I realize my mistake instantly. Of course he can. This is his ship, his world, and he’s the commander of it. “But he’s changed his mind,” I say, hearing just how weak the words are.
“Has he?” The Captain’s dark eyes travel down to where I’m holding his arm. He doesn’t shake me free, though. “I wonder. Desperate people do tend to say most anything now, don’t they, lass?”
“Please. You can give him another chance. You can show mercy.”
“Mercy,” he scoffs, his expression strangely calm. “Was mercy what he showed when he came to my ship to kill me and my lads? Was that this mercy you speak of?” he asks, shaking his head as though he’s already denying the words. “I gave him his chance. I gave him three, in fact, and he’d not take them.” He does shake me off then. “Now the others will.”
“And if he can’t swim?”
“What is it that your stories tell you? Something about death being a great adventure?” Stepping away from me, the Captain gives a sharp nod, and the two holding him dump the boy in.
“No!” I lunge toward the railing, but the Captain’s arms are around me before I can leap. The heat of his body surrounds me, and I am trapped against his lean form. He may not be a giant of a man, but he is also no soft boy. Every inch of him is pressed to every inch of me, and every inch of him is unyielding muscle honed by who knows how long at sea.
“What is it you were thinking to do, Gwendolyn?” His voice is soft, rough in my ear. His breath warm against my neck. “Do you think you can save him? He, so much bigger than the wee slip of a girl that you are?”
I should struggle. I should pull away from him and make it clear just how distasteful I find him. But I can’t. His voice curls about my brain, and the warmth of him, the solidness of his body against mine, is suddenly too real. Too immediate for me to even process. He laughs then, softly, as though he knows just how weak I am, and the sound of it rumbles up out of his chest and across every one of my nerve endings.
And I hate myself for how weak I am. Because the truth is, the Captain’s right—I never would’ve been able to pull the boy’s bulky form to safety.
“He changed his mind,” I say again, wishing that were enough to spare his life. Knowing it isn’t.
“He made his choice, lass. Long before he set foot on my ship.”
With a sputtering noise, the boy comes to the surface, and I almost go limp with relief.
“Ah, so it seems he can swim,” the Captain croons in my ear. “Not that it’ll help.” His voice is so empty, so devoid of any feeling, that I whip my head around to look at him. The features of his face are hardened—his jaw with its dusting of dark stubble is tight, his mouth a line as flat and uncompromising as the horizon. And his eyes are still steady on the water.
“What do you mea—” But the sound of churning water draws my attention back to the sea and to the boy. All around him, the sea is bubbling. “What is that?”
“The Sisters.” I can feel the Captain’s eyes on me. “Sea Hags,” he says as I meet his steady gaze. “They’re a bit like mermaids.”
“Mermaids?” I can’t tell if he’s serious.
“Just a bit,” he says, but his attention is already back on the water.
Confused, I look as well. The boy is gone, but the water hasn’t stopped churning. As I watch, the surface turns a lurid, rusty pink.
“In your world there are tales of people capturing mermaids for the wishes they’re believed to grant. But in this world, the Sisters don’t take kindly to those who invade their home.” The Captain’s usual detachment is gone, his voice strained, and I get the feeling he is not as indifferent as his flinty expression would suggest.
“Wishes,” I repeat stupidly.
“Aye. The desires of the heart. Though human desire is such a weak thing, Gwendolyn.” His lips are so close to me now, I swear I can feel the heat of them against my neck.
“It is?” I whisper, swallowing hard, forcing myself to hold completely still.
“It is,” he rasps, his voice as rough as the waves. “Oh, it may burn and it may chafe, but it rarely devours a person. Not completely. In this world, though, desire is a bit more dangerous. In this world, lass, more often than not”—his lips do touch my neck then, softly, like a prayer— “it consumes,” he whispers against my skin.
I close my eyes, trying to block out his words, the heat of his body, the spice of the cloves on his breath, but it doesn’t work. He is too close, too much for me to ignore.
But then the moment is over. The Captain adjusts me in his arms, allowing some space between us as he gives a small salute to the waves. When I look in the direction of his salute, my legs feel like I’ve just finished a ten-mile run. The torsos of three figures with skin the color of a bloated corpse are rising out of the pinkish water. The hair clumped to their large heads reminds me of tangled algae. With great yellow eyes and rows of daggerlike teeth that flash from wide-set mouths, they are perhaps the most horrible things I’ve ever seen.