“Thank you,” I whisper, warmth creeping into my cheeks when I realize he must’ve made room for me.
“It’s naught,” he says gruffly, and I still smile.
He heaps a generous portion from the center bowl onto an empty plate and slides it toward me. “You’re all skin and bone. Eat.”
“Thank you,” I murmur again, suddenly shy. I eat quickly and let hunger win over any remaining pride. Grim chuckles beside me, but doesn’t comment on it.
Then someone taps my shoulder.
Lark stands behind me, holding a plate with a whole grilled fish. The smell alone makes my mouth water. I haven’t had fresh fish in a long time.
“From the captain,” he mutters, pressing it into my hands before darting off.
I set the plate down, irritation prickling. Sable sits at the head of the table, his gaze briefly catching mine. His jaw is tight, his mouth a thin line, a muscle on his upper chest ticking once before he breaks his gaze to his untouched food. This is most likely his poor attempt at making up for what he did. Either that, or he doesn’t want me collapsing mid-deck. Who would summon the Glim then? What a tragedy that would be.
Still, I nod at him in thanks. Grim murmurs something next to me that I can’t understand as I take the fish with both of my hands and start tearing pieces of it away with my sharp canines. I save the best part for the end, the head. After I’ve swallowed that down as well, I lick my fingers, a low moan escaping my lips.
By the seas, that was delicious.
Only then do I notice the staring. I screw up my face and look around me.
“What did I do now?” I ask in a low voice.
“That’s not how we eat fish,” Grim explains in a whisper. “We don‘t eat the head.”
“Oh.” I bite down on my lip, my stomach dropping. I draw my elbows closer, suddenly aware of my hands, my teeth, the way I must look. How feral and unladylike it would seem to them. I dare to glance toward the head of the table. Sable is already staring at me, his mouth pulled into a knowing grin, that infuriating dimple deepening as his eyes flick to the fish bone.
That’s why he gave me the bloody fish.
Chapter Sixteen
Thesealastnightwas rough as the Noctis made it through the intermaria. Though this time, the crew didn’t need my help. The Glim led them through the waters safely, and according to Lark, they have sailed through these waters many times before and know their way around.
When I step onto the deck that day, the weather has changed. It is still warm in the Sea of Bones, maybe even warmer than in the Sea of Renewal, but instead of a cloudless sky, it is now a never-ending grey void. An endless, dull sheet stretched fromhorizon to horizon, as if the world itself forgot how to make color. The water looks all-consuming, as if I were to throw a stone in it, it would sink for days. A sea like this could swallow the Noctis whole. There’s no hint of coral, no light or sparkle dancing beneath the waves. When the hull of the Noctis moves, ripples spread like ink instead of light water. It looks like death itself cursed these waters.
Goosebumps spread all over my body at the thought of it.
The Glim is more visible in the darker waters. Thank the Seas, it has not disappeared yet, but ever since we passed through the intermaria, my inner siren is on high alert. She tries to break through, and I have a hard time containing her in the little, dark corner of myself I have cooped her into.
The unsettling feeling doesn’t let go of me, and it becomes worse after nightfall. I constantly shuffle in my swaying hammock, but my thoughts keep drifting back to the ink-like water and the death it seems to contain like treasure.
The sea shouldn’t scare me. And it is not necessarily the sea that uneases me, but the fact that besides Lark, no one was really excited about our arrival in the Sea of Bones.
The ship is quiet. I can hear water dripping from a beam somewhere above me while the waves silently crash against the hull.
It is too quiet, I decide. I sit back in my hammock just in time as I hear an odd splashing sound that doesn’t seem to match the rhythm of the waves.
Carefully, I swing my feet over, meeting the ground with a thud, and climb the stairs to the deck as quietly as I can. I don't want to risk waking up any of the crew. When I reach the hatch and lay my hands against the damp wood, I hesitate. My instincts tell me that something’s wrong. But I can’t risk not checking – we could be in danger. So I push the hatch open and peek outside.
It’s pitch dark. I can’t even make out where the railing stops, and where the sea begins. Another splash. My stomach clenches tight as I push open the hatch with shaking hands. I get to my feet and let my eyes wander over the deck, searching for anything untoward. And then I see them.
Ghosts.
Their dark figures are standing along the railing, their outlines made only faintly visible by a flickering thin line of silver and blue. My breath seems to solidify in my throat as they stare at the sea in front of us. If they know I am present, they do not pay me any mind. One of the ghosts breaks loose from the formation and turns to me. It is the ghost with the loose tongue that has visited me during the night. I recognize him based on the way he walks towards me, the movement slow and deliberate.
“Risa. You should not be wandering the deck at night,” he whispers as he reaches me. Weirdly, his familiar presence soothes me, and I release a shaking breath.
“What is happening?” I ask him, glancing towards the sea, but I can’t see past the ghosts, not even with my precise eyesight.