Page 9 of The Sea of Zemira (The Zemiran Chronicles 1)

“How much longer does she have?” Lincoln asked, turning to face the foremast where Ardley leaned.

He shrugged. “Whale’s Tongue can be quick for a human, but I’ve never seen their poison on a sea creature. But, given her inability to keep her eyes open for longer than a few minutes—” He ran his hand through his mustache and said, “an hour, give or take.”

Whale’s Tongue was not what it sounded like. It was a deadly poison created by Matthias’s men after the magic ban to rid the kingdom of everyone who did not pay their tax or contributed to the war. It was their way of executing those who stood in their way—a waste to society, they would say.

“If we are to send her back to the sea now,” Ardley noted. “It will give her just enough time to swim down to their kingdom and say goodbye to her family. Or we can keep her comfortable, here, until she passes,” he explained.

Lincoln cursed under his breath before patting Ardley on the back. “Aye. Thanks for givin’ everythin’ you had back there. You did your best, mate.”

Ardley pressed his lips into a flat line and sucked in a heavy breath. “You want me to tell Ara?”

Lincoln shook his head. “Nay, just blow the horn.”

“Aye, Captain.”

As soon as Ardley’s hands rested on the foghorn, pulling it out towards the sea, Ara’s eyes went wide, and her body, rigid. She fanned out her hand and placed it against her chest and let out a thunderous cry so loud the crew had to muffle their ears to drown out the sound.

The sonic scream from a siren, who mourned the loss of someone they loved, sounded like a dragon’s roar. It could shake the world around them as if a violent tornado was destroying everything in its path. It appeared as though the waves had picked up and slammed against the ship, but the storm had already passed.

Lincoln leaned down next to the sirens and placed his hand gently on Ara’s arm, but she pulled back from his touch.

Ara looked up. “Thank you, Lincoln,” she said, wiping a tear falling down her cheek, “for everything you’ve done for us tonight.”

“What else do you need?” he asked sincerely.

She looked at him for a long beat as if she were considering asking him for something. Despite his courtesy, she decided against it, pressed her lips together, and looked back down at Sydney. The injured siren looked progressively worse than she had moments before.

“There are only a handful of us left,” Ara explained. “Matthias has won. My aunt, Maydean, died years ago trying to protect our people. But not everyone had survived since that day. I swore an allegiance to continue her legacy when no one else could.” She tilted her head, her eyes softening as she met Lincoln’s gaze. “It was my responsibility and I failed her. I failed my kind.”

He wanted to tell her that she had not. He ached to convince her that nothing she could have done would have prevented that fate or changed the outcome of that brutal, murderous attack—or the anguish she felt.

“Where will you go?” His voice was low and somber.

“Anywhere is safer than here,” she replied. “The sea has become a dark and dreadful ruin for my people. And the humans can’t protect us, not anymore. They do not know we even exist. And if they did, their fear would be clouded with mistrust and disgust. The seas have not been safe since Matthias took over what was once only pirate-infested waters. Pirates, we know how to handle them,” Ara explained. Then shut her eyes, and Lincoln watched a shiny tear plop down her cheek. “We don’t kill pirates anymore—those days are in the past, Lincoln. Because you are not like them. You see us. You see us for what we truly are, and I can never repay for what you have done for us this day.”

Ara cradled Sydney in her arms, raced towards the back of the deck, and dove overboard into the sea. They were gone, quicker than they all could blink.

The foghorn’s continuous noise sounded for five minutes before the crew gave the sirens a moment of silence for their fallen. Boots removed his hat and placed it against his chest.

Lincoln whirled around to his crew, who stood on the deck, looking at him intently, waiting for orders.

“We sail southwest tonight,” Lincoln said.

“To Zemira?” Kitten asked, “Shiver me timbers, Captain! We can’t go back there, not after this.”

“Oh, bloody hell, Captain,” Mazie cursed. “We be stayin’ out of their affairs.”

“This is not about retaliation, hearties,” he corrected. “We do, however, need more medical supplies and water before our voyage to the Eastland Forest.” He turned to Ardley, who gave him a curt nod. “We’ll be in and out before anyone notices us.”

Lincoln turned to Boots—their most amiable mate on the ship.

“Aye, aye, Captain.” Boots raised his eyebrows and nodded once, then hurried to the mast and shimmied up the post to crawl back inside the crow’s nest. Lincoln watched him pull out his spyglass, pointing straight ahead, and shouted. “Ahoy, mates. Weigh anchor and hoist the mizzen! Full speed ahead and ten hours until sunlight.”

Lincoln felt Hill’s finger tap him on the shoulder.

“Can we stay for a cup of rum, Captain?” Hill proposed shyly.

“You scallywag! As long as we’re outside the main city, you’re damn straight we will,” Lincoln said humorously. “But we be buyin’ several bottles of rum before we head out. This will be our last journey to Zemira.”

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