When I don’t move, Grim taps my back and gently shoves me toward the surgeon. The door closes behind me with a drawn-out squeak. I sit on the wooden table as I was asked.
“The captain already suspected you were a daughter of the sea, but he wanted to hear it from you. Though he isn’t quite himself today and—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” I interrupt. My voice comes out louder than I intended. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I don’t think his behavior can be excused, sir.”
A smile tugs at his lips. “I haven’t been called sir in a very, very long time. You can call me Harrow.”
I give him a wry smile and fidget with the hem of my gown while my feet dangle off the table.
“Eryse.”
“Eryse. An unusual name for a siren, don’t you think?” He tilts his head and waits for a reaction, but when I give him none, he gets to work. When he lifts my foot to inspect it, he doesn’t even grimace, only lifts one gray eyebrow. He has probably seen much worse.
“How did this happen?”
“A nail,” I say simply. “When I was hiding in the hold. I wasn’t careful enough.”
He uses a cloth and water to clean my wound, then flushes it with rum and seals it with a sticky substance that smells like tar and honey.
“We must clean and change this daily to avoid infection,” he explains, and I haven’t felt this taken care of in a long time.
He gives me some privacy to wash with the remaining water, the door squeaking again as he leaves the room. I reach for my dirty gown, but a knock at the door stops me. It seems surprising to me that pirates would engage in something as civilized and considerate as knocking. Confused, I pad over to the door and press my ear against the wood, trying to figure out who’s on the other side. Hesitating, I open the door just enough to peek through. No one’s there.
Something pulls my gaze downward. Neatly folded at my feet lies the most beautiful dress I have ever seen.
The fabric is a deep emerald.
Chapter Eight
Ifurrowmybrows,glancingdown the hallway again, making sure no one is watching me. The way the dress is folded makes it seem like it was placed for me to take. With shaking hands, I reach for it and take it. A smile tugs at my lips as I close the door and hold the gown against my body, staring down at it in awe. The deep emerald leaves little room for doubt. The ghost told me it would suit me. It cannot be a coincidence, no, it must be from him.
I do not care how foolish I may look, that something as simple as a pretty gown can make me smile despite the fact that I am being held captive. It feels like one small defiance against my situation, that I can choose to find a small spark of happiness in the mysterious offering of a dress. That I will not crack no matter how much pressure is placed upon me.
I relish the feeling of the fabric as it glides over my body, pulling it up and tugging the strings of the corset as tight as I can on my own. I run a hand over the material, smooth and shining, and I cannot help but liken it to my mother’s scales. The way it seems to shift from darkness to a rich emerald when I move, how it echoes the way her onyx scales would turn that same deep shade of green when the sun hits it right. The kind of green that hides in shadows and glows only when you’re close enough to see it.
The bodice clings perfectly to my frame, scattered with dark stones, each one glinting in the light like stars at midnight. The soft off-shoulder sleeves cascade down my arms, showing skin without revealing too much. The skirt flows in long, smooth lines of satin, the fabric pooling at the ground in a way that feels effortless, as if it were meant to move freely with the wind.
The door squeaks again as Harrow enters.
“Well, I dare say you look much better, lass.” A warm smile spreads across his face, and it is only now that I notice a couple of golden teeth.
I nod and try to return the smile. “I do feel better. It seems you have a very generous ghost lurking amongst you.”
The old man’s smile fades as soon as he hears the word ghost, and he quickly shakes his head.
“Better not to talk to any of them, Eryse. That only keeps them from where they should be,” he says in a lowered, more serious voice.
I shoot him a quizzical look and cross my arms behind my back.
“And where should they be?”
“At peace. Talking to them and recognizing them as actual beings makes them restless.”
I inhale in preparation for my next question, but before I can ask it, someone standing in the doorframe clears his throat. I glance behind Harrow to find Grim standing there, with his arms crossed over his wide chest.
“Enough ghost stories, old man,” he commands, and I sigh in disappointment. Of course, he would show up when things just got interesting. I roll my eyes at him, my first hint of attitude toward these men. The only reaction I get from him is a slightly raised brow and a clenched jaw. “Aye, right you are, Grim. Don’t want to scare you, lass,” Harrow says as he walks past me into the room. He is not too steady on his feet, I realize, his steps a little uneven as he passes.
Grim holds my cuffs in his hands, clearly intending to put them back on, but I don’t want to leave before thanking Harrow again, so I turn toward him once more.