POV: Beth
The Blind Witch’s island fades into fog behind us, her voice echoing like rot under my skin. “Saltborn… Storm Bride…” I don’t even know what that means, but it clings like wet seaweed around my throat.
Waves slap against the hull as we push off shore. The sky hangs heavy, swollen with stormlight. The crew whispers in pockets of fear, eyes darting between me and the churning sea as if expecting lightning to strike my skull open.
I hug my arms. “Stop staring,” I mutter, but they keep doing it. This time not with mockery—with something worse.
Suspicion. Awe.
And fear.
Kaine leans toward them. “She held back water like it obeyed her.”
“I didn’t,” I snap.
Alaric stands at the helm, silent. Smugness stripped. No jokes, no grins. Just watching me like I’m something he can’t decide to kill or worship.
The waves rise suddenly—not naturally. The ocean reaches.
A long serpent of water curls toward me, shimmering, twisting in a shape like a beckoning hand. The crew freezes.
Kaine steps back. “Bloody hell—”
“I—I’m not doing anything,” I whisper.
But my heartbeat syncs with the sea, and the water twitches... responding.
As if waiting for my command.
The crew curses, loading pistols, grabbing blades like I’m about to explode. The wave slaps onto deck—not crashing, but clinging—swirling at my feet like a tame creature, rippling around my boots. It rises like a snake charmed.
“Beth.” Alaric’s voice cuts sharp. “Don’t move.”
“You think I’m summoning this?” My voice trembles.
He doesn’t blink. “Are you?”
“No!”
The water pulses brighter—hearing me.
I step back, breath shaking, and the serpent follows. The crew gasps as I lift my hand instinctively—and the water rises with it, mirroring me like a reflection freed from glass.
I breathe.
The ocean breathes back.
Kaine whispers, “She’s controlling it…”
“No,” I choke, “it’s controlling me—”
Alaric steps forward slowly, like approaching a cornered beast. “Beth.”
I meet his eyes. He’s terrified. Actually terrified.
That hurts worse than chains.
“Let it go,” he says, voice low.
“How?!”
“Want it gone.”
I swallow thick panic. My fingers tremble. I close my eyes, clenching my fist, and the wave shivers—then slams down, dissolving into harmless seawater across deck.
Crew stumbles back, crossing themselves. Whispers break like cracking bone.
“Saltborn…”
"Storm Bride…”
“Witch spawn…”
I shake. Every word cuts.
Alaric doesn’t move. His jaw clenches. “Get below deck.”
“Why?” My voice cracks harder than I want.
He looks at me—really looks—with a fear he hides badly.
“Before someone throws you into the sea.”
Silence devours the deck.
I swallow shame, pain burning behind ribs. “Is that you speaking, or your crew?”
“My crew won’t touch you,” he says. “Not while I breathe.”
It’s not comforting. Not enough.
I step closer. “Then what about you? Do you think I’m some… sea demon?”
His gaze flickers—a storm behind his eyes. “I don’t know what you are.”
The truth wounds me deeper than a blade.
He turns away, barking orders. “Set sails! We move before fog closes!”
Crew jumps to obey—because they trust him.
Not me.
I stand still, fists shaking. My palms smell like salt and power. I don’t know whether to scream or drown myself. The witch’s words won’t leave my skull.
Storm Bride.
Saltborn.
Command what even kings fear.
I whisper to myself, barely breathing, “What am I?”
The sea answers with a swell against the hull—gentle. Almost affectionate.
I shiver.
Alaric doesn’t look back at me even once.