Blood and Water - The Darkling

Chapter 9: Powerful Friends

*Unedited

*Again, I apologize for accidentally deleting this

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𝕬𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖆 lets go once the sea whip takes its last breath. I pull the dagger out and wipe it on my kefta while I steel my heart.

"Y-you haven't sung since we were children," my twin stutters out softly.

Finally, I tear my eyes away from the creature to stare at my sister. In a voice stronger than I currently feel, I reply, "I haven't sung to anyone but the stars since we were children. It just seemed fitting to now."

Tolya and Tamar come forward. The latter places a hand on my shoulder briefly, "You have a beautiful voice."

A small smile forms on my face briefly and I shrug, "Thank you but can we all agree never to talk about this again? Thanks. Now let's finish this."

I return my gaze to the sea whip. Its scales are iridescent white and shimmer with soft rainbows, except for a single strip that begins between its large eyes and runs over the ridge of its skull into its soft mane- those are edged in gold.

Tamar slides a dagger from her belt and, with Tolya's help, works the scales free. I don't look away. When they are done, each one hands Alina and I seven perfect scales, still wet with blood.

"Let us bow our heads for the men lost today," Sturmhond says. "Good sailors. Good soldiers. Let the sea carry them to safe harbor, and may the Saints receive them on a brighter shore."

He repeats the Sailor's Prayer in Kerch, then Tamar murmurs the words in Shu. For a moment, we stand there on the rocking ship, heads bent. A lump rises in my throat. And for Rusalye. The fierce, free monster that was killed for power.

More men dead and another magical, ancient creature gone, its body desecrated by Grisha steel. I lay my hand on the sea whip's shimmering hide. It is cool and slick beneath my fingers. Its red eyes are cloudy and blank. I try to close them to no avail, so instead I grip the golden scales in my palm, letting their edges dig into my flesh. Blood for blood. Please let there be Saints waiting to receive this fallen prince.

A long minute passes and then Sturmhond murmurs, "Saints receive them."

"Saints receive them," replies the crew.

"We need to move," the captain says quietly. "The whaler's hull is cracked, but the Darkling has Squallers and a Fabrikator or two, and for all I know, those monsters of his can be trained to use a hammer and nails. Let's not take any chances."

He turns to Privyet, "Give the Squallers a few minutes to rest and get me a damage report, then make sail."

"Da, kapitan," Privyet responds crisply. He hesitates, "Kapitan... could be people will pay good money for dragon scales, no matter the color."

Sturmhond frowns, but then gives a terse nod, "Take what you want, then clear the deck and get us moving. You have our coordinates."

As several of the crew fall onto the sea whip's body to cut away its scales, I approach Sturmhond, "The nichevo'ya won't be of use for repairs but he has three Fabrikators. Don't let that fool you though, he will be coming after us with surprising swiftness and fury."

He just nods before gesturing to my sister with a jerk of the chin. We both walk to her side. She's actively avoiding looking towards the sea whip.

"Don't judge them too harshly," he says to Alina, glancing over his shoulder.

"It's not them I'm judging," she replies. "You're the captain."