POV: Beth
The next morning, repairs begin. Hammers echo across deck as planks fall into place. The mast gets re-wrapped with pitch-soaked canvas. Crew curses, laughs, bleeds. The ship becomes whole by sheer stubbornness.
Alaric stands on bow examining sky like reading omen. "Two days work. Maybe three." His voice deep, commanding.
No one questions him.
When evening falls, we head into port tavern—a den of thieves and damp rum. Lanterns flicker against walls carved with names of the dead. Fights already brewing in corners. Women dancing on broken tables. Coins clattering like bones.
I stick close to Kaine—at least he doesn’t pretend to like me.
At a card table, Alaric leans with lazy confidence, hair tied back, shirt unbuttoned far too low. He looks like sin offered on silver. Pirates stare like he’s legend returned.
Two men approach him—one tall as ship mast, the other short with wild eyes. Both loud. Both drunk. Both trouble.
"Karn!" the tall one booms, slapping Alaric’s back.
"Clove!" the short one wheezes, jumping to hug his waist. "We thought you were kraken dinner!"
"A shame for Kraken," Alaric smirks. "I’d taste terrible."
They roar laughing. The tall one—Karn—notices me and whistles. "This the princess we heard rumors about?"
Short one Clove leans in nose-to-nose too close. "Pretty. Sharp. Dangerous eyes." He pokes his own. "I like eyes."
Alaric grabs Clove by collar, tosses him aside like kitten. "Touch her and I’ll gut you with a spoon."
My stomach flips—not fear, but something stupid and warm. I glare to hide it.
Alaric introduces them with dramatic bow.
"These idiots used to crew with me. Good fighters. Useless thinkers."
"We accept!" Karn beams.
Clove salutes, nearly falls. "We pledge loyalty!"
I raise an eyebrow hesitantly. "Are they drunk?"
Alaric huffs. "Always."
So now they’re ours. Perfect. More chaos aboard.
Later, I sit at table studying witch’s parchment—faded runes like rib bones of old gods. The Blind Witch’s words echo in my head like waves:
Gate of bones. Heart of storms. Bride of sea unlocks what kings fear.
I trace the symbols. Something sparks in mind like memory not mine. I whisper translations as if I’ve always known them.
"Maelstrom Abyss," I breathe. "The sword lies beyond Morwenna’s gate."
Kaine freezes mid-drink. "Impossible. No one returns from Maelstrom."
Clove gasps dramatically. "We will die! Maybe worse—get married!"
Karn elbows him. "Marriage worse than death?"
"Absolutely," Clove hiccups.
Alaric approaches silently, placing rum bottle beside me. "You solved it?"
I nod. "The runes describe a gate—a drowned queen guards it. Only someone touched by sea magic may pass. Or someone… saltborn."
His eyes lock on mine. Dark, intense, searching. "You."
My breath hitches. "Me."
Mira appears behind him like shadow stitched with perfume. "How impressive," she purrs, sliding hand along Alaric’s arm. "She deciphers runes like letters. Such talent should not be wasted… with the wrong captain."
Alaric’s jaw ticks. He shrugs Mira off gently, steps closer to me instead.
"Beth leads the way," he declares.
Mira’s smile cracks, barely.
Crew murmurs—some awed, others fearful.
"What if she loses control of magic?" someone whispers.
"What if she turns on us?" another.
Alaric snaps, "She won’t."
He believes it—even if he fears it.
Something inside me glows warm and painful.
We return to ship under moonlight. Repairs nearly complete. Sails patched like scars. New rope coils ready. Karn and Clove drag crates aboard while betting who can burp louder. Pirates cheer. For first time in days, laughter outweighs dread.
But at rail, I feel eyes on me.
Mira. Watching like serpent in silk.
She smiles slow. "Careful, Storm Bride. Power makes kings—and widows."
I meet her gaze without flinching. "And traitors get drowned."
She tilts her head, eyes glittering. "Sometimes traitors wear crowns, dear."
The words slither down my spine. I don’t know if she means Silas. Or Alaric. Or me.
When I go to sleep that night, waves tap the hull like fingertips. My magic thrums restless under skin. The sea calls to me—not gentle, not sweet.
Hungry.