Total pages in book: 210
Estimated words: 200096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1000(@200wpm)___ 800(@250wpm)___ 667(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 200096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1000(@200wpm)___ 800(@250wpm)___ 667(@300wpm)
Those bastard sailors … I put up a pathetic fight against them, using my affinity to Aminadav to whip several with hemp ropes to no avail. I remember little else after they bound my wrist in the silver cord and heaved me overboard to join Tyree. That is the one positive of that toxic weed—I was so consumed by pain that my lungs ballooning with water and my body plummeting toward the bottom of the sea were secondary.
At some point, hands tugged at my waist and the pallid, hideous face of a siren filled my vision. I said a silent prayer of thanks to the fates that my suffering would end quickly on unforgiving teeth.
Only, it did not end that way. I was dragged through the water at speeds too fast to acknowledge. It seemed an endless journey. Eventually, I lost consciousness. And now I am on this rocky shoreline, free of merth, staring at a fractured ship in my blurry vision. Is it the Tempest? No, this one has been here some time, the gaping hull home to barnacles and black moss.
Wherever “here” is.
Where in fates am I?
A wave of nausea assaults me as I peel my battered and weak body off the jagged stone and breathe through the urge to vomit. I expelled half the sea if my aching ribs are any hint, and it’s a struggle just to sit up.
An odd suckling sound draws my attention behind me, and I discover a gray-skinned creature hunched over Tyree, its spine protruding down its back in sawtooth spikes.
My shriek sends it leaping back on sinewy legs with a hiss, to glower at me through beady white eyes. It’s a siren like the ones I saw in the water surrounding the ship, only now I can see its full, spindly form and all the gills and webbed folds of skin that allow it to thrive underwater. However this creature was created, all designs of beauty were poured into their song, for it is the most atrocious-looking thing I’ve ever laid eyes on, next to a daaknar. And it appears ready to pounce on me.
My fingers scrape blindly as I fumble for a potential weapon, landing on wood. “Go away!” I screech, waving the stick frantically back and forth. It will snap before it does any real damage.
But it works because the siren skitters to the water’s edge and dives in. It vanishes into the dark sea without leaving a single ripple in its wake.
What was it doing to Tyree, hunched over like that? An unsettling thought rises. Having a meal, likely. I saw what they did to that sailor in the water.
Cautiously, I edge closer to him. He’s eerily still. Is he even alive? His limbs are all accounted for. That’s a small relief. But did he survive the ordeal?
I crouch down to check his pulse—it’s strong—and note the silver cord still looped around his neck. He may be conscious, but he’s paralyzed and in agony.
His trousers are torn wide where I stabbed him, the gaping wound on his thigh now packed with a strange green paste. Was that the siren’s doing?
My dagger.
Frantically, I dig through Tyree’s pockets until my fist curls around the familiar handle. It was not lost in our ordeal. With a smile of victory, I slip it out, and then weigh my options.
I could leave the Ybarisan prince who plotted to murder my family, let him suffer while awaiting the siren’s return.
Or I could slit his throat and have some semblance of vengeance for the ruin he helped bring to Islor.
I search our surroundings, trying to find my bearings. All I see are rocks and more broken ships resting against the shoreline where they washed up, their splintered masts telling their tale. It’s a nautical graveyard. Were there any survivors? If not, I could be stranded here alone. Would that be better or worse than being stranded with my enemy?
He’s far more handsome like this, I’ll admit. When his lips aren’t flapping with gibes and his crystal blue eyes—so similar to his sister’s—don’t shine with cruel amusement. If he had arrived at court as an Islorian noble, surely he would have caught my eye.
“Oh, fates …” As much as I hate Tyree, as much as he would deserve it … Unlike him, I am not a murderer, and I know the pain he endures. I would spend too much time thinking about it if I left him here.
With my dagger and the stick I used to fend off the siren, I sever the knot in the cord and flick the merth away.
Tyree gasps, his eyes wild with panic as they search first the sky above us, and then my face.
“Do not make me regret this,” I warn.
“What happened?” he croaks.
“Besides Captain Aron and his sailors outsmarting you?”