All the Stars and Teeth(66)
Guilt swells inside me. I should have tried harder to prevent her from falling from Keel Haul. I should have saved her.
“I hear you were the star of the show,” Vataea says. I’ve forgotten how smooth and welcoming her voice is, as beautiful as music. She steps forward and presses a kiss to my cheek.
My throat numbs and I struggle to remember how to breathe. I thought breathing was supposed to be a natural instinct, but apparently that’s not the case when you’re kissed by a mermaid.
Beside me, Ferrick’s fair skin has betrayed him yet again. He blushes a fervent, fiery red.
“Ferrick’s the one who really saved you,” I say, watching as the mermaid’s playful expression splits into one of surprise. She turns to him. No one’s told her.
Ferrick’s blush grows deeper.
“Is this true?” Vataea asks.
Ferrick lifts his hands and tries to dismiss the question with a wave of his arms. “It’s no big deal,” he manages to stammer. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right since … since you’re part of the crew, now.” He clears his throat only to choke as Vataea presses onto her toes and kisses his cheek, as well.
Ferrick looks as though he needs medical attention by the time she pulls away. When he casts a guilty glance my way, I only smile.
When Bastian joins us, his skin sheens with sweat from a full morning’s work, and his dark hair is wild, ruffled by the wind. I quickly look away, my cheeks heating.
“Glad to see everyone’s in fine spirits,” he says, skimming over Ferrick, “but it’s time we discuss Zudoh.”
“What’s left to discuss?” Vataea inspects her nails. “We already made our plan. Get in, kill the man, get out.”
Bastian’s jaw twitches. “We never talked about what’s going to happen once we arrive. There are parts of the island that are dangerous. Your siren magic only works if you’re in water, right? You’re not always going to have water around to protect you.”
She peers up from her nails and her eyes narrow into dangerous slits.
“I want to talk about weapons,” Bastian says before Vataea can cut off his tongue. “I have my sword, and Amora has her dagger. Ferrick, you still have your rapier, right?”
Ferrick nods.
“Good,” Bastian continues. “Then all that’s left to take care of is finding a weapon for you, Vataea. Have you ever used one before?”
“Bits of coral, here and there.”
From the way he grimaces, it’s clear that’s not what Bastian had in mind. Before he can say anything, though, I draw my dagger from my belt and offer it to Vataea. She looks down at it, then at me.
“Take it.” I press it into her hesitant palm. “Just to borrow, until we get off Zudoh.”
Bastian stretches his lungs with a dramatic sigh. “How does this solve our problem? Now you’re the one with no weapon, Amora.”
“I have an idea,” I say simply. “Take me back into your quarters and I’ll show you.”
He lifts a brow. “Now, now, Princess. There’s no need to be so forthcoming. If you want to accompany me into the captain’s quarters, you need only suggest it.”
Ferrick turns away with a shake of his head.
I ignore it, jabbing Bastian’s shoulder and rolling my eyes. “Just follow me.”
This time, as Bastian laughs, I don’t suppress the shudder that passes through my body and settles into my core. He bows at the waist and extends an arm forward.
“Lead the way.”
* * *
When I show Bastian what I intend to do with the Lusca’s poisoned hook, he claims to have knowledge about building weapons. But as he hovers over me, feasting on my creation with curious delight and not one word of helpful advice, I realize that’s a lie. He’s only here for the show.
Under normal circumstances, I prefer to work in private. There’s something richly satisfying in giving all of yourself up to an act of creation. It’s like magic. It demands your focus and requires a small piece of your soul to complete.
Yet this is the second time now that Bastian’s tricked me into allowing him to watch me work, and the only reason I let him stay is because I like the way his presence causes my skin to prickle with anticipation and awareness. That, and I appreciate the satisfied noises he makes in the back of his throat whenever I do something particularly clever.
Until I can find the supplies to make a proper hilt, the weapon I’ve created is crude. The giant hook is large and sharp, similar to a blade. I’ve spent the past five or six hours meticulously shaping it into a dagger with scattered atlases and the corner of Bastian’s bed—anything heavy enough to work the thick hook. Now it’s firm, pointed and curved at the tip with a sharp, hooked edge. Its danger lies in its jagged edges and the poison lurking inside it. There’s no way to test it, but the poison should latch onto anyone whose blood it draws.
For now, I’ve fastened rope tightly around the bottom as a hilt. It doesn’t look like the strongest weapon, and its range is limited, but I’ve bashed it against enough things to know it’s durable and powerful.
I imagine it will cut through skin slick as gelatin.
“You certainly have a creative mind, I’ll give you that much.” Bastian leans around me to eye the desk. He’s close enough that his chest presses against my back as he breathes, and the warmth of those breaths tickles my cheek. “Where’d you learn so much about weapons, anyway?”