Page 71 of The Stolen Crown

“Do you see the tide pools? They’re filled with yellowfins,” I said, tightening a knot on one of the tethered planks of the new hull on our skiff. I filled the gaps with a rough clay made from the lake sediment.

“Is that supposed to mean something, or are you merely stating a fact?” Mira didn’t even look away from the linen she stitched to another cloth.

“Yellowfins are venomous.”

At that, she looked at me. “I’ll be certain not to cook them up, then.”

Nothing more. Mira kept her thoughts to herself from the first flicker of dawn to the flashing red of sunset.

Solitude had always been a haven in my life. I never imagined I would come to despise silence so fiercely.

Ten notches marked the stone wall of our cavern on the day that one of the crewmen joined us on the isle.

Before dawn, Mira sat at the mouth of the cavern, sniffling, knees hugged tightly against her chest. To a deep, private piece of my damn soul, the sound of her tears was sharper than any blade.

I rubbed a hand over my eyes to chase away the weight of fitful sleep, then crept to her side. “What is it?”

Mira dropped her brow to the tops of her knees and pointed at the shore. Something was there, a dark clump of debris. When I approached, I understood the tears. Amidst the wreckage—shredded pieces of the banner, splintered planks, and a few fishing nets—was Boneseer.

Dead.

“You stupid sod.” I lowered to a crouch beside the man. Each breath burned.

By the purple swollen flesh of his face, I’d wager he’d been in the seas of the Otherworld for days.

Across his chest were gashes I could only assume came from the wreckage. Perhaps Boneseer had been trapped belowdecks when the ship was lost. Bits of his ears and fingertips had been gnawed by creatures of the deep. One bite was odd—puncture wounds on the side of his throat. I did not want to know what sort of Far Seas beast had fangs of that size.

Sea fae did not drown. No mistake, to be trapped beneath the tides would be a horrid life, a feeling of damp and chill once the water settled into the bones. A sense of near drowning, but never truly clogging the lungs.

Merfolk had been known to collect sea fae. The kinder of the mer clans might even return one of their collected out of guilt for making them suffer so fiercely.

Boneseer had suffered all the same, slashed and bent and broken before he took his last breath.

He was crass and ill-mannered, but Boneseer was a man who lived for shanties, hot rum, and the Ever Ship. He sailed under Thorvald and now Erik. He’d been as loyal as anyone could be.

I sat beside Mira. “There’s a chance Erik might sense the loss of a blood tie to the ship. Might even be able to track it.” Unlikely, but like I’d used sea witches to find my dead mother, if Erik could find a sort of scent of Boneseer, perhaps a witch could track him here.

Mira groaned. “Gods, can you not survive, or…or…I don’t know, not think of saving our asses for one moment.”

Not the response I expected. I thought she might take a bit of gladness knowing there was potentially another route off the isle.

“He was your crewmate. I don’t care what you say, he was a friend.” Mira’s chin trembled. “Surely you must feel something about his death.”

I looked away, fingers curled at my sides. “What do you want me to say, Vicious? Tell me and I will say it.”

Her face softened. “You knew him more than I did. I see that you care in your eyes. Why? Tell me that, Tait. Tell me why you care. Honor him.”

I closed my eyes, hesitating. “He did not deserve to die, not like that. I should’ve done better by him, should’ve…been better as the commander of the ship.”

“This isn’t on you, so don’t make it about you.” Mira scooted closer. “I’ll go first. I will cherish that last shanty he told, frightening as it was, and the way he stumbled through a dance with me aboard the ship. What of your memories? Do you have one?”

Why was she so intent on this?

My first instinct was always to lash out and bite when pressed beyond my own comfort, but I’d done that and it led to Mira’s indifference.

I’d rather gnaw off my own fingertips than earn more numb glances from those vibrant eyes.

Mira cared for Boneseer. She wanted to speak of him out loud. Some believed reciting tales of the dead echoed in the great hall of the gods. It offered proof the fallen were worthy of being there.