All the Stars and Teeth(61)

But I don’t let them take it from me. I jerk my blade from the beast’s flesh as it readies another tentacle. Pulling myself up, I drop my boot back into my hands and shakily attempt to brace myself.

My chest is tight; every breath fills my lungs with fire.

Poison. The Lusca’s barbed tentacles seep with poison.

My hands are no longer my own. They’re ghostly and foreign. I see them move as I hold my boot, but the spreading poison makes it feel like they belong to someone else.

Water rains down on me, and through my haze, I slowly look up. The Lusca has every tentacle lifted, curved and ready to strike down on its own back. On me.

My hands are unsteady, but I grip my boot tightly, and though the world blurs and darkens around me, I shake the fog from my vision and wait. There’s only one chance to get this right.

I wait until the Lusca roars, confident enough to strike down with its full force.

I wait until one tentacle strikes my back again, and until another nearly slams into my face, going for the kill. The moment before it hits, I grit through the pain and throw my hands up, capturing its tentacle in my boot.

The Lusca has no time to draw back. The moment it connects to the necklace, the beast freezes. Its tentacles form a cavern above my head, and I stumble back as water rains onto my face from its lifted, unmoving limbs.

Shivers rip through me with such force they nearly bring me to my knees. I claw at any remaining strength I have and latch onto it, forcing one foot in front of the other. Step by excruciating step, I make my way across the beast’s still back and toward the tip of one of the tentacles.

The necklace has completely frozen the beast. The Lusca cannot scream as I slice through its tentacle, but I relish in knowing it can feel every inch of my blade. Its flesh is thick, and requires far more energy to cut through it than I have to offer.

But I’ve no other choice. I dig the nails of one hand into the tentacle to hold my body up as I sear through its flesh. My breaths come in constricted gasps as the poison tears through me; I don’t have much longer. I rip the tentacle the rest of the way off and its inky blood coats my hands as I hold it.

There’s power in the Lusca’s blood. Pulsating, fierce, wondrous power. It’s strong in a mythical way I’ve never known. I’ve stopped the Lusca, but I can’t just let it sit here for someone to discover, or for something to remove the necklace before it starves out. I need to get this tentacle back on the ship and light it on fire. I need to kill it with my magic.

I need to get back on Keel Haul.

I need—

Balance is a distant thing I can no longer maintain. My foot slips on the back of the frozen beast and I grip the severed tentacle as though it might somehow rescue me. Ten red, unblinking eyes watch as I trip and tumble off its back.

My body refuses to listen as I try to reach for my dagger, wanting to use the Lusca’s body to slow my descent again. But my arms won’t unwind from around the tentacle.

I shut my eyes as the ocean swallows me whole. Water floods my lungs, and I choke on the one thing I love the most.

The sea. The waters of my kingdom. They’ll be the death of me.





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE


I wake in a room flooded with warmth. Moonlight spills from behind open velvet curtains, and a dimmed oil lamp burns on the mahogany table beside me.

A soft mattress draws my body in, lulling me back to sleep. I didn’t mind sleeping in a hammock, but now that I’m reminded of what I was missing, I want to wrap myself between the lavish navy blankets and never come out. Exhaustion urges me to sleep for a solid week.

Maps and atlases cover the floors and walls. In the dim light, I make out one wall where clothing hangs, pristine and sorted by type and color. Coats on one side, linen shirts on the other. More men’s shoes than I’ve ever seen in one place form a line on the floor.

Bastian’s sitting in a chair, hunched over his desk. He wears only a thin black linen shirt and loose trousers, more casual than I’ve ever seen him. The definition of his arms and shoulders catches my eye as he examines something that sits on the table. His back is to me, broader and more muscular than I realized. With how quickly he can scale the rigging and drag in Keel Haul’s anchors, I should have expected he’d be strong.

What I don’t expect is how much I enjoy the way the black shirt looks against his warm brown skin. I also don’t expect the thought of how his back and shoulders might feel beneath my hands, powerful and firm.

Bastian pushes away from his desk with a sigh. The Lusca’s tentacle rests before him. I remember wanting to bring it onto the ship with me, but I never made it that far. How did both the tentacle and I get here?

He startles when he turns and catches me staring. “You’re awake.” He searches my face carefully. “How do you feel? I’m sorry about your clothes. Vataea changed you; Ferrick needed to see how deep your wound is.”

I know the Lusca hit me, but I don’t remember the wound being deep, nor do I remember any blood. All I remember is flashes of tentacles, water, and eventually complete numbness.

I look down at myself for the first time, finally noticing the stiffness of my body as I try to move.

“Careful!” Bastian moves to the edge of the bed. “Ferrick was able to stabilize you, but we had to drain a lot of your blood to get the poison out. Even a Suntosan healer can’t return lost blood.” His body is tense as the skin between his brows wrinkles into lines that age him ten years. Looking at them, my head spins. I try to speak, but the words burn.