The Girl Who Belonged to the Sea by Katherine Quinn

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Margrete

The storm cameout of nowhere.

One moment the sky was clear and full of light, and the next, gray steel washed across the world as rain pelted the Phaedra and its crew.

Bash found Margrete on the quarterdeck just as a massive wave struck the hull, sending the vessel rocking precariously to the side. He took her hand in his and wordlessly guided them below, his hold the only thing keeping her from tumbling down the stairs. Once they were in the safety of her cabin, Bash turned to her, his face pinched.

“It’s too dangerous for you to be up there,” he said. “We’ll get out of this, but it won’t be easy.” He ran a hand through his hair as he turned for the door. Pausing at the threshold, he glanced over his shoulder and met her stare. “I need you to stay here, please. I need you to be safe, princess.” His voice was coated with glass, the desperation in his tone nearly tangible.

“I will,” she promised. “But you better be safe as well.” The ship gave a violent lurch and she stumbled into the vanity. The thought of him going up into that hellish nightmare made her nauseous.

Bash lingered for a heartbeat longer, his eyes locked on her face, almost as though he wanted to memorize every detail. She did the same.

Then he nodded and closed the door.

If the storm continued into the evening, then they might miss the time set for the exchange. Margrete told herself that this was why she was pacing the cabin and not because a small part of her worried for a certain rogue on deck.

After wearing a path into the planks, a bolt of lightning pierced the skies. She staggered to her cabin’s porthole to peer into the gray pandemonium. This was no ordinary storm. Not the kind that many survived, at least.

Gazing at the thrashing waters, Margrete pleaded with the sea, a recent, pacifying habit. As if in response, she was sent hurtling backward, her back colliding painfully with the sharp edge of the vanity. Cursing, she lurched back into place and grabbed hold of the wooden chair for support.

Margrete pressed her hand to the porthole, her ring clinking against the glass. She twirled the ring on her finger, thoughts drifting. I see it in you, girl, something dark and old. That’s what the madwoman had said, almost like she believed Margrete carried something ancient inside of her.

Gods, Margrete wished that were true. That she possessed some power that could persuade the waves to calm and the skies to clear, power that could get the Phaedra and her crew out of this thing alive. Bash promised that the ship could weather any storm, but now she wasn’t so sure.

Please, she pleaded. Please, please, please…

The graying depths swirled and screamed its reply, and for a moment, all Margrete knew was defeat. She’d foolishly thought that the ocean might listen to her—

Stupid, stupid girl.

A shock raced from her finger and up her arm. Margrete glanced down to find her ring glowing in the dim lighting. Her skin burned icy hot where the metal rested, but she didn’t dare take the ring off. A burst of heat coiled inside her chest and her vision sharpened on a cresting wave.

She gazed through the porthole as a chorus of ethereal voices and the pulsating heartbeat of every wave consumed all that she was. For a moment, she could hear what the waters urged her to hear—and she answered back. But not with words.

Narrowing in on the roiling violence beyond the portal, she fixated on a wave the height of ten men. As heat blossomed within her chest, and the eerie whispers of the sea came to a crescendo, the swell before her rose and crashed harmlessly, sucked back into the ocean that had birthed it.

Yes!More sparks pricked her insides with every frantic exhale. The heat within didn’t come from nerves or simple human fear. No. Margrete could taste the electricity in the air, an ancient sort of enchantment woven with a fragile thread.

This inner fire—crafted from all things unseen and unknown—escalated like the waves beyond her portal. Margrete shut her eyes and focused on calming the waters within herself even as the music of the untamable sea whooshed in her ears.

Control, a gentle voice whispered. It was the one she’d heard in the Kardias Cave, welcoming her home. Control them.

There was no time to wonder why she heard the otherworldly voice or why it had chosen to call out to her now. Not when the Phaedra was near destruction.

Instead, she shut her eyes and allowed images of still waters and crystal-clear skies to crush all other thoughts. She glimpsed the world through the eyes of another, her view high above the sea like she was some bird gliding overhead.

Yes, the foreign voice urged. Control them.

Margrete opened her eyes as her vision of serene waters dissipated. Beyond the porthole, the sky was a shade brighter. The waves were still angry, but not bloodthirsty. Her heart pumped in her chest. She couldn’t possibly have been the one to do that—

A piercing scream penetrated the air, the sound like a dagger to her calm.

She knew that scream, would recognize it anywhere. Bash was in trouble.

Stumbling with every rocking wave, Margrete hurried to the main deck. The rain had picked up, the drops violent in their descent. Within seconds, she was drenched.

Bash called out again. A groan of pain. A growl of frustration and distress.

Grasping the railing, Margrete scanned the deck. If the crew were fearful, none of them showed it. They were seasoned sailors, borne from the sea itself. She, on the other hand, was not. She couldn’t even swim. There was no doubt that these waters would swallow her whole if she wasn’t careful, but she had to know if Bash was safe.

A thunderclap was the only warning before lightning struck the mizzen sail, leaving the nearly translucent linen a mess of smoking shreds. Margrete lurched forward, narrowly missing the plummeting wood and burning sail as they crashed to the quarter deck.

The impact sent her sliding across the slick planks, barely holding to the starboard railing as a tumultuous wave crested, battering mercilessly against the hull.

The downpour pummeled the crew, savage raindrops flying from every direction, making it difficult to see more than ten feet ahead. Margrete wrapped both arms about the rail. The squall was relentless.

But it was his voice that was isolated amongst the many. His voice alone that wafted to her ears and took up residence in her tumultuous heart.

She spotted him across the deck. A cannon had gotten loose and pinned three men, Bash among them. His men worked to free him, but the turbulent waters made it challenging.

She had to get to him.

Margrete slipped and stumbled as she ran, the rain obscuring her vision. She was close, Bash’s cries growing louder, drowning out the hissing wind and hail.

Lightning struck again.

This time, it hit its target.

The mast above Margrete cracked and splintered, the smell of burnt wood mixing with the overwhelming scent of despair. The wood creaked and groaned, and before she could react, it all came crashing down.

Bash screamed her name.

She swiveled toward him just before a fierce wind swept her up, sending her tumbling over the railing and into the churning waters. She plummeted like a rock, her body striking the waves with force, her scream cut off by the ruthless sea.

The current stole her strength and pulled at the loose threads of her will, but she refused to give up so easily.

Push! she screamed at herself. Fight!

But the current was strong, the sea chaotic.

Margrete did push, though. She did fight.

But her determination to live wasn’t enough to guide her inexperienced limbs.

She was sinking. Fast.

The sea lit up briefly, a striking flash of lightning illuminating the waters that held her firm. Another bolt. And another. Deeper she sank, her arms growing heavy, her feet stilling.

Margrete had always imagined Death and the sea to be the closest of friends and the most bitter of enemies. The line between the two had long ago blurred, just as loathing and love tend to combine and combust, turning vengeful strangers into hesitant lovers.

The current was wild and, while vicious, it handled Margrete almost reverently. It swept her further down until the bottom of the wooden ship became nothing but a cobalt dream on a moonless night.

Falling, falling, falling.

A ripple of electricity pulsated, so fierce and sudden that it forced her eyes to open in the darkness. A violent energy surged, the waters seeming to tremble as a spark of light erupted.

She heard the voice. This time, it wasn’t gentle, nor muffled. It sounded close, as if murmured into her ear.

Shana, the ocean sang.

The voice belonged to an entity she couldn’t see, and it rose into a commanding echo, repeating the foreign name like a prayer. She felt the waves calming, like they were eager to hear what the voice had to say.

I sense you, even from my prison. You call to me from the dark.

Amidst the rushing waves, Margrete could just make out the sound of dripping water. The noise reminded her of the cavern beneath the palace.

Malum? she asked, her thoughts drifting to a place far away.

You call to me, as I call to you, he replied. I will be free soon. My time is nearing. It is then that I will need you, my dear Shana. But danger looms on the horizon. It is closer than you think.

What danger?she asked.

But Malum didn’t answer.

Find my Heart. Keep the beasts contained. Don’t let him win. Do not answer him when he calls out to you. I sense him in your mind already.

Him? But she knew. The knowledge was sudden and sweeping.

Darius.

The last bubbles of air left her, floating toward the surface where shadows of chaos reigned, and her heart pushed out a final, thundering beat. The last thing she heard was the enraged sea, whispering commands she wouldn’t live to heed.