POV: Beth
The night the rumor found me, The Crooked Gull was half-asleep.
Rain had tired itself out and settled into a fine mist, beading on the windows and turning the lantern light foggy. The usual shouting had dulled to hoarse murmurs. Dice clacked lazily. A card game in the corner ended with one man snoring face-first on the table. Most of the crew who came here were either already drunk or on their steady way there.
I scrubbed a dark ring of something unidentifiable off a table and tried not to think about my mother, or Rowan’s execution clock, or Silas’ quiet voice offering crowns made of storms.
“Mae!” the barkeep grunted. “Fresh jug to table nine. They’re paying in advance for once. Miracles do occur.”
I grabbed the jug and three mugs and made my way through the maze of chairs, ducking a half-hearted swipe from a regular who always tried to pinch me and never succeeded. Table nine was near the back, three men hunched over a map stained with ale, their voices low, their fingers tracing inked coastlines and circles.
“Your rum,” I said, setting the jug down.
One of them spared me a glance, tossed a coin. The others didn’t look up. Not until I turned to leave.
“…Black Tide is desperate enough to chase ghost bones now, then,” one said, voice amused.
I froze.
“What else has he got left?” another replied. “Lost his ship, lost his crew, lost his bite. Heard he even lost his little noble pet girl.”
Laughter scraped over my skin like a blade.
My hand tightened on the empty jug. I kept my back turned, breath shallow.
“Nah,” the first man said. “He didn’t lose her. She ran. Left him high and dry. Saw a report from Blood Harbor—Black Tide is sniffing after the Leviathan Bone Sword.”
The words were like a wave smacking me in the chest.
Leviathan Bone Sword.
The name hummed with familiarity; I’d heard scraps before, drunk men murmuring of a weapon carved from the bones of an ancient sea beast, a blade that could slice through hulls and break curses. A relic from stories, like Kraken, like Morwenna. Part of me had thought it was just that—story.
Apparently not.
“Can’t blame him,” the second man said. “You take Silas’ throne, you’d better bring more than swagger and old scars. If he finds that sword—”
“If,” the third cut in. “Big if. Half the pirates chasing that thing end up in whale bellies.”
The first man chuckled. “Better than prison, if you ask me. At least whales don’t make you dig your own grave.”
“Or marry princes,” the second added, and they all laughed again.
They didn’t know I was still there. Didn’t know their words were cutting the air around me into strips.
“That sword’s supposed to be from Leviathan itself, right?” one mused, pouring rum. “Bone white, drinks magic like wine, cuts through hull, flesh, and fate.”
“Guarded by Morwenna’s curse, they say.” A shrug. “If Black Tide wants it, good. He can try dying for our entertainment.”
My heartbeat roared in my ears. Black Tide. Alaric. Hunting a myth. Not hunting… me.
I walked away before my hands started shaking visibly.
At the bar, I set the jug down a little too hard. The barkeep raised an eyebrow. “Jug insult you?”
“Who is the Black Tide to them?” I asked, keeping my voice neutral, casual. “They talk like they know him.”
“Everyone knows of him,” the barkeep said, wiping a mug. “Not everyone wants to remember him. And you, Mae, should keep your nose out of waters that deep.”
“Too late,” I muttered.
He gave me a sharp look, but another customer shouted for ale, and he turned away.
I retreated to the back door, pushed it open, and stepped into the narrow alley. The air was cold and damp, smelling of wet stone and old fish. I leaned against the wall, pressed my palms flat against rough brick, and closed my eyes.
Alaric was alive. Of course he was. It would take more than the prince’s dungeons or my absence to kill that man. But hearing his name again still twisted something inside me, a knot of anger and something I refused to name.
He was hunting the Leviathan Bone Sword.
He hadn’t come back to this port. Hadn’t stormed into The Crooked Gull shouting at everyone until he found me. Hadn’t stood on a cliff calling my name. He’d simply… continued. Chasing power. Chasing crowns. Chasing a weapon made from something that might as well be a god’s corpse.
I pressed my forehead against the cool stone.
“What did you expect?” I whispered to myself. “That he’d search every port until he found the girl who walked away from him?”
The stupid part of me, the soft part, answered honestly: Yes.
I’d imagined it, in the quiet moments between scrubbing tables and fighting off would-be thieves. Alaric crashing into the tavern, eyes wild, furious. How dare you leave my ship? Him grabbing my wrist. Me shouting back. Our fights were always sharp enough to cut. Maybe he’d drag me back to the deck, telling me I’d get myself killed without him. Maybe I’d slap him. Maybe we’d—
I pushed the thought away, breath hitching.
Instead, he was out there chasing legends. I was in a back alley, smelling of onions and spilled ale, my hands raw from work.
Jealousy flared, ugly and sudden.
Not just at the sword, at the adventure I wasn’t part of—but at the thought of him laughing with someone else. Teasing them. Training them. Standing at the helm without a single thought wasted on the stupid girl who’d told him she’d rather die than follow him.
“You made your choice,” I reminded myself. “You said you’d live without him.”
My choice didn’t stop the hurt.
What was he like now? Did he still stand at the bow at dawn, watching the horizon like he was daring it to move? Did he still smile like sin when a fight broke out? Did Kaine still grumble at his orders and obey them anyway? Did Mira still circle him like a shark in perfume?
Did he miss me?
I laughed once, bitterly. “He probably celebrated when I left.”
I imagined him telling the crew, Less dead weight now. She can’t cry on deck if she’s not there.
The thought sliced. So did the possibility that he cared, and I was the one who’d abandoned him.
Rain began their soft return, cool droplets spotting the ground. I wiped my eyes before I could decide whether the wet on my cheeks was rain or not.
If Alaric found the Leviathan Bone Sword, he’d become something worse than legend. He’d have power enough to challenge Silas, enough to crack the prince’s ships like shells. Enough to tear the world further apart.
And where would that leave me?
Caught in the middle. Again.
Part of me wanted him to fail. To lose the sword, to be forced to crawl, to maybe understand what it was to be powerless, stranded, alone. Another part wanted him to succeed, because if he won against Silas, it might keep Kraken off my back, might keep the seas from turning into an endless graveyard.
But there was a third part, the one I didn’t know what to do with—the part that wanted to stand beside him when he raised that sword. To say, I helped. I did this. We did this.
Lightning flickered far out at sea, silent from here. My mark warmed faintly under my sleeve.
Leviathan bones. Kraken. Silas. Alaric.
A war was building across waters I could barely see from this filthy port. And I was still serving drinks, watching men throw away fortunes on cards.
For now.
I straightened, wiped my face, and stepped back inside.
Rumors were shadows. Shadows meant something solid was blocking the light.
If Alaric was chasing a sword, and Silas commanded a monster, and the prince sharpened his axe over my father’s neck—
I needed to stop being a girl on the shore.
I needed to become something the sea itself wouldn’t dare ignore.