Briana huffed as she followed Sorcha. “You can’t leave!”

“I have to, and I already told you why, so please stop trailing along behind me. I have to get my things.”

“You haven’t even told us where you’re going!”

“I don’t know where I’m going.”

The dullahan coachman had brought her straight to the brothel. He didn’t speak, and she wasn’t about to lift the hag stone to her eye again, but she understood his quick gestures. She didn’t have a lot of time to make her goodbyes.

It was easier that way. Her sisters were prone to hysterics, especially when they weren’t getting what they wanted. Sorcha had been their crutch for a long time.

Although they were all close, she was the one they went to in times of struggle. That meant she heard all their secrets, their stories, their gripes about each other and the life they lived. She kept them all safe, childless, and made certain every bruise or scrape healed. They weren’t likely to admit it, but Sorcha was an integral part of their lives.

She would miss them so much.

Briana snatched a nightshirt out of Sorcha’s hands. “Absolutely not! I’m not blind. You show up in some fancy carriage with a coachman, a coachman, and then you think I will believe you’re off to cure the beetles? Sorcha! If you wanted to go off with some well-to-do nobleman, you know we’d be happy for you! Why are you lying?”

“I’m not lying.”

“There you go again! Is it Geralt? Is that why you don’t want to tell us?”

Sorcha scooted past Briana and stuffed another skirt into an oversized pack she could carry over her shoulder. It was better than smacking her sister in the face. “I can’t believe you would even suggest I would accept Geralt’s proposal!”

“He’s rich! He’s got plenty of land, and he’s obviously in love with you, though I can’t understand why!”

“I’m not marrying Geralt!” Sorcha grabbed an armful of her journals and dumped them into the bag with her clothing.

“Why are you taking those?”

“I might need them.”

“You can come back for them! Surely whoever you are going to see will let you come home? We don’t mind letting you keep this room!”

She wanted to keep the room, too. There were so many memories within these walls. Sweet and cherished moments where her sisters had shared secrets and weathered nightmares.

Sorcha devoured all the details she could find. The marks on the door where she’d kept track of Rosaleen’s growth. The flowerpot on the windowsill, now empty, because Briana had insisted the plant would grow back. The carved trunk her father had worked so long on, even though it looked more like scratch marks than the whale he said it was.

Life had a strange way of pulling her away from here. Every moment of her life, she had spent rushing away to faerie glens and leaving offerings. Now there was a chance to see the Otherworld in person, and she was so frightened to leave.

“Briana, I love you. I don’t know if I’ve said it enough, but I do.”

Her sister’s face creased in worry. “What are you doing? What choice have you made, Sorcha? You can trust me.”

“I already told you,” Sorcha brushed her hand along Briana’s cheekbone, memorizing the shape of it. “The faeries offered me a deal to cure the beetle plague. I won’t see Papa die.”

She left her sister in the room and lumbered down the stairs. The pack was too heavy for her, but she refused to let any of it go. The books were important. Every herb, every poultice, every bit of her mother’s teachings was in those books. Where she went, they went.

Three flights of stairs felt like a full day’s hike. Heaving the pack to the floor, she quietly made her way to Papa’s room.

Knocking, she called out, “Are you awake?”

“For you, always.”

Sorcha smiled, blinking back the tears welling in her eyes. She slipped into her father’s room and closed the door behind her. Shadows hid the salt tracks on her cheeks.

“You’re leaving,” he said.

“You heard?”

“How could I not? Your sister was screeching like a banshee.”

She settled onto the edge of his bed. “You always said at least one of us was a changeling child.”

“Yes, but I always thought it was you.”

“I made a deal.” She blurted the words out and let them hang in the air between them. “There wasn’t another way. The Guild won’t listen to me, you’re getting worse, the beetles are spreading. Someone had to do something, Papa.”

“And that someone had to be you?”

“Are you so surprised?”

He pushed himself up onto his elbows, gray streaked hair plastered to his skin with sweat. This was the reason why she would risk her life. This man, who had given up so much to give her a chance.

Papa slicked his hair back, huffing out a tired breath. “I woke up this morning, and the beetles were worse than ever. I coughed up blood for the first time, and I know what that means. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry. Then, this afternoon, they stopped moving. I don’t know why. I don’t know how. But they stopped and my first thought was that you had something to do with it.”

A tear slid down her cheek. “Papa—”

He lifted a hand. “I’m not finished. I didn’t raise you for the beginning bit of your life, but I saw a good girl when I met you. I never met your mother, but she obviously raised you right. The others are spoiled, vain, cruel to each other. You have never been like them.

“I knew from the moment you set your heart on curing me, you would find some way to stop this. I’m glad it’s you. I’m sad you must leave me to do it, and I hope you didn’t trade your soul for my old life. But I will stand by you if this is what you want.”

“Oh Papa,” she choked as she threw herself into his arms.

She hadn’t done this since she was a little girl. It was far more difficult to fit in his lap now that she was full grown, but she tried her best. He rubbed her back as she fought back tears.

“It’s not a shameful thing to want to save your family, Sorcha.”

“They think I’m running away to be with a man. As if I would leave you? Them? I love you all too much to leave without good reason.”

“And they love you. It’s why they’re so upset.”

“What am I going to do without you?”

He chuckled. “I imagine you’ll do just fine. Do you know where you’re going?”

“You believe me?” She lifted her head from his shoulder. “You don’t think I’m crazy or lying?”

“You’ve always seen faeries, Sorcha. I thought you were crazy when you were little, but then I started noticing things myself. Tiny hands used to tug your hair all the time. You stayed the night with Rosaleen, but your dresses were all perfectly pressed and folded on your bed. Strange things happen around you, child.”

“Most would say I’m a witch.” She wiped at her eyes, catching the salty tears upon her fingertips.

Papa shook his head, the deep grooves in his forehead standing out in stark relief. “You’re no witch any more than your mother was. Faeries are picky who they choose to help, so I’d say you’re lucky. Not cursed.”

She didn’t want to let him go. She wanted to stay curled up against his chest forever, or until he stood up as a strong man again.

Her chest heaved with silent sobs. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Papa. Is this the right thing to do?”

“Does it feel like it?” He tapped her chest. “In here?”

“Yes.”

“Then it’s the right thing to do, and family be damned. You’ll return to us someday, I’m certain of it.”

She wasn’t. Sorcha had a sick feeling deep within her belly that this was the last time she’d see him. Her hands shook as she cupped his cheeks.

“Goodbye.”

He pressed his palm against the back of her hand, holding it against his heart. “Goodbye, sweet girl.”

If she stayed for a moment longer, she would never leave. She threw herself from the bed in a whirlwind of movement and rushed out the door.

“Sorcha?” Rosaleen called. “Sorcha, are you really leaving?”

“Tell the others I love them!” she shouted and scooped up her bag.

The front door slammed behind her so hard the shutters shook. The dullahan started, a bland expression on his face.

She tossed the bag into the carriage and lunged in behind it. Her fist slammed against the roof.

“Go!”

The whip cracked, an unnatural sound of creaking bone. Tears fell freely down her face as the carriage raced away from the brothel. Her sisters poured out of the house, their shouts echoing in her ears for miles down the road.

What had she done? Saying goodbye made her want to shatter into a thousand pieces. But a deal was a deal.

Sorcha had never been away from home. She’d only been alone once in her life, for three full days after her mother’s corpse had stopped smoking. Those were dark memories. Thoughts her mind had hidden so she wouldn’t dwell upon the past.

Now, she’d be alone for an undetermined amount of time. Would she handle it well? Her heart felt like it was going to jump out of her chest. Short breaths expanded her lungs and swirls of darkness blinked in front of her eyes.

She focused on the landscape flying past. They headed towards the sea, and she hadn’t been to the ports since she was a girl. Her father had specifically avoided setting up a brothel near sailors. He said they were too frequent customers who never paid their debts. It was easier in a city where rich men might find their way down a dark alley.

Rolling green hills calmed her mind. Stone walls bisected the fields, built to remind everyone where their land was. Each stone glistened with moss, worn with age, touched by hundreds of passersby. White dots of sheep speckled the land.

Every now and then, they would pass over a stone bridge. Streams ran underneath them, housing trolls and goblins for the night. Sorcha could almost feel them, hidden in their hovels under the ground.

These emerald lands had always called out to her. This wasn’t just a field, it wasn’t just grass and sheep, this was home.

She pressed her head against the side of the carriage. The jolting movement thumped her skull against the wood every now and then, but even that didn’t dull her torment. The land rooted her in the now, in the moment, in everything that wasn’t the loss of her family.

She would see them again, Sorcha told herself. Even if it took years to get back.

Lush fields gave way to small homes with cultivated gardens. Then cobblestone paths snaked through the towns which grew larger and larger as they reached the ocean. She could smell salt and brine upon the air.

The carriage slowed as it passed through throngs of people in ragged clothes. Women with scarves over their heads avoided meeting her gaze, and men in moth eaten wool leered at the carriage. Sailors who had seen better days wandered the docks, and farmers with dirt streaked cheeks peddled their wares. Children snuck their hands into pockets for even the smallest of coins.

The wheels clattered as they passed by another brothel. Sorcha didn’t recognize any of the women hanging out of the windows, but there was something in their haunted eyes that chilled her to the bone. These were not prostitutes looked after by a kind man. Run down, exhausted, and used, their bodies told the sad story of their lives.

Some part of her, equally chilled, wondered if that could be her future. Eventually her skills wouldn’t be necessary for the brothel, or they would find someone who would do the same things without the burden of room and board. Where would she go? There were no jobs for women, no husbands for a woman favored by the Fae.

She leaned back against the soft cushions of the carriage and refused to look back outside.

The ocean breeze snuck through her window, tangling in the loose strands of her hair. She could smell the fish, the seaweed, the salt of the ocean and the sweat of men. She could hear the crashing waves as if she had put a seashell to her ear, but this was the real thing. These waves were just outside. All she had to do was lean forward one more time. Haunted eyes stared back at her, even though her eyes were closed.

“I will not become them,” she whispered.

The carriage wheels squealed as they lurched to a halt. The dullahan pounded the roof of the carriage, silently demanding she leave.

Sorcha let out a long, steadying breath. “You can do this, Sorcha. You’ve done harder work before. All you have to do is step outside this carriage.”

She curled her hand around her pack. Her fist clenched hard until the leather straps dug into her palms. Courage was never an easy thing to find even when necessary for survival.

The door banged open, and the dullahan stared at her with dull eyes.

“Yes, I know,” she said. “Give me a moment, please.”

“It’s time for you to go.” His lips moved, but his voice came from his hands.

Sorcha shivered. The last thing she needed was a reminder that the man standing before her was actually headless, and that he was holding said head to speak with her.

“Where am I to go?”

“Find the ship with the yellow belly. It’s Fae marked, and will take you to Hy-brasil.”

“And when exactly is the isle visible?”

The dullahan narrowed his fake eyes. “You have six days.”

“Is that doable on a ship?”

“I’m no sailor, girl. Ask the captain.”

He held out his hand for her to take. Sorcha couldn’t force herself to touch him. The sparkle of malevolence in his gaze made her nervous, and she wondered if he would make her touch his head.

She leapt from the carriage on her own, shouldering the heavy weight of her pack with a sigh. “Thank you for the safe journey.”

“You thank me for following my masters’ orders?”

“Well, yes.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You may have been following orders, but you didn’t pause overly long and it wasn’t too bumpy of a ride. I didn’t even get sick along the way. For that, I have you to thank. Not your masters.”

His face twisted in confusion. “You are a strange human.”

“You're not the first to say that. Oh,” she shook her head. “I almost forgot.”

Sorcha reached into her pocket and pulled out a small jar of honey she had neglected to leave at the shrine. In the rush to leave her home, she hadn’t put it back in the kitchen where it belonged.

Now, the golden liquid felt wrong to keep. She held it out to the dullahan with a soft smile. “Thank you.”

“What am I supposed to do with this?” He held the jar close to his waist for his real eyes to look at.

“I don’t know. It’s a gift. Do you like honey?”

“I’m not the kind of Fae that likes honey.”

“Then gift it to another, or enjoy it on your morning bread.” Sorcha shrugged. “It matters little to me.”

She walked past him, but noted the strange expression on his face. If she didn’t know any better, Sorcha would have thought he was wistfully inspecting her gift. The dullahan weren’t known for their kindness. They announced death to all those who crossed their paths and cracked whips made of human spines.

Perhaps he’d never received a gift, she thought as she glanced over her shoulder.

Sorcha lifted the hag stone to her eye as he turned the carriage around. The candles still flickered inside, skulls grinning in decoration, the beautiful wood fading to stretched skin. Creaking wheels revealed human thigh bones spinning round. And the dullahan himself, head seated in his lap with lips stretching from ear to ear, was staring back at her.

She lifted her hand in farewell just to have the satisfaction of seeing his confusion one last time.

The crowd swelled around her. People from all walks of life wandered the docks this afternoon. They drifted through the waves of people as a boat surfed upon the waves.

Colors and sound assaulted her senses. Vibrantly colored women called out to her, men shouted in the distance to raise the sails and hoist the anchors. A fish flopped on the ground where a woman hammered its head until it stopped moving. She moved onto the next while another sliced open its belly.

Her stomach lurched. Turning away from that side of the street, Sorcha struggled to make it to the docks. That was where she would find the captain. It had to be.

“Excuse me, sir?” she touched a man’s shoulder. “Where might I find a ship with a yellow belly?”

“Why are you asking me?” he looked her up and down. “I don’t give out charity to the likes of you.”

“Charity?” Her mouth gaped open as he walked away from her.

Sorcha tried many times to find someone who could point her in the right direction. Women tried to hire her for work, men mostly ignored her as if she didn’t exist. One man even made her stand in front of him and shout to get his attention.

None of them wanted to point her towards a ship marked as the dullahan had claimed. Did it not exist? She wanted to stand on a railing and scream. Someone in this gods forsaken port town must know where a ship with a yellow belly was!

The sun dipped low on the horizon and Sorcha gave up.

Weary and discouraged, she sat on the last dock and let her legs swing above the water. Her pack hit the wooden planks with a loud thunk.

“I just want to find a ship with a yellow belly,” she moaned. She slumped forward and held her head in her hands. “It can’t be that hard to find!”

But it was. No one wanted to help her. Everyone’s eyes were suspicious, and they thought the worst of her without asking who she was, why she was here, what purpose she had in life. Why would people do that?

Her small sheltered town seemed so far away. Its people were backwards and dimwitted, but they were kind. She missed it already, and it hadn’t even been a full day.

Sorcha sighed and tugged on her hair. “You can’t give up Sorcha. Too many people are relying on you.”

She couldn’t force herself to move. Her legs were aching from walking the docks all day. Pinpricks danced across her shoulders and spine from the heavy weight of her pack. Blisters seared the bottoms of her feet.

She might want to continue, but her body was telling her no. There was no possible way for her to get up and keep going, and she hadn’t even found a place to sleep.

“A stunning thing like you must charge a pretty penny for a night.”

“Far too much for you,” she retorted without thinking. Sorcha grimaced and glanced up at the sailor staring down at her.

Dark hair and eyes blended into the night sky. A full beard masked most of his expression, although the gleam of teeth suggested he might be smiling. Dreadlocks pulled the rest of his hair away from his face.

His broad shoulders and chest were bare, and she imagined he was quite cold. A pelt of hair covered him from neck to dark pants. He wasn’t wearing any shoes.

Sorcha’s lips pursed. “Far too expensive.”

“I wouldn’t judge a book by its cover, sweet thing. Just how badly do you want somewhere warm to sleep?”

“Not that bad.” She jerked her pack to her side. “In fact, I’ll go find a place myself. Thank you for reminding me it’s growing dark.”

“You sound like you aren’t from around here, so let me tell you a few things. The docks aren’t safe at night. Even for whores.”

“I’m not a whore.”

“Why else would you be on the docks? Respectable women stay up there,” he pointed towards the candle light of the city. “The rest come down here to play with the likes of me. You look tired, hungry, and travel-stained. You either are a whore, or you will be soon enough.”

Sorcha felt as though she needed to defend herself, or at least the title of whore. “My sisters run a successful brothel in Ui Neill. I don’t take kindly to a man making less of their profession. And as for your knowledge,” she struggled to her feet, “I am looking for a particular ship. I need to travel far from here.”

“A customer?” he chuckled. “Sweetheart, you have to lie better than that.”

“I am not lying! I was told to find the captain of a ship painted yellow and that he would take me to where I need to go.”

“What do you want with the Saorsa?”

She smiled, the name was fitting. “The ship is named Freedom?”

“Who are you?” The man crossed his arms over his chest and frowned at her. “The Freedom doesn’t take passengers.”

“I’d think that would be the captain’s decision.”

“I am the captain.”

The words echoed in Sorcha’s mind. It couldn’t be. Him? She looked him up and down. “You don’t look like a captain.”

“Have you ever seen a captain before?”

“No.”

“Then you’re a rather poor judge, aren’t you?” His feet slapped against the dock as he turned away from her. “Oh, and by the way, being polite to a captain is a good start.”

Sorcha stared at his back in shock. That was the captain? He couldn’t be serious. She hadn’t just ruined her chance at getting to Hy-brasil without even asking him if he’d take her?

She licked her lips and shouted, “The MacNara twins sent me!”

The captain froze. “Excuse me?”

“The MacNara twins sent me to ask you for safe passage. I need to go Hy-brasil, and they said you are the only person who can get me there.”

The moon floated in the air behind him, outlining his figure with silver. “They were right, but I’m not going to the phantom isle.”

“You’re my only option. I have to go, and I need you to take me. I cannot apologize enough that I was rude, but it’s imperative I go.”

“You can’t even see the isle.”

“You can in six days,” she said. “The dullahan told me. Please.”

He turned back towards her and crossed his arms. “What are you paying?”

“I have nothing to give.”

“Anything in that pack?” He pointed at her bag.

“Personal items, mostly journals. I’m a healer. I can help in any way while aboard.”

Hope blossomed. He was sizing her up as though she was a person, not just a piece of meat. That had to mean something. Perhaps he would take her.

At this point, Sorcha would swim to the damn isle if it meant progress.

A caw startled her. Sorcha flinched and looked at the sky. Outlined in darkness and stars, a raven called out again.

“I thought those only flew during the day,” she whispered.

“Damned Fae,” the captain grumbled. “All right. Fine. Onto the ship with you, but you will help the entire trip. And don’t you forget what I’ve done for you.”

“I won’t service your men on the trip. I’m to have my own quarters.”

“You’ll be sharing mine,” he grunted as he walked away from her. “Having a woman on board is bad luck enough. I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

Sorcha grabbed her pack and swung it over her shoulder. Blisters be damned, she would make it to this ship. “My name is Sorcha. What’s yours?”

“Manus.”

“The great?” She grinned. “It’s an apt name for a captain.”

“Now you’re complimenting me?” He glanced at her once she caught up. “Women are so damned difficult to understand. One minute you’re blistering my ears off, and the next you’re calling me after some historical figure.”

“You didn’t know the name Manus means great?”

“It’s a name. Who knows what their name means other than themselves?” He must have noticed the pout of her lips, because he added, “What’s yours mean?”

“Radiant,” Sorcha said with a soft smile.

Manus growled again and pointed at a ship out to sea. “That’s mine.”

“How are we to get there?”

“By boat.”

“I don’t see any other ships.”

“You ever been to the sea?” he said, lifting a brow. “You take a rowboat to the ship, and then we’ll climb aboard.”

One more thing she had to do, and then she could rest. Sorcha took a deep breath. This man could be lying to her, she certainly couldn’t see the bottom of the ship to determine if he was telling the truth.

“Okay,” she said. “Show me the way.”

* * *

Sorcha rolled to her side, eyes stuck together with sleep, her mouth dry. A scratchy blanket covered her legs and the overwhelming scent of tallow candles made her sneeze. She rubbed at her nose. The slight movement made her stomach roll.

“Oh right,” she muttered. “I’m on a ship.”

She hadn’t been bothered last night by the constant movement of waves. She’d been too tired to even notice there were men staring at her when the captain dragged her aboard. Her pack was handed off with little complaint, and she didn’t even ask where the captain would sleep. She face-planted onto the cot and propriety be damned.

Her stomach clenched hard and her throat seized up.

“Ugh,” Sorcha moaned as she burped. The ocean was making her entire body rebel now.

It took surprising effort to swing her legs over the edge of the cot. The whole time she held onto her mouth as though the effort would keep the bile in her stomach down. Another burp rocked her body forward and bile burned the back of her throat.

Shaking her head violently, she lunged from the cot and pulled at the door. The fine details of the room didn’t matter. The soft polished statues were left unremarked as she fled from the room and slammed her pelvic bone into the railing.

Vomit streamed out of her mouth and down the side of the ship. Sorcha hadn’t thought there was anything left in her stomach, she didn’t remember eating anything at all yesterday, but she couldn’t stop the vomit.

“Ach, you didn’t even have the decency to hit the water.”

She recognized that voice. Her cheeks stained red, and she wiped at her lips. “I’ve never been seasick before. I apologize if I ruined your ship.”

The man swaggering towards her didn’t look at all like the captain she remembered. Tall and lean, he looked more like a pirate in a book.

Gold hoops swung from his ears. His hair and beard were so dark they gleamed blue in the sunlight. Richly tanned skin glistened with sweat like polished bronze. He had traded his worn pants for a fine cotton shirt tucked into a wide belt above tight black breeches. Knee high boots folded over, covering his knees, and cracked against the deck of the ship as he strode towards her.

Sorcha was tongue tied.

“Manus?”

“Don’t recognize me, pretty thing?” His sleeves billowed as he lifted his arms. “A far cry from how we met, yes?”

“Very,” she agreed. “I can hardly believe it’s you.”

He smiled, teeth flashing brilliant white against the dark tan of his skin. “Ah, that is the greatest compliment you might have given. You found me in a rather compromising position last night.”

“One you are not proud of?”

“I’d never say I wasn’t proud of her.” He winked at her blush. “She is the other half of my heart! Sequestered on the land because the sea refuses to be her mistress. I understand why my ladies fight over me, but, alas, I cannot choose between them.”

The dramatic rendition of his life dissolved Sorcha’s remaining seasickness. Her weak smile bolstered her strength, and she pushed herself away from the railing. “I’m certain they both miss you when you’re gone.”

“Neither of them miss me overly much, but it’s kind of you. If you’re feeling better, I ask that you join me in the center of the ship.”

Sorcha’s brows furrowed. “Why?”

“The ocean isn’t a safe place, sweet thing. We’re sailing into Fae waters and I’d hate for you to be snatched up by a murúch.”

“There are merrows here?” Sorcha flinched away from the railing.

“It’s why the ship is painted yellow,” Manus said. He walked towards her and slid an arm around her shoulders. “Come, let me show you.”

He reached into his pocket and placed a single sprig of heather on the railing. “A gift for the lovely ladies who guide my ship to safe waters.”

Sorcha held her breath. She had always known faeries to take gifts that were offered, but they were always glamoured. Her gifts had disappeared. Running water erased the effects of magic, and she wouldn’t need to use her hag stone to catch a glimpse of the Fae here.

A hand reached up from the edge of the ship. Impossibly pale, its long fingers were joined together by iridescent webbing. Rainbows sparkled upon the merrow woman’s hand as she reached for the purple sprig. She was gentle as she pinched the blossom between her fingers and took it over the edge of the ship with her.

Sorcha’s breath released in a great gust of air. “Was that?”

“It was.”

“But the ship is so tall!”

“We put slats on the edge so they can climb it.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” she asked. “Won’t they drag you down into the ocean?”

“Myths aren’t always the truth, Sorcha. We bring them gifts, they give us safe passage. My men know the rules. New brides are willing only.”

She blinked, surprised that anyone honored the Fae as she did. He read her expression well, the grin on his face was decidedly pleased as he sauntered away.

Free from watchful eyes, Sorcha lunged back to the railing. She squeezed her hand upon the polished wood and stared down into the waves.

A woman clutched the side of the ship, her wide dark eyes staring back at Sorcha with shock. Hair as green as seaweed tangled down her back in wet strands. She held the sprig of heather in her webbed hand. They blinked at each other until the merrow gave her a wide sharped toothed grin and flipped off the ship. The bright flash of a green tail waved in the sunlight, splashing into a wave with one final twist.

Sorcha knees went weak. A merrow. A real merrow had been so close she might have touched her. No hag stone had limited her vision, no glamour had hidden her true form.

Breathless, she tangled her hands in her hair and spun towards Manus. “That was a real merrow!”

“I know,” he said with a chuckle.

“No, Manus that was a real merrow!”

“I saw her as well, sweet thing.”

“That was a faerie, without a glamour, and she wasn’t even frightened of me!”

He tilted his head back and boomed with laughter. “Ah, I was right to bring you aboard! I know a faerie lover when I see one. Come with me, Sorcha. I have something special to show you.”

Manus wrapped an arm around her shoulders when she reached him. The weight steadied her against the gentle sway of the ship. It was massive in her eyes. The deck teemed with twenty men, all rushing from one end to the other. White sails snapped in the wind and stretched taut to guide them across the waters.

They stepped up to the bow and stood behind the masthead. Sorcha leaned against the railing to peer at the wooden woman’s face.

“Is this a faerie?”

“It is,” Manus replied. “So we always remember who has given us this gift, and who guides us in safety.”

“You are close with the Fae then?” Few people would admit their ties to magic. Faeries were viewed as a superstition and believing in them to be child’s indulgence.

“No one is close to the Fae. I deliver items for them, and sometimes people. Like yourself.”

“People? What do the Fae want with people?” Sorcha hadn’t heard this particular secret before. She’d read every book there was on the Fae and spoke at length with anyone who had experiences with them. No one had ever said the Fae requested people be brought to them.

“There’s always something here and there. A famous musician, an artisan,” he cast a glance in her direction, “a midwife.”

She stiffened. “How do you know that?”

“I carried you and your things to my room last night. I deserved at the very least a peek at your belongings.”

“That’s a terrible thing to do.”

“You could have been an assassin, sweet thing. I protect my men and my ship.”

Sorcha couldn’t blame him for that. She would’ve done the same thing if a strange man walked into her brothel. It still felt like a violation of privacy.

She tugged at the hag stone around her neck. “What did you look at?”

“Just a few of the journals. As soon as I realized you were a healer, I let the rest be.”

“You didn’t take anything, did you?”

“Of course not.” He looked offended. “I am neither thief nor pirate. What would I have stolen from you that the sea cannot give?”

Sorcha released the breath she held. The sea rolled, shaking the boat with one great lunge. Sorcha held onto the railing and stared into the dark waters where a shadow moved. “What was that?”

“That was what I wanted to show you,” Manus said. “Have you ever heard of a guardian before?”

“Like a surrogate parent?”

“Like the species.”

Sorcha raised a brow. “No.”

He moved to stand behind her, lifting a hand above her shoulder and pointing towards the horizon. “When the Fae mark a ship, it is guided not just by merrows. A guardian is assigned to the boat. They are half woman, half whale. Their twisted features are terrifying. They can rip a man in half just with their hands.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not. They guide our ships towards the Otherworld and ensure nothing else comes with us.”

She wanted to shiver, but his hand was on her shoulder. He would know she was frightened. That was exactly what he wanted. Pulling her leg like this was cruel.

“I don’t take kindly to men trying to scare me,” she said. “I don’t believe you.”

“You should. The guardians are a very real threat, and it is my suggestion that you stay away from the water until we get to your destination.”

Sorcha shook her head. “Which is?”

His hand shifted slightly to the left. “Do you see that?”

How could she have missed it? Mist and storm clouds created a wall in the middle of the ocean. A bolt of lightning cracked through the sky and although they were too far to hear the thunder, she swore she could feel it.

“We’re going there? Why?”

“Because that is the only way into the Otherworld,” he said as he walked away.

“Hy-brasil is not in the Otherworld!” Sorcha shouted.

“It’s on the border, darling! And you have to get close enough to see it.”

She wanted to reach out and punch him. Or grab onto his dreads and toss him overboard. Guardian.

Sorcha snorted, but walked away from the railing. The last thing she needed was another scary story in her head. She had grown up with the dullahan, trooping faeries, changeling children, and all other manner of frightening Fae!

Grumbling, she skirted her way past sailors on their hands and knees scrubbing the deck. They were eerily silent in their work. Their eyes followed her all the way back to the captain’s cabin where she shut and locked the door.

Now that the seasickness had subsided, she got a good look at his quarters. And what stunning quarters they were.

“A four-poster bed?” she muttered. “What need does a man have of a four-poster bed out to sea?”

It wasn’t very large, hardly enough room for two people, but it took up a remarkable amount of space. A wooden red desk was shoved in the corner. It didn’t look like anyone used it at all. There were no papers, no inkwells, nothing to suggest that Manus ever sat at the desk.

Sorcha peered underneath it.

“No chair?” she muttered. “Of course it would be for decoration only.”

Brown sheep skin covered the floor, soft against her bare feet. She curled her toes in its thick wool.

Someone pounded on the door. Whirling on her heel, she called out, “I’m not taking visitors!”

“Good!” Manus shouted back. “We’re going to be heading straight for the eye of that storm. It’s moving away from us so we’re going to put some effort in to catch it. Stay in the cabin! I don’t need you falling overboard.”

Her lips curled as she mimicked him. “I don’t need you falling overboard. It’s a good thing you’re helping me captain, or I’d have half a mind to trip you into the ocean!”

A chuckle echoed through the door, growing quieter and quieter until it disappeared.

Sorcha huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. She should feel tired, but the long night’s sleep was plenty. One might think that a sea captain would have an entertaining room, but there was little here.

Where was the treasure? The maps of wondrous places? At least trophies from all the places he had traveled! The man had a Fae-marked ship!

She gritted her teeth and rummaged through her pack. There was one thing that always settled her mind, no matter where she was.

Soft vellum covered the worn leather journal. Its parchment paper curled at the edges, darkened with age and brittle. She lifted it to her nose and inhaled.

It still smelled like her. No matter how many years her mother had been dead, her books still smelled like her. Aged paper, lavender oil, sunshine, and the faintest hint of clover.

As always, tears pricked her eyes.

“I miss you,” she whispered against the journal’s spine. “I left Papa yesterday, and I hope it was the right decision. You always told me to be brave and kind. I think that’s what this journey is for.”

She turned the page and lost herself into a naturalist’s recounting of healing. She read of teas which could stop bleeding, setting bones, cleaning wounds, walking a woman through every step of pregnancy. Sorcha’s mother had unimaginable knowledge that she wrote down every moment she could.

It would never be enough. She would always want to devour her mother’s words and wished she could remember her voice. Ten years was enough to forget many things about a person.

If Sorcha tried very hard, she could remember the way sunlight turned her mother’s rosy hair to fire. How Sorcha had spent hours counting the freckles on her mother’s arm when she had been ill. But she couldn’t remember the tone of her voice, the whispered stories, or what she sounded like when she told her daughter “I love you.”

Sorcha sniffed and blinked away tears.

Shaking her head, she patted the journal and placed it back inside her pack. “You’ll stay there,” she whispered. “Safe and sound.”

Slapping wings smacked against the porthole of the ship. Sorcha flung herself back against the bed and stared at the giant raven poking its head into her room.

“Excuse me?” she gasped. “Who are you?”

It cawed at her, cocking its head to the side and staring at her with a single yellow eye.

“No,” she said as she rose to her feet. “Absolutely not. I do not need a feathered friend in this room with me.”

The raven didn’t listen. It hopped from the porthole down onto the desk.

“No!” Sorcha said again.

She flapped her hands at it. There wasn’t anything to shoo it away with, and now it might be too late. Ravens were intelligent, but she wasn’t certain it could fly out the porthole. If she scared it into the air, then she might never get it back down. She eyed its wings.

“You’re mighty and quite large,” she said. “I think if you were flying that your wings would hurt me.”

It tilted its head to the other side and jumped one hop towards her.

“Ah,” she gasped. “Please don’t do that.”

The raven hopped backwards.

“No,” Sorcha shook her head. “Don’t do that either.”

The raven froze and met her gaze.

“Can you understand me?”

It squawked at her.

Overwhelmed again, Sorcha tried to back away from it. Her heel caught on the edge of a rug and she tumbled hard onto the floor. The bang of her tailbone hitting solid wood made her wince just as much as the sudden lightning bolt of pain.

The raven lifted its wings as though it might fly into the air.

“No!” Sorcha lifted one hand, the other rubbing firmly at her bottom. “I’m fine. Please don’t do that!”

It seemed to hesitate, wings still poised for flight.

“Really, I’m fine. I just didn’t expect you to understand me. Are you the captain’s?”

The raven’s reaction was immediate. Its wings snapped down at its sides, its head rose from its feathers to an impossible height, and it croaked angrily at her.

“Did I insult you?” she asked. “I apologize. This is the captain’s quarters, it’s not that big of a stretch.”

Although, talking to a bird and expecting to be understood was a stretch. They were unnaturally intelligent, so it wasn’t all that surprising that it reacted to her words.

She narrowed her eyes. “Am I making this up in my head because yesterday I was safe in my family’s brothel and now I’m hurtling towards the Otherworld? Or can you really understand me?”

It flapped its wings.

Sorcha rolled onto her knees and achingly rose to her feet. “I’m losing my mind. First, I make a deal with a faerie. Then I think ravens can understand me. What’s next? Guardians are actually real?”

She snorted at the thought. The captain was trying to frighten her into staying in her cabin and away from his men. She understood that he might want her to stay out of the way, but he could have done it in a much more understanding way.

The raven croaked again and hopped towards the porthole. It pecked at the wood, the harsh thumps repetitive and strangely intentional. Between each jab, it would turn its head to stare at her.

Was it trying to get her to go to the window? She took a few hesitant steps forward. If the bird could understand her, did it want her to look outside?

“I’m losing my mind,” she said.

Sorcha inched by the raven, keeping an eye on its movements so it didn’t lunge at her. The bird stayed very still. She hooked her elbows on the edge of the porthole and leaned out.

The ocean waves didn’t quite reach the window, but the salt spray misted her cheeks. The sun had set while she’d read. The moon spread its rays across the waves, turning them silver and frothy white.

It was beautiful. Untamed and wild, the ocean was the last bit of the world which remained a mystery. A wave crested against the ship and the splashing water sounded like music.

“It’s hard to believe such a place is so dangerous,” she whispered.

She reached a hand towards the next wave. Sea water splashed, bitterly cold and bracing. Bubbles caught between her fingers and popped as she lifted them towards her mouth. She licked the salt from her skin with a soft chuckle.

“See?” she glanced over her shoulder towards the raven. “It’s not all that dangerous.”

A soft thump against the side of the ship startled her. She looked down into the black waters but could see nothing in their depth.

Sorcha narrowed her eyes and leaned further out the porthole.

Something in the darkness shifted. She couldn’t see what was there, or where the movement came from, but the murk changed.

She scooted even farther out the porthole, her hands braced against the side of the ship.

In the darkness of the ocean, within arm’s reach, an eye blinked — larger than a dinner plate and black as night. She could see it now. The entire impossible length of the guardian stretched out larger than the ship.

Sorcha’s mouth gaped open and her fingers turned to claws. The guardian’s head alone was larger than a horse! It was faintly human in shape, but its skin was ghostly pale and speckled. Its mouth was a large gash that spread across its face nearly to the ear canals on the side of its head. Hair grew in a mohawk from the peak of its skull and stretched so far into the waves that Sorcha couldn’t begin to guess its length.

It blinked its eye again. Lips stretched into what she hoped was a friendly smile, and Sorcha heard the thump again. The creature’s long spindly finger was stroking the side of the ship. It paused at the top of the yellow paint and then traveled underneath the boat.

A soft whine escaped Sorcha’s lips.

“Okay,” she whispered. “I’m going back inside now. Please don’t flip us.”

She didn’t want to startle the guardian, so she moved inch by inch until she fell onto the floor of the cabin. Only then did she allow herself to hyperventilate and wave her hands in her air. When did she lose feeling in her hands? Her heart beat so fast she thought it was rising into her throat.

“It’s real,” she whispered over and over again. “It’s really real. That exists in the oceans. I’m never going swimming again.”

The raven bobbed its head and made a sound like laughter.

“You stop it. You didn’t see that thing.”

The raven didn’t stop laughing, even when Sorcha threw a pillow at its head.

With all the new sights, and the rocking of the ship, Sorcha was certain she wouldn’t sleep again. Nightmares would keep her awake. The possibility of the future would keep her awake. There was no possible way that she could slip into the endless night. But she did, and her mind did not plague her with dreams.