The Sea Siren

Chapter Thirty

Antony

"Grab at least ten bottles of port from the cellar below deck," Aggie says, jamming her elbow into my arm as she rushes by in a hurry, her arms weighed down by a sizable bounty of produce. While the stars began to fill the sky, and as soon as it became clear Vivian had sailed the Orion out of any danger, she stated that we would use the shield of the mountains in this caldera as refuge for tonight.

"Ten?" I blink. "Ten bottles?"

Kenut laughs from a chair, tuning an instrument carefully. "At least, prince. Throw out any strict regimen you abide by tonight."

"What are we celebrating?"

"Life," Bastian says simply, already holding a drink in hand.

"You see, that's the problem with a soldier's life," Aggie stresses, dropping down grapes onto a silver tray. "You live under someone else's orders. You salute and bow and excel in politeness." She shakes her head. "No, fuck that. We crossed one of the most dangerous bodies of water without a single injury—in part, thanks to you. Isn't that cause for celebration enough?"

It's strange to see her look at me without hatred simmering behind her eyes.

Bastian has been particularly quiet since a 6-pound cannon nearly crushed him, but he nods, offering only reserved gratitude when casting a glance in my direction. In fact, the majority of the crew have acknowledged me more in the last hour than in the weeks we've been on the water.

"I'm off to change out of these rags," Aggie says, grabbing the arms of a couple other women, heading down below. She sticks her head out with a wide smile. "Clean up, Bas. You reek."

He mimics tossing his drink her way and with a laugh, she retreats with the rest.

Bastian's lips flatten once the chatter is gone, his eyes darting to the sizeable hole taking up space in the wall that housed my bed. "We'll... repair that in the morn."

"Don't worry about it."

He nods, following the others. The prisoner quarters have a noticeable draft when I enter, walking to the basin. The waves of sea water have left salt upon my skin, which I begin to scrub off with a cloth. Despite having the overwhelming urge to insist we keep moving, only too aware of the threat I saw on Vivian's desk while she slept, selfish reasons have me dressing into fresh clothes, wanting to stretch the time.

For all their faults, they are right about one thing.

Our reasons to live have always been in conflict.

I was raised under oaths, told that what we did, fighting the wars, protecting the kingdom, manning the oceans was the acceptable course. Anyone else was the delinquent.

Black and white.

No grey to be seen.

And yet, somehow, color has seeped into my world.

There aren't many who would wish for my safe return. My father would... Rayan. The court must be anticipating a death announcement with each passing day. If they even suspected I'd found solace among these people, these criminals, I can imagine how fervently they'd expulse me.

The bastard son.

The sound of a fiddle wails melodically, louder due to the lack of wall between this room and the deck, driving me from the darkening thoughts. Now in dry clothes, a simple white poet shirt and trousers, I tug on boots and head back out onto the deck, where I'm immediately passed a chalice of port.

The half-moon only lights a portion of the night sky, bringing out the sheer size and power of the endless world above our heads. Lugging back some port, I step deeper into the crowd of crew growing by the minute.