One by one.
I find a rhythm in my song.
Call. Resist. Pull. Return.
Each time I use my song, the ache in my throat deepens. The power doesn’t feel like strings anymore. Instead, it feels like a heavy rope that I have to drag through a narrow space, scraping at my insides in the process.
After the seventh shadow, a dull throb blooms behind my eyes. I blink against it and try to focus on the men in front of me, and on their shadows that roam the deck.
After the tenth, my voice roughens at the edges.
Sable remains behind me, silent except when he gives an order. His steadiness is both a comfort and a pressure. I can feel his gaze on the back of my head, like he knows that I am already pushing against my limits.
“Drink,” he says, and presses a waterskin into my hand. I gulp down the water, closing my eyes as the cold liquid numbs my throat, and then hand it back without looking at him.
The shadows become more and more resistant, and there are still so, so many. Grim is still near the end of the line, with his arms crossed and his face set in stone. Behind him is Nightglass, who keeps watch on Lark, who stands quietly off to the side.
I curl my hands into fists at my sides, so hard that I am sure my nails dig into flesh, but I have lost all sensation in my skin. Hot liquid trickles out of my nose and coats my lips. I recognize the taste of iron immediately. Blood.
He told me to save his crew first. But I will not follow his order anymore. I will not save those who voted for my death before the ones who were kind to me.
“Nightglass,” I say, my voice steady again. “You’re next.”
Sable doesn’t protest, and the rest of the crew doesn’t either. He’s Lark’s father, after all.
Nightglass looks confused for a heartbeat, but after another glance at his son, he steps forward.
I give him a short smile, then wipe away the blood with the back of my hand.
“Don’t cross a line for me, lass,” Nightglass says. “My shadow is far gone.”
“Don’t worry,” I tell him. “I will find it.”
When I start my song again, the cave holds all of it and more. For him, and for Lark, I drag the heavy ropes through me once more. Nightglass’s shadow comes into my view after a while, and I focus on it, then on Lark, to remind him what he’s fighting for.
Nightglass goes rigid, his face twisting in agony, as the shadow gravitates toward him.
I hold the note, push the command through it until the deck sways beneath my feet. The edges of his shadow are sharp, and I can feel it searching for a break in my control.
The shadow fights, but eventually it gives. It snaps back into him so fast he chokes on a sound, hands flying to his chest. Lark rushes to him immediately, throwing his arms around his father.
Sable’s hand appears on my waist, his fingers firm and warm against my body.
“You’re shaking,” he says with a hushed voice, his words meant for me alone.
“I’m okay,” I manage, but the words scrape at my vocal cords.
His grip tightens a fraction.
“You need a break.”
“No,” I say through gritted teeth, and keep my gaze fixed ahead, on the line that is still way too long. “I need more salt.”
Moments later, buckets of ice-cold water are poured over me. My head, my chest, my arms, and back. The salt sinks into my skin instantly, fueling my power.
Grim stands in front of me now, with his head slightly lowered, in anticipation of the pain. He looks worse up close, drawn, even. His shadow barely touches his heels anymore, stretched thin and restless.
I take a deep breath as I steady myself. The cold sharpens my vision as my song scrapes its way out, vibrating through my chest before it reaches the air.