curled his spine. His presence feels too big for this room, like it might collapse the walls.
“You alright?” I ask, voice low, as I lean against the stairway just above his quarters. I keep my distance. He's like a rogue bomb… You never know when it'll blow up. The more space between us, the better.
He scoffs, not even looking at me. “What does it look like? I’m fucking sick in the head.” His tone is wild, somewhere between manic and bitter. Then his eyes snap toward mine, seething. “And you know what has my blood boiling more than anything?”
I steel myself. “What’s that?”
