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I swallow hard, nodding as I sniffle.
He wraps his arms around me, pulling me close. I bury my face in the crook of his neck, smelling the salt from the sea and the cologne he wears. It’s soothing, but nothing will ever take away the sting left behind from knowing I descend from someone so wicked.
“I don’t expect you to forget your family,” he tells me, his breath warm against my ear. “I don’t wish for you to hate them, either. It’s why I wanted you to stay on the ship. But I knew at some point you were going to have to face who your father truly is. I just wish it hadn’t been today.”
I catch Zephyr’s form as he approaches, his leather satchel slung over his shoulder. His head hangs, giving me a full view of the horns that wrap back over his head.
“Any survivors?” Sebastian asks, his voice low but firm.
Zephyr shakes his head as he nears. “If there were, they’re not here.”
A sudden gust of wind stirs behind Zephyr, and I scramble behind Sebastian as the enormous red dragon who just tried to kill me lands on the ground with a heavy thud. The dragon shifts, its form shrinking and changing until it becomes a naked man. He speed walks toward us, apologizing faster than I can comprehend the words.
“Sebastian, I’m sorry,” he says, running a hand through his tousled brown hair. “I saw her and thought the worst. I was still clearing the island when you approached.”
Sebastian’s jaw flexes as he stands, taking me with him. “It’s okay. No one was hurt.”
“Zephyr,” Sebastian continues, “tell Lorian to stop his spell for the search. If he hasn’t found anyone yet, he’s not going to. I don’t want him getting burnt out. Let’s recall the men to the ship.”
Zephyr nods and leaves us, taking the naked man along with him. Once they’re gone, Sebastian turns to me, his gaze searching. “So, you’re a mage.”
I pale, suddenly aware of how much I’ve revealed. Glad I had his jacket on. It was likely the only thing hiding my mark when it glowed. “I... I’m not sure what I am.” My voice wavers, and I can’t help but feel exposed. “My father experiments on all his children in utero. It’s why our hair turns white.”
Sebastian’s eyes darken, a mix of concern and anger. I can tell he wants to say something, but he holds back, choosing his next words carefully. “What do you mean by experiment?”
I exhale, gathering my thoughts. “The king has been trying to override the curse placed on him by his late wife for decades. He mixes our DNA with other species in hopes it will give him an heir one day, since the curse prevents him from having one.”
Sebastian’s eyes narrow, concern evident in their depths. “I see…”
“I know I’m a mage because my mother was one and my father is a druid, but I have no idea where my puppeteering ability came from. Mermaids can control people through song, so... it could be related, but it’s still different.”
We reach the base of the ramp leading up to the deck, and droplets of water cascade down its wooden surface. Sebastian smirks, attempting to lighten the mood. “So, mage and mystery. Got it. Just don’t go to the dark side and we’ll be just fine.”
I smile weakly, trying to fake a laugh at his joke, but my heart clenches inside my chest.
“Hey,” Sebastian says gently, lifting my chin with his finger so our eyes meet. “It was a joke. I’d know by now if you’d practiced sacrificial magic. You’d be marked by it in one way or another. I’ve seen every inch of you and can confidently say you have nothing to worry about.”
Sucking in a breath, as we continue to make our way up the rain-slicked ramp and onto the deck of the Jolly Roger.
If only he knew just how wrong he was…
17
Scarlet
Thewitchclawsatthe metal grate as the pirates shove her into the prison hole. Her wail slices through the gentle creak of wood and rope like a sharpened blade, making my teeth ache. I’d hoped this day wouldn’t come. Now here we are, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to close my eyes and get the grotesque image of this woman out of my mind.
Above the grate, a curly-haired man shouts a stream of curse words. His arms wrap around her middle as she kicks, keeping the others from helping him. As soon as he knocks one of her feet off the ledge of the hole to which she clings to, the other catches, and she regains leverage. It’s all he can do to twist the witch’s body until it bows so tight, I fear her spine will snap in two.
She knows if she goes in, it’s over.
It’s not supposed to be like this… Mages and druids weren’t intended to wield sacrificial magic. No creature was. Sorcery is supposed to have its limitations. It’s why magic users can only channel so much of their soul’s power before they need to let it recharge. Anything more than that requires a price.
I’ve heard the royal mages speak their motto enough times to know it by heart. You honor balance, and nature honors you. It means mages can regenerate their magic as long as they don’t deplete their souls of it entirely. It’s when the mages and druids cross that line that it becomes a problem. Physically, they’ll live, but their shadow and spirit—the two halves of their soul—disintegrate, leaving behind an empty shell, void of morality and emotion. They lose everything that makes them who they are. All they want, all they need, is power and no amount will ever be enough…
At some point, the magic users of our realm discovered they could draw it from sacrifices. They learned how to drain the souls of living creatures to avoid tapping out their own, but they underestimated how addicting it would become. All it takes is to overdraw once… The soul disappears and then creatures like the one struggling before me are born. They’re no longer blood witches at this point. They’re shades. The person who dwelled within them died a long time ago. They don’t rot because they perform blood magic. They rot when they no longer have a soul to make them heal. They deteriorate bit by bit until there’s nothing left.
It’s why my father trains his druids and mages extensively, teaching them the limitations and how to work in covens to make up for what one can’t do on their own. It’s also why the people in this realm who are caught dabbling in sacrificial magic are marked as blood witches. It’s a warning to anyone who sees them that they’re compromised morally—that they might no longer possess their soul.
