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The deck lurched again, more violently. Jarin and the crew braced against the rocking with instinctive ease. Sometimes he thought traversing the deck of a ship was easier than walking on land—in more ways than one. On the water, he felt like he belonged. Not in the way of a siren, of course, but in the way of an outsider.
Once he was satisfied the soldiers wouldn’t pursue, he went below deck. Ulyss, the boatswain, was in the bilge with Berolt, a lantern swinging wildly from a nail on the wall. The two men frantically hammered boards over a splintered hole in the hull, through which seawater gushed. Left unattended, the hole was large enough to sink them within the hour.
“Evening, Captain,” said Berolt with a grin when he caught sight of Jarin. He was drenched from head to toe. “Fancy a bath?”
“Think we caught it in time,” said Ulyss, puffing. “The Pandora’s tough.”
“Aye,” said Jarin. “We aren’t drowning tonight.”
He worked alongside his men, sloshing through the bilge with boards and hammers and nails. They reinforced the hull until the leaking had slowed to a trickle.
Ulyss sat back, wiping his forehead with the back of his arm. The dreadlocked, dark-skinned boatswain had once been a master shipbuilder in the kingdom of Hatara. He left his homeland after he was caught pilfering a sapphire necklace from a noblewoman.
Artus discovered him in Port Hyacinth, where he’d been trading his ship-building skills for food and lodging, and promptly inducted him into the Dark Tide Clan.
“We’ll be out of action for a while,” he said to Jarin with a grimace. “She’ll need some major repairs. Where’re we headed now?”
“Hieros Isle.”
The boatswain nodded. “That’ll work. Plenty of space there.”
“How long will repairs take, do you reckon?”
“A week, maybe more.”
So much for getting Riella to the Black Cliffs anytime soon. Whether she liked it or not, she was about to be stranded on a desert island along with the rest of the crew.
Jarin sighed, rubbing his face. “Probably for the best, with the royal guard after us. We could stand to lie low. Let Artus cause mayhem with his new vessel, as he’s sure to do, and draw their ire.”
“Aye.”
Night had fallen when Jarin returned to the deck. He inhaled deeply, the fresh salty air clearing his lungs. A million diamonds sparkled in the sky. The slender crescent moon spilled silvery light across the ocean.
The crew were at ease, drinking and eating and joking around. Once the danger passed, a celebration was always called for—usually in the form of rum and tall tales. Their raucous conversations were punctuated by the great sails flapping rhythmically, like the wings of a giant bird.
Jarin considered the new reality. The Dark Tide Clan dividing meant the end of an era, and hopefully the beginning of a better one.
But Artus would want him dead, there was no question. Jarin, of course, could not be so easily killed. The older man would be even more singleminded in getting his hands on that blasted amulet now.
Jarin found Riella at the bow, her forearms resting on the railing and her face turned to the sky. Her platinum hair streamed behind her in the wind current, almost making it appear like she was underwater. She leveled her blue gaze at him, making his heart double its pace.
Had she bewitched him with siren charm? Sure felt like it. Back at Madame Quaan’s, when they were hiding from the guards, he’d never desired anyone so much in his life.
Why’d she have to run her tongue over his mouth? The last thing he needed right now was to be lusting after a bloody siren, to whom he owed death for stabbing him in the heart.
But then, he wasn’t exactly innocent. He’d gotten her on the bed in the first place. And he’d do it again, who was he kidding?
“If you’ve cast some siren witchcraft on me,” he said in a gruff voice, by way of greeting. “You need to stop it.”
“I haven’t done anything to you. Do you think I’d waste the energy?”
He scratched his stubbled cheek. “Right. Well.”
“The cabin boy sleeps,” she said, arching her brow at him. “His wounds will heal.”
Shame dumped over Jarin. The poor kid had been flogged to shreds, and all Jarin could think about was Riella’s soft pink tongue sliding over his lips. He was a scoundrel.
“Thank you.” He leaned on the rail next to her.
