Bound by the Depths

by Stacey Trombley

Bluff.

  Something clicks back into place, like a spell beginning to recede. Already the pain is flooding through my limbs. A blast of fear. A river of regret.

  “Why?” I whisper.

  “I was hoping you’d tell me that.”

  I narrow my eyes, working through the haze over my mind. As quickly as the hypnosis of the waves fell away, it rushes back in. I pull my gaze away from the sea for the first time and lock eyes with Rosemera. I look over her tangled hair and dark sun-kissed skin, covered in lovely freckles.

  He’s upset about me. About my current... state. He thinks the girl he fell in love with is gone forever.

  I don’t intend to tell Rosemera any of this, but I am grateful she was able to help me clear my mind enough to function.

  “Perhaps I should talk with him.”

  “Perhaps.” Her eyes narrow as she scrutinizes my face. “You sure you don’t know what happened?” she says, concern gone, her expression is now filled with suspicion.

  I’m fairly certainly she shouldn’t know about the magic floating through my body now, but I can’t find the will to care if she puts the pieces together on her own. I simply won’t say the words. If she knows, she knows.

  “Where is he?” I ask.

  She purses her lips. “He went up to the crow’s nest.”

  I force a smile. “In that case, I’ll take some of that soup you offered up to him.”

  Her expression softens, though not completely. She hesitantly nods and turns away.

  Bluff

  The wind rushes at me, tossing my hair about recklessly. The soft tickle over my skin would feel good, if there weren’t also a bite of cold laced through the air.

  The squeak of ropes followed by the grunt of effort alerts me to someone approaching. I peer over the edge of the crow’s nest and nearly topple all the way down to the main deck when I see wild blond hair flying and blue skirt billowing in the violent wind. Whitley is climbing up to me.

  Suddenly, my heart leaps. I can’t control the spinning of my mind. I image all the wonderful things this could mean—what could happen once she gets up here. The last time we spent the night in the crow’s nest, I was determined to stay away from her. This time, I long for the chance to get as close as possible.

  Something has broken her from her reverie and I couldn’t be more thankful, even just for the chance to talk with her again.

  It takes longer than I’d like for her to reach me. I hold out a hand as she comes into reach, and she hands me a tote, it’s heavier than I anticipated. I fling it behind me, then reach for her, but she shifts to the side, pulling herself up on her own.

  I turn to the bag she handed me. Inside is a glass bottle.

  “Rum?” I ask with a smirk, cheeks growing warm, remembering the last time we spent the night in the crow’s next.

  Whitley’s eyebrows pull down in confusion. “Soup. It was the only way we could figure to bring it all the way up here.”

  I nod slowly. “Right. So no rum then?”

  Her expression is hard, annoyed. Shoulders stiff. “Was I supposed to bring rum?”

  “No, I just thought because that’s what we had last time we spent time here... Never mind.”

  She looks down at her hands, mouth tight. “We spent time here?” she says, more to herself than to me.

  “You don’t remember?”

  She meets my gaze with her silvery eyes and shakes her head.

  “Some of my memories... are slipping,” she admits. That makes sense. She lost pieces of who she was when she turned siren. Somehow, she held on to some of her humanity, but how much is hard to say.

  I throw my head back, looking up into the bright sky, and leaning against the wooden planks. Does she remember any of it? Does she remember falling in love with me?

  I take in another long breath and then pull the stew from the bag, pour a bit into each bowl and hand one to her. She stares at it like it’s foreign. Red liquid sloshes with the movement of the ship. I press the bowl to my lips and slowly tip. It’s warm, but not hot and too salty. Pirate stew. Can’t expect much from it.

  She watches me with her unnatural eyes. I try to pretend not to notice and simply stare straight ahead, sipping quietly.

  Finally, I turn to her. “Are you going to eat?”

  She blinks, like she suddenly remembered she even had something in her bowl. She swallows, staring down at the liquid again.

  “It’s just stew,” I say. “It won’t hurt you.”

  Her face remains soft, eyes showing the first emotion I’ve seen from her in days—sadness. She lifts the bowl up to her lips and lets the tiniest drop of stew enter her mouth, then she pulls it away quickly.

  “Don’t like it?”

  She looks up at the sky. “I’m not very hungry,” she whispers.

  I pull in a long breath. “How are you?” I ask her in concern. I want her to be well, but if she’s not—I’m honestly unsure how to help.

  She shrugs.

  I still feel ill, discomfort tightening over my chest. But I have a chance, I remind myself. Hope is not lost. My illusive freedom is not gone forever. This situation is not ideal, but I won’t give up on Whitley that easily.

  I scoot in closer and hold out my hand to her. She stares at it with a blank expression, and for a moment, I think she’ll decline. But then she scoots in, curling up beside me and lays her hand against my shoulder.

  I sigh.

  “Do you hate me?” she whispers.

  I suck in a breath. “Why would you think that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’m scared,” I admit as tiny drops of cold rain begin to fall, hitting my exposed skin with a bite.

  “Me too.”

  I press my lips to her hair, and pull her body in closer, shielding her from the rain. She pushes her face into my neck and breathes softly.

  I long for our time on that beach. When we knew the storm was coming, but we didn’t care.

  We can’t go back to that. So if this, this moment, is all the joy I’m allotted, I’ll take it.

  SOON THE RAIN IS COMING down harder, faster, and staying up here would mean catching our death. I don’t want to leave, I don’t want to let go of her, but I know we must sooner rather than later.

  I lean back and study her expression. There are moments her eyes are the blue I remember, but right now it’s the glistening silver of magic. She’s filled with all the things I’ve spent my whole life running from.

  “Whitley,” I whisper.

  She doesn’t turn. Her eyes are blank, her mind elsewhere.

  “Whitley,” I say louder.

  She doesn’t even flinch.

  I pull away from her, but she hardly seems to notice. Or care.

  She said some things were slipping, but is it really that bad? I wonder. Does she not even know her own name? Does she not know me?

  I grip her chin and turn her to face me and finally her eyes focus. “We should go down. It’s too cold here.”

  Her eyebrows pull down. “I’m going to stay,” she says.

  I swallow. Does that mean I should stay too? “Do you want to be alone?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  I clench my jaw and try to hide how much that hurts—irrational or not.

  I drop my bowl on the ground and climb out onto the ropes, swinging down towards the deck. So far as I know, Whitley doesn’t even notice.

  Whitley

  I turn my head back to the place he is supposed to be and find myself shocked by the emptiness. I’m alone again.

  I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them, shivering.

  My head pounds with the effort to keep it focused.

  I stand to look over the railing of the crow’s nest at the waves dancing in the distance. They call to me. Pull me. I want to be closer.

  Come, the horde calls.

  My blood freezes in my veins.

  We will give you your every desire. Everything is within your grasp.

>   Not everything, I think in response.

  I look down at my hands, the gleam of magic, the shimmering of scales that didn’t used to be there. Bluff healed from his battle wounds. I haven’t.

  I shake my head, breaking free from the hypnosis.

  Their magic is powerful. Nearly irresistible.

  What I didn’t tell Bluff is that there is little I remember. Every day there is less and less of who I once was. I know I should know more. But I don’t.

  But there is one thing anchoring me to this ship. Anchoring my soul to these weak limbs.

  I long for something precious that can only be found here.

  He is here.

  I SLIP DOWN THE ROPES easily, feet landing on the damp planks of the main deck with a thud. My eyes scan the deck and find only unfriendly pirates who stop to look at me. I ignore them.

  Instead, I draw closer to the waves. I stop at the railing—the only thing keeping me from becoming one with the delicious water below. It crashes and splashed against the ship.

  A drop of salt water lands on my lip, and I lick it off, closing my eyes at how amazing it tastes—just that one little drop. I want more.

  Yet I know I shouldn’t. Just the thought of what lies beyond sends ice through my veins. And yet, it’s so inviting.

  Unsure, I just stare and wonder what’s so wrong with a swim?

  Don’t.

  Why? I ask the voice in my head.

  Don’t.

  Harsh laughter rumbles behind me. “Don’t you wish we got a taste when we had the chance?”

  I blink and turn towards them. Three straggly men, slick with sweat and half covered in dirt, stare at me. They laugh at me.

  Anger stirs up in my chest that I don’t understand. Power stirs.

  Do I know them? I don’t remember if I should know them.

  They approach me now, chests puffed out, working so hard to hide the fear I see in their eyes. I would like to show them how much they should fear me.

  “Who could mistake this lass for a siren?” one jokes.

  “She’s pretty enough,” the shorter one claims.

  “Not even close.”

  I narrow my eyes.

  The man with long stringy hair, a skinny nose, and three fingers on one hand steps even closer and leans in to whisper in my ear.

  I don’t move away. I don’t flinch. I don’t fear.

  His breath is hot on my face. My nose wrinkles at the smell.

  “I’ll get the chance again. Don’t you worry. I’ll beat him one day and you’ll be my prize.”

  Suddenly, a memory rises to the surface. A man—this man—pushing me into the mast of a ship—this ship—grabbing me.

  "I know how we can use the lass to weed out the Bluff-boy," the pale skinned man said, gently touching my face with the only two fingers remaining on his right hand. I shivered. "Let's have a little fun with her."

  My vision turns black. He didn’t fear me enough then. But I can make him fear me now.

  "But I'll do it with a smile on my face, knowing I beat him."

  “Wait,” I say as my vision returns. The man’s back is to me.

  I am no longer empty. I am no longer lost. I am powerful.

  “Don’t you want a taste now?” I ask, my voice wispy but strong. A siren’s voice.

  He turns to me, slowly. The desire soaring through his expression tells me he’s already hooked. I’ve already won. And I didn’t even have to try.

  He draws closer to me, and I stand there waiting. My body the bait.

  Don’t you want me?

  Yes, his eyes scream without saying a word.

  “Take me,” I whisper to him, but he doesn’t notice the nails in those words. He doesn’t notice the fangs I work to keep hidden. He only sees what he wants to see.

  He reaches for me, and the second the callused skin of his two-fingered hand comes into contact with the skin on my neck, I rip into him. He’s on the ground before he knows what’s happening, my claws digging into his skin. His scream is delicious. Blood splatters. A drop lands on my lips and I lick it off. Salty like the stew except so much more pleasant.

  I rip the skin of his throat apart with my fangs, listening as his scream fades into nothing, and savoring the taste—not of the blood but the fear.

  Bluff

  A shout catches my attention at the other end of the ship. I turn in that direction, and not a moment later, panicked screams send terror through my limbs.

  My first thought is: Whitley.

  I sprint towards the commotion along with every other soul on board The Freedom. I glance up at the crow’s nest as I pass the mast—empty. My stomach sinks.

  If anyone touches her...

  But what I see when I reach the crowd of onlookers sends my whole body into an ice-cold rage. I thought of Whitley because I worried for her safety, forgetting for the smallest moment that she didn’t need me to protect her anymore.

  I should be protecting the crew from her.

  There is a limp body on the deck, eyes wide open and blank. Blood smearing the boards around him. His neck torn apart. I refuse to look at his face.

  A pirate dead because I let a siren on board.

  His death is my fault.

  I cover my mouth with my hand, and silently scold myself. I should have known.

  Suddenly it’s Azalea before me and Charlie’s body in her arms. My best friend, torn apart by a siren I thought I trusted. My heart crumples as I remember the joy in her eyes. She relished my pain.

  She liked it.

  I blink back tears and focus back on Whitley in the corner by the stairs to the helm, shivering and watching the commotion, blood covering her clothes. Her hands. Her face.

  And God, she’s still beautiful.

  That is the danger of a siren.

  I approach her, nausea curling over my stomach for an entirely different reason than before. Now, I am livid.

  She looks up at me like a puppy. Confused. Looking for someone to comfort her.

  But this is not all right.

  “Did he attack you?” I ask flatly. It’s the only excuse she could have. I don’t expect her to say yes.

  “No,” she says, lips trembling.

  I nod, holding back my own sob. Or scream. I don’t even know anymore.

  “I was hoping...” I turn back to crowd. Two of the pirates point in Whitley’s direction, but I can already tell the others don’t believe them. They’ve played this game before, believing she was a siren. Fearing her. They were wrong that time.

  They aren’t wrong this time.

  I wonder if they’ll believe them once they see the blood covering not just her dress, but her mouth.

  “I believed you might be able to fight it. You might be able to be Whitley again.” I turn to her, poison in my voice. “But you don’t even know your own name. You killed a man for no reason.”

  Rosemera approaches, fear written across her expression. “What happened?” she whispers, looking over at the body on the ground, then at Whitley covered in blood.

  I ignore her and address Whitley.

  “You’re a monster,” I spit at her. She winces. She should. She should be disgusted with herself. “I won’t protect you anymore.”

  Rosemera blinks wildly, her mouth falling open as recognition dawns on her. She looks at Whitley, then to me. She must have noticed the strange change in Whitley. Noticed something was off. Did she suspect before this?

  She probably never considered I’d bring a siren onto a ship, not after Azelea. The siren I fell into puppy-love with at fourteen. But on the day she seduced a childhood friend of mine and drowned him in the harbor while I watched helplessly, I vowed I’d never love a siren again.

  I’m not sure what I could have done differently with Whitley, but it doesn’t stop me from hating myself. And hating her.

  This crew might never trust me again after this.

  I won’t wait for her to respond. I can’t. I must move away. I rush across the deck, and up the
rope ladder all the way to the crow’s nest and there—away from everyone else—I let the tears fall.

  IT’S AT LEAST TWENTY minutes later that Rosemera joins me above the sails. She doesn’t say a thing. She doesn’t note my red eyes. Or even the scratch marks on the back of my hands. She just sits beside me, resting her chin on her knees.

  The silence settles between us for several long minutes.

  “What are you going to do?” she whispers finally.

  “If she’s still there when I get back down, I’m going to tell her to leave. Rejoin the sea. It’s where she belongs.”

  “If she doesn’t go?”

  I swallow. “She will.”

  She sucks in a long breath. “What if... what if you’re wrong about this, Bluff?”

  My eyebrows pull down. “What?”

  “I... You’re part siren too. You can control it. Are you sure she can’t too?”

  I turn to her, eyes wide. “I’m surprised you’re not scolding me for letting her on the ship to start with.”

  “Yes, well. I happen to know how you feel about her, mate. And I care more about you, than I do some skeevy pirate I wish father would have tossed overboard months ago. I just don’t want to see you miserable for the rest of your life because you didn’t fight hard enough for her.”

  I sigh. Well, at least it wasn’t a good pirate. I hadn’t even stopped to see who it was. “She’s a siren, Rose. I can’t fight that.”

  “You didn’t answer the first question. You fight it. Why couldn’t she?”

  I take in a long breath. “I’m different. There are humans across the world with siren blood and they don’t even know it. You don’t become one until you’re drowned in magic. It kills off everything you were before, leaving only siren instincts. I was never drowned in the magic the way she was. And I did give her a chance. She had some of herself left or she wouldn’t have...” I shake my head.

  When a siren is turned, they lose everything they were. All their memories, their human emotions. There is only longing for the sea, and the desire for power. Desire for death.

  Whitley was different—somehow. She fought the magic. She called me by name. She helped me destroy our enemy’s ship despite my mother—her queen— commanding her otherwise. She saved me.