Page 58 of Wicked Tides
She turned her eyes toward me, straightened her shoulders, and began exploring the beach. My men spread out, blades drawn, and began searching for answers.
The island was the last place I saw my father. The last place the crew of the Mother’s Fang put their mark on the world and instead ofdying in battle, they died in cruel, helpless agony. That island also saw me take revenge on the bitches who did it.
We had not landed on the same side of the island, but the whole place felt the same. It felt like a great beast mocking us for our tribulations. Jagged rocks made cliffs and passages and there were arches up ahead where red grass and leafless bushes persisted in that wretched place.
I searched the sand. The rocks. Pieces of long-wrecked ships littered the beach. Bones. Jewelry. Remnants of horrors no one was around to hear made its final resting place on that island.
“Cap’n,” Mullins said, coming up to me with a wet flag that was tattered to shreds. I looked at it as he spread it out between his hands. “Le Saint. This ship went missing only months ago. Was filled with some of the most notorious hunters, wasn’t it?”
“Captain Jean Brigaut,” I nodded, recalling the man I saw in the water. “What the hell was his ship doing here?”
“What the hell was the Cornwallis doing so far off course with a bunch of young girls? Nothing’s right anymore.”
He looked nervous. I didn’t blame him. When I’d told my men about the creatures that attacked us on that tiny island, I could see in their eyes that they didn’t want to believe there was something worse than sirens stalking the waters. Now it was becoming blatantly obvious that there was more going on.
I turned to see Dahlia far off in the fog, hip deep in the water and tugging on the shirt of a bloated corpse. She was dragging it onto the shore and I wanted to know why. I made my way toward her as Mullins continued to scour the beach. When I reached her, she was just dropping the corpse on the sand. She crouched down over it, tossing his torn shirt off his chest.
No silentium. Jean Brigaut was a hunter. All of his men should have had them. Then again… all of my father’s men had them when they were slaughtered. Didn’t seem to do much good in the end.
But there was something else on his chest and it seemed to capture Dahlia’s interest, though her face barely showed it.
It was a symbol and it was carved into the man’s skin like a brand. The way Dahlia regarded it, I was certain she knew what it was.
“What is that?” I asked.
She stood, glancing at me, but she didn’t answer. Instead, she turned and continued down the beach. I followed, unwilling to let her out of my sight. When we reached a large structure of rocks, I noticed a shallow cave eaten into the stones. Dahlia walked right in, careless of her bare feet treading on the sharp rocks. The cave smelled like smoke and putrid meat. It was clear why when I saw the fire pit in the center filled with piles of ash and charred bones. I narrowed my eyes at the scene while Dahlia circled the pit and began sifting through the ash.
“Your people don’t cook meat last I checked,” I said.
From the ash, Dahlia pulled out a necklace. I crouched opposite her near the cold fire pit and watched as her thumb brushed the ash off a silentium pendant. Our eyes met and finally, I saw a hint of confusion on her face.
“Men do,” she muttered, dropping the necklace into my hand. She slowly stood as I examined the pendant. “My people didn’t do this.”
I stood to face her, tossing the useless necklace aside. “Do you understand what happened here?”
“Perhaps. What would you do if I told you? Would you accept it or would you twist my truths into lies?”
“What do you mean?”
“Could you trust me?”
“No,” I huffed.
“Then there’s nothing to say.”
She walked past me, heading out of the cave. I reached out and caught her arm.
“Whatever is happening, you’re afraid of it.”
“You should be, too.”
“I cannot fear something I don’t know.”
“The only reason I would ever help you understand what’s going on is if I intended to work alongside you and that is something I cannot even fathom doing.”
“That makes two of us, but that also makes us stupid.”
“I made myself the fool the day we first met. We—”
