The name Siren followed Freya Helvar around like a curse from the moment her powers first manifested in a raid on her village. With the image of her father's charred corpse and her brother's disgusted face on her mind, she is hauled to the Little Pa...
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THE DAYS THAT followed were slow like she was travelling through a thick pool of oil and tar. The joy she'd felt at being beside Nikolai again dimmed, and it was replaced by a melancholy that dragged her down until she felt as though she were drowning. She slept in Nikolai's bed at night, clinging to his body like he might disappear from her entirely. Nightmares followed her frequently. So often, that she didn't dare face him, and in the mornings she pretended to still be sleeping while Nikolai crept from his quarters silently.
She still hadn't worked up the courage to tell him all that had happened. How could she ever begin to explain her heart was no longer beating, but shrivelled and mangled inside her chest, just barely alive enough to keep pumping blood? She didn't know if he'd understand, and the idea that he might dismiss her, no matter how unlikely a scenario that was, forced her to bite her tongue anytime she thought she might say something.
What would he say anyway? she thought, fidgeting with her fingers which gripped the railing on the side of the boat's deck. She was looking out over the sea, watching it glisten and glimmer with the sunlight. She realised with a start that up until a few days ago, she'd never actually seen it. The inside of the drüskelle ship had been dark and there were no windows available to them, and anytime they moved she was so busy trying to keep herself alive that she hadn't thought of the beauty the ocean was.
It reminded her of Matthias' eyes, and although that stung and burned, she found some comfort in it. Even though he was what he was, her brother still allowed her to escape. Some part of him was still Matthias Helvar, not the cold-blooded killer she despised. Cold-blooded killer, like you? She shivered at the thought.
She wondered how long she'd been standing out here again. Countless hours had already been spent standing here, in this exact spot. So much so that even Nikolai couldn't help but question her well-being every so often. He was constantly busy running the ship, but that never stopped him from coming to her every few hours.
Even now, he approached her with his brows furrowed and his usual swagger dimmed. The teal frock coat he wore billowed in the wind. She acknowledged him with a strained smile but continued to stare out at the water.
"Are you alright?" he asked, leaning against the railing with his forearms. She shrugged, unsure of how to answer. He sighed and moved his hand towards her own. His fingers were warm around hers, hidden from the rest of the crew by the folds of his coat. "When was the last time you ate?"
"Yesterday," she admitted, eyes fluttering closed as he squeezed her hand. "I'm not hungry. You don't have to worry." He shook his head.
"I'll always worry," he said. "You're standing here as if a ghost." It was meant as a joke, but Freya's throat tightened with unspoken admissions. I am a ghost, she'd thought emptily, I died in the hold of a drüskelle ship. She bit the inside of her cheek so she wouldn't utter the words aloud. Her fingers tightened around his.
