Page 67

Teaching a Mortal prince and a Fae warrior to sail is the bane of my existence.

Aldric stumbles around the deck like a newborn foal, pale-faced and furious every time the sea rolls beneath us. Solas fares only slightly better, though he would deny it to his grave.

You would laugh at them, Little Drownling.

I will never admit this to them, but I respect them for it. Between the monsters brushing against the hull and the spray off the dead sea, the ways in which they could die are endless. Yet they still came. For you.

Three moons have passed on the Dead Sea, and the swells are worse than I remember, but even after a century away from the water, my body welcomes the unsteady boards beneath my feet.

The sea was once the only place I understood myself. There is a strange beauty in it.

The ship speaks in groans and creaks and shuddering planks, and even after all this time, I still understand its language.

Even now, a storm brews on the horizon in the dead of night, and I feel a sort of peace.

The curse, however, is worsening. I can feel it twisting beneath my ribs. I’m not sure what pains me more—the shadow’s or the glimmers of your emotions oozing down the bond.

Since returning to the sea, I can feel you again.

Your pleasure was not something I expected to feel, love.

I have been drinking ever since. Not because I enjoy the burn, but because it is the only thing that quiets the bond. The only thing that makes your emotions fade to a distant ache instead of a blade beneath my ribs. It seems to slow the curse too, dulling the shadows, easing the rot around my heart. Or perhaps I am too drunk to care.

So, I drink until I cannot feel you as clearly…Until I cannot feel him.

Until I can lie to myself and pretend you have not let him touch what is mine while I am fighting to hold you one last time.

Black veins are crawling across my skin, Lyra. Spreading from my heart. Across my chest. My throat. My arms. Every heartbeat sends another pulse of rot through me, another reminder that death is consuming me, for loving you.

But I would choose it again.

I will choose you always.

Love,

Your Monster.

Iclosed the journal, shoving it back into my satchel, and gripped the slick railing of the crow’s nest. Rain misted from the sky. The dark, angry swell raged against the hull, making the ship rock through the dead of night.

There was nothing but pure darkness on all sides of the ship, pressing in as though it were suffocating me. Or perhaps that was the curse. I was too drunk to care.

I took another swig of the spiced liquor I had stashed in the galley all those years ago, letting it burn my throat and warm my stomach.

Rum. It was an old sailor’s delicacy I had not tasted since stepping into Lumireth.

Any time I slept, I’d get a mere glimpse of Lyra before waking up to violently coughing on sea water as shadows strangled me. The bond was pulling us together, but the curse was keeping us apart.

The turquoise bond pulsed in my chest, muted by the liquor until its ache became something I could almost endure.

I should have left it. But I closed my eyes, forcing my mind down the path that led to her.

For one vicious second, I saw through her eyes.

Steam. Water. Skin. Helion’s arms locked around her naked body as he held her against his chest in a bath.

The connection recoiled, vicious and alive, clawing through my ribs as it hurled me back into my own body. Shadows bit into my skin. Black veins burned beneath them. The crow’s nest slammed back around me in a blur of rain and rolling seas.

I gripped the railing so hard it splintered beneath my hand and drained what was left of the bottle, letting the burn scrape down my throat until it drowned the ache in my chest. When I dropped it, it clanked against the others gathered at my feet.