My gaze drops to the bodice of my light pink gown, my cheeks likely matching the color of the fabric now. If this is what Sable is like when he’s whole, then I am in trouble. Big time.
“Aye,” he says, the smile audible in his voice. “Oh.”
We stand there in silence on the empty deck, the ship utterly still beneath us. I wonder if not talking about what happened this morning will make everything worse, like pressing a bandage over a wound that’s already infected and pretending it won’t fester underneath. Perhaps ripping the bandage off is the better option.
I lift my head and meet his eyes, picking at a loose thread on my sleeve so as not to let my nerves show in the shaking of my hands. “Why did you kiss me this morning if you don’t see any hope?”
He steps closer, his silhouette a harsh contrast against the blazing sun.
“You know exactly why I kissed you,” he says and tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear, a gesture so gentle that it sends a shiver rippling through me.
“No, I do not. Please, feel free to enlighten me.”
He takes another step forward, closing the distance between us.
“Because, darling,” he says softly, “I’m selfish. And resisting you is like telling the moon to stop pulling the tide.”
I close my eyes and breathe through it, through the things I can’t say out loud. That he confuses me. That he shattered everything I thought I knew about pirates, about fear, about safety. That he hurt me by keeping the truth from me. That I can fear someone and still care for them, even when I wish I didn’t. But I cannot say any of these things.
Sable lets out a sigh and places both hands on the sides of my head, then makes me look at him.
“You singing back Lark’s shadow,” he says in a low voice, “That has given me hope. You are my hope, Eryse.”
I swallow, trying my best to keep it together. “So you are willing to fight?”
“I am always willing to fight for my crew,” he continues in a serious voice.
“And for yourself?” I press, searching his face for the truth he refuses to say out loud. “Tell me that you’re willing to fight.”
For a moment, he only looks at me. Then exhales and drags both hands over his face before pressing his palms into his eyes. The silence is deafening.
“Yes,” he adds, his eyes holding mine. “I am willing to fight, love. But there are things you don’t know about me, about my shadow—”
“Then tell me,” I cut in, the sharpness in my voice surprising even me. “Because if you won’t tell me what it is you continue to keep from me, I can’t help you.”
By the way his throat moves as he swallows, I know that he doesn’t want to give me an answer. Not yet. Taking a deep breath, I try to get a grip on my emotions again. The words are there. I can see it in the way his chest rises a little deeper, like he almost speaks, then stops himself. It seems like this isn’t easy for him. I could push and force him to say it, but I don’t. Not when it would make it harder for him. I have to trust that he will tell me eventually, and hope that it won’t be too late.
“I’ll go swim,” I say instead, a faint smile tugging at my lips.
His shoulders drop, the relief in him immediate.
“You’re right. Maybe it’ll trigger my shift.”
I turn on my heel and leave him like that, walking toward the ladder fixed to the hull. I make quick work of my gown, draping it over a clean barrel, and start down the ladder in nothing but my undergarments. I’m halfway down when a dark crown of hair appears over the railing, the jewelry at his neck clinking against the wood.
“You’re not going alone, woman.”
“In case you need reminding,” I call back, continuing my descent, “I’m a siren. I swim better than you ever will.”
He curses above me, and a grin tugs at my mouth. Stubborn pirate. A moment later, his presence looms over me, and the ladder creaks beneath our combined weight.
The closer I get, the more beautiful the water becomes. It gleams softly, almost like silk, pale and shifting, so smooth it barely looks like water at all. Thin lines of white foam gathernear the hull where the sea kisses the ship, waves so small you’d miss them if you couldn’t get this close.
Just before my feet touch the surface, I hesitate. If what Sable showed me in the cabin is right, if this sea really did shape me, maybe it has the power to give me my tail. But hope has teeth, and it bites hardest when you place all your faith in it. In my hesitation, I look up.
Sable meets my gaze, his eyes creased by a gentle smile. “Go,” he says. “I’ll carry you back up. Even with a tail.”
I laugh, and that brief lightness he gives me is enough. I let myself sink into the warm, shallow water. He follows with far less grace, splashing down beside me.