Page 7 of The Dark Sea Calls

Knifey tilted his head to the side, acquiescing to the chef’s request without saying a word as he led me away from the kitchen.

“You’re lucky. Usually, the first mate sleeps in the cabin at the stern of the ship, but we can’t have anyone important sleeping in view of the water tonight.” Knifey gestured for me to climb the steps in front of him. “Siren’s Cove is dangerous for a man on the water. You’ll have a comfortable bed tonight because the captain has nowhere else to put you. You can sleep in the hull with the others once we’re clear of the rocks.”

I had nothing to say, so I remained silent.

I fell asleep immediately, only waking up when my stomach churned with hunger.

Someone had left a slice of stale bread and a hunk of cheese, and it was the most delicious thing I had ever eaten after being starved for weeks.

When I had been with the princelings, they had ensured I was fed and well-rested—save for the time spent in the dungeons of Tarsainn. I might not have been anyone important, but I’d never spent a day hungry until the migration.

The day my life changed forever.

The sun peeked through the tiny cabin window, a blinding light settling on the horizon. The sea looked like black glass, the waves sedate and calm as the night beckoned.

I could no longer see a speck of land or the rocks that Knifey spoke of.

I wasn’t awake for long before I fell asleep again.

I didn’t know why I woke up, but it was dark, and the boat creaked as it rocked on the harsh waves. The unlit chandelier overhead swung, knocking against the ceiling with the tumult of the sea.

I listened in the darkness, but there was no sound other than my breathing.

I pushed away the covers, keeping as silent as possible as I got out of bed and walked to the sliver of window.

Pure darkness, save for the glitter of something in the distance that flashed before disappearing under the waves. The same golden color as Fae light, waving as it hovered just under the surface, racing closer before blinking out into the darkness.

Something thumped on the deck outside.

I pulled Rainn’s blanket more closely around my shoulders. If I closed my eyes, I could almost pretend that I felt the warmth of his body or could smell his skin—like sunshine and salt water.

I shivered as a chill stole over me.

An eerie note wove through the air, cutting through the silence. Another note joined the first, and a song soon filled my ears until all that existed was the mournful song of the water.

It was sad but pleasant. Curious, more than anything.

I had heard Òran Sídhe back in Cruinn, though their magic was diluted. Time once was that a song Sídhe could make a man plunge a sword in his gut with the right progression of notes, but the ones back in Cruinn were few and far between. Their songs were parlor tricks, enthusing emotion into lyrics to encourage tears or smiles, but not much more.

My uncle had used Òran Sídhe to rouse soldiers on the front line.

I stood up, moving toward the sound before I could think better of it.

Whatever water Fae surrounded the ship may be a valuable ally if they weren’t enemies already.

Someone cried out in the darkness. The short sound of their scream cut off before it gained more than a moment in the air.

I tried to fill my lungs but couldn’t. The song continued like bells in my ears, knocking against my brain. Pleasant but painful at the same time.

With careful feet, I padded to the door, pressing my ear against the wood. The ship continued to rock on the waves. I picked up the lantern resting on the armoire, its base heavy enough to use as a weapon.

I half expected the door to the first mate's quarters to be locked, but as I gripped the door handle, it opened.

I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I had been so certain I was a prisoner in a cell, much like I was in Tarsainn, only with a nicer bed.

I had never been on a boat before; I wasn’t entirely sure how many people should have been on the deck, if any. If there should have been people in the little nest that sat on top of the sails, with a telescope to look out on the water. Or if someone should have been behind the wheel, as it turned out of control, clicking as every handle on its edge knocked against something I couldn’t see.

The wood was slick with water, and the moonlight glinted in the puddles as I padded toward the ship's edge.

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