POV: Beth
The world didn’t fall silent when Clove died—it became louder.
Screams tore across the deck. Cannons thundered like giants beating on iron doors. Smoke rose in choking pillars as fire devoured the foremast. Men slipped on blood-soaked planks, bodies falling, waves swallowing them whole. But I heard none of it clearly; everything blurred into a distant roar behind the ringing in my skull.
I was still holding Clove when the next cannonball clipped our rail and threw splinters like arrows across the deck. Blood sprayed. I barely flinched. My body trembled, but my mind was frozen, numb, hollowed out as if grief dug a pit in my chest and filled it with seawater.
Karn crawled across the ruined deck to us—no, not crawled, stormed, dragging his sword, breathing fire. His eyes widened when he saw Clove limp in my lap. Then something inside him shattered so loudly I felt it.
He dropped beside us, hands shaking as he grabbed his brother’s shoulders. “Clove. Hey—hey, look at me. Come on, idiot—wake up.” His voice broke. This giant man who laughed in bloodshed and mocked death like it owed him rent—now crumbling, begging.
I placed a hand over Clove’s chest. No rise. No heartbeat. Nothing but fading warmth.
Karn’s howl ripped from him like souls being torn apart. It cut sharper than any blade—raw, animal grief that made even battle pause around us. Several pirates turned, faces twisting. Kaine froze with blood on his cheek, silently staring.
Clove, the loudest laughter in storms, brightest grin in darkest nights—gone.
My vision blurred. Smoke stung my eyes, or maybe tears. I did not know anymore.
Alaric landed from the rigging like fallen wrath, blade dripping red. When he saw us he stopped dead. His jaw clenched, eyes flickering—pain, fury, something human and sharp. He didn’t speak. Couldn’t.
He knelt beside Karn and pressed a steady hand on his shoulder—a silent apology, a silent grief. Karn shook him off violently, rising like thunder about to break.
“This war killed him,” Karn snarled, voice splintering, broken and deadly. “Your war.”
Alaric didn’t fight back. Didn’t rage. His silence was heavier.
Karn stood, sword raised as if pain begged for violence. For a heartbeat I thought he’d strike Alaric. Instead he slammed the blade into the deck, leaving it quivering like a scream driven into wood. Then he dropped beside Clove again and pulled his brother’s head to his chest, rocking him as if refusing to let death settle.
Around us the battle worsened.
Another cannon ripped through our quarterdeck. Flames whooshed up the canvas. Men scrambled to pump water, but the flames laughed and climbed higher. The British ships tightened formation like wolves closing for kill.
We were losing.
Badly.
Kaiden dragged water buckets across the deck, yelling orders that drowned under cannon fire. Bodies rolled with the ship’s tilt. A mast cracked, falling toward us—Alaric grabbed my coat, yanking me aside narrowly. Karn didn’t move, clutching Clove. Pirates hauled the broken wood away with desperate screams.
My heartbeat surged like a drum of war and grief intertwined.
I stood—slowly, shaking—and forced myself to look around properly.
Burning sails. Blood underfoot. Men falling one by one. Pirates—our people—dying for something they believed in, for a crown of salt and bones, for Rowan, for freedom, for us. But how many more would die while we fought blindly? How many more Cloves?
A whisper curled like a tide inside my head.
Storm Bride. Queen of the deep.
The blind witch. Morwenna. My destiny.
Perhaps something worse.
I wiped blood from my cheek and looked at Alaric. “If we keep fighting like this, we all die.”
His eyes locked with mine—storm meeting storm. “We stand. We fight. We do not run.”
“I’m not running,” I breathed. “I’m choosing another door.”
“What door?” His tone edged like blade on bone. “There is no other. This is war.”
“There is,” I whispered. “But I have to go alone.”
He froze. Truly froze. The man who charged cannons without blinking now looked afraid. “No. Beth—absolutely not.”
A cannonball smashed the side railing; waves exploded through the gap. Men screamed. Karn still clutched Clove’s body while smoke curled around them like a shroud.
“We are dying,” I said softly. “Rowan has two weeks left. The Prince will behead him while we bleed here. I won’t let Clove die for nothing. I won’t let Rowan die without trying everything.”
Alaric’s jaw clenched. “You won’t survive alone.”
“Maybe I won’t. But maybe I find a way.”
“You think you can just walk into a British fortress?” His laugh was bitter, cracked. “Beth, that is suicide.”
“So is staying here.”
The deck lurched beneath us. Another explosion. Men fell. Kaine shouted to fall back. But I didn’t look away from Alaric.
He stepped closer, voice hoarse. “Stay with me.”
His hand reached toward mine—hesitating, wanting.
I swallowed the ache. “I love you.” The words felt like tearing skin from bone. “But this war isn’t won by standing beside you on a burning deck. Not today.”
He grabbed my wrist, grip strong enough to bruise. “Don’t do this.”
“Trust me.”
His breath shook. “I do. That’s why I can’t let you go.”
This was our collision point—two storms crashing. We stared, chests rising in uneven rhythm, smoke burning our lungs. He searched my eyes for surrender.
I had none to give.
I leaned in, pressed my forehead to his. The world was collapsing around us, yet this moment was still. Painful. Sacred.
Then I gently pulled my wrist free.
His fingers didn’t chase. They trembled in air where I stood moments ago.
I turned.
Kaine noticed. “Beth—where are you—”
“To end this,” I said.
No argument. No permission sought. My feet carried me through smoke and screams, past collapsing sails, past Karn sobbing over Clove’s still body. Every step felt like betrayal—and salvation.
Alaric’s voice broke behind me. “Beth!”
I didn’t stop. If I stopped, I’d never leave.
I climbed down to a small lifeboat hanging by frayed ropes. Waves smashed the hull. Fire lit the sky hell-red. I cut the rope.
The lifeboat dropped onto violent sea. Water surged around, nearly flipping me. I gripped the oars, breath sharp, heart bleeding.
On deck, Alaric leaned over railing—jaw clenched, coat torn, smoke behind him like wings of ruin.
He didn’t order me back. He didn’t beg. He just watched—with rage, love, fear.
I raised my chin, sword strapped across back. “I’ll come back,” I promised through wind and thunder. “With victory—or not at all.”
He swallowed something that hurt. “Come back alive.”
A cannon fired. Flames roared. The ship drifted away behind smoke.
But I rowed alone.