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Her questions were relentless, but she had promised me her tears in exchange for taking her to Lyra.

“Your rot is worsening,” she said in her thick accent that belonged to the deep. “Why does it spread from your heart?”

I ignored her question, taking a swig of aged whisky.

The unyielding current bit at the ship’s hull, jerking the wheel. I fought it with one hand, swallowing the burning liquid.

The bottle was slapped from my hand.

Glass shattered on the planks. The honey-coloured liquid splattered on my boots before bleeding between the cracks of the wood.

“Stop drowning yourself in whisky,” Solas lectured, placing two blood bags in my outstretched hand. “You need to be focused.”

I glared at him. I was more annoyed that I had not noticed him sneaking up on me than I was about the wasted liquor.

My senses were dulling. Rotting away with the remainder of my inhuman heart.

He crossed his arms over his broad chest, raising his eyebrows at me as if to challenge him.

My retort died on my tongue when the smell of his anxiousness wafted towards me.

Bitter and pungent.

I could not blame him.

My canines ached as Lyra’s scent curled into my nostrils, the blackened husk of my heart pounding that little bit faster as if the pathetic thing didn’t realize it was already dead.

I tore into the bag, her blood flooding my mouth. Filling me with her. Warmth spread through me when I swallowed, rushing to soothe the decay the shadows had caused.

All too soon, the bag was empty and I threw it over my shoulder, devouring the second one just as quickly.

“Why is it her blood that slows your decline?” Bryony asked.

The truth was that I did not know.

Solas's hazel eyes narrowed, lingering on Bryony a heartbeat too long. He dragged a hand through his auburn beard, every line of his body tightening as if readying for an attack. “What are you suggesting?”

Bryony lifted both hands, the picture of innocence, though the calculating glint in her eyes never faded.

“Only curiosity,” she said lightly. “Does it truly not make you wonder? Why her blood? Why not another Siren? What else might it heal?”

An animalistic growl rumbled through my chest. A warning.

“I can take your tears against your will, Siren. Torture you until you beg for a death I will make linger.”

Something feral flickered across Bryony's face. Her lips curled instinctively, hissing in threat. Whatever restraint she possessed was fraying at the edges.

“Then your men will drown.” Her eyes flashed, shimmering like oil running beneath the surface of a cold lake. “Hundreds of Sirens lurk below, waiting for my song, Commander.”

Fuck.

I ground my molars together so hard that they ached, the pain of my decay throbbing as if reminding me there was nothing I could fucking do to stop her.

“I do not like you,” Solas stated plainly, crossing his arms over his bare chest. The cold weather still clung to the air, ghosting over our skin like the cool touch of a corpse, yet is was far more tolerable than the frigid shores of Stonebriar.

Bryony laughed, the sound making my lip curl in disgust as she walked towards Solas with a sway of her hips.

He did not yield an inch as she pressed into his space, staring up at him with a seductive curl of her lips.