Page 64 of The Sea of Zemira (The Zemiran Chronicles 1)

Mazie lifted the lid to the barrel and stared blankly at the last of what was left—enough water for one mug each.

“Bloody hell,” she mumbled.

Anxiety stirred in her stomach as she gazed silently at the empty mug, tears glistening in her eyes. Raven hated crying more than she hated anything else, but she could not hold the tears back at the thought of dying of thirst. She did not want to die—not so quickly anyway—not until she avenged her family’s death.

Reaching inside the barrel, she ladled up some water for herself, then placed the lid back. The black-haired woman strode across the deck, slumping down at the back corner and leaned against the railing next to the stairs. Mazie wiped the tears from her eyes and looked out to where the white clouds met the surface of the water. The sun had not set, not entirely. It hovered over the horizon, brightening up the thin line drawn by the ocean.

When she first stepped onto the Sybil Curse, Mazie swore to always protect the crew and the ship. And that was precisely what she planned to do. As she sat there by the steps that led up to the quarterdeck, she wondered if Zemira would ever be at peace.

Were those creatures in Westin just a manifestation of my family,she wondered in silence, or were their spirits trapped in some eternal purgatory?

One thing was sure, King Matthias had to die. He slaughtered them all—he slaughtered innocent children.

The pirate would mourn their deaths, regretting not having a chance to say goodbye. But she would move on quickly and not look back. What happened to those she loved made her feel rage and hatred. She was not going to let it slip.

* * *

Nola slipped on a nightgown, pulled one of Kitten’s sweaters over her head, and walked up the stairs to the top of the deck. She had not seen Lincoln yet after she had gone downstairs to bathe. Feeling well-rested and tidy, the siren girl wandered to the front of the ship. Then she pulled herself up to sit on the railing, holding on to the shrouds, and stared at the waves lightly crashing against the side.

“Tell me, Nola,” Lincoln said, distracting the siren from the foamy crests. “What exactly were you doin’ at the marketplace when we had first met?”

Memories of how angry he had made her that day flashed over her mind. But he was no longer the brusque man she had encountered at the market. She felt as if she had finally seen him for who he truly was.

“How do you mean?” She arched her thin brow, then gave him a cunning wink.

Lincoln nibbled on his bottom lip, then stepped closer, resting his hands on the edge, looking out to the sea with her.

“You didn’t look like you belonged in the city,” he explained, turning his head to her, “and the only people allowed to attend are either vendors or the city folk.”

“Oh.” The nerves fluttering in her stomach disappeared. She still had her secret. “I was there with my parents,” she answered. “My father, he’s a bowyer. He’s the best there is in our town—the entire kingdom, really.”

A jaunty smile crossed his face, and he ran his hand through his tousled hair. “That is quite an art,” he acknowledged. “And you were there to sell the product?”

She nodded. “Demonstrate, actually,” she said. “We have to sell everything my father makes—or we don’t eat.”

Nola watched the smile on his face fade away. She was not sure if it was pity that moved swiftly across his face. Or guilt because her family was poor. Maybe it had bothered him that she was not someone more—special—someone who deserved to be near the palace walls.

“Baylin,” she continued, “the village where I’m from has been the only home I’ve ever known.” She leaned forward and fiddled with her fingers but when she felt Lincoln’s hands rest on hers, she stopped and looked up.

“Don’t feel ashamed. Many of us have fled home, runnin’ from somethin’. We all have our problems, but you and I know it is mostly because of what the king of Zemira has done.”

She watched Lincoln shift on his heel. It was clear he hated the king as much as she did.

So, he fled from somewhere too,Nola thought before he continued.

“How bad has it gotten?” he asked. “For the village folk?”

She straightened up her back as she sucked in a heavy breath. Then she let it out, as if exhausted by simply thinking about it.

“The king collects more than half of my father’s income. He’s taken most of our cattle, and—” she paused, being cautious with her words, “But that was a few years ago,” she noted. “King Matthias ignores the fact that our crops are dying, and if no one does anything soon, my people are going to starve to death.”

He stepped closer to her unexpectedly and placed his hand against her cheek tenderly, and though it looked like he wanted to say something, he did not. Instead, he only peered deep into her warm–honey eyes.

Nola, I—He thought for a moment. Oh, how I wish I could stare into your eyes forever.

Nola’s siren’s eyes fought not to turn white as desire devoured at her heart.

Please don’t change. Please don’t change,Nola begged her eyes. Oftentimes, she felt her iris change when she was scared or angry, and apparently, that situation was no different. She could not control when they turned, but she fought it.

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