CSILLA

Silver Sea

Mid-Rainrise

Csilla sat in the crow's nest of the Wavecutter, feet dangling down over the edge while she craned her head back to watch the sky. She'd hoped tonight there would be stars to distract herself from sleep, but there were only clouds to greet her.

Sleep wasn't something she allowed to come anymore. It would creep up on her every night, dragging her eyelids down, her dreams trying to take her captive, and every night she'd find herself in a different part of the ship, awake with her mind wandering.

Catching sleep in spots during the day was something she resorted to, but even then, she'd started to feel the dreamwraith's presence lurking under the sun with her, looming over her like a shadow no one else could see. She'd tried to tell herself differently, that it was just her guilt eating away at her, but she knew the truth. The dreamwraith would continue haunting her until it had its fill of her torment. Would anything be left of her then?

There was a flash of blue in the distance. Odd. The cloud cover had been increasing the past couple of days, but they hadn't seemed dark enough to promise a storm.

"Storms out there," suddenly came a voice from below.

Csilla glanced behind her to see Flynn's sand-colored mop emerging through the hole in the middle of the crow's nest. She turned back to the railing she straddled. "Looks like it."

A bit of knocking and scooting around and Flynn sat down next to her, letting his own legs hang down by hers. "That storm in the distance isn't the only thing on that mind of yours though, is it?" One of his wry smiles threatened to unlock her secrets.

"You always seem to know when I'm swimming in my thoughts," she said, tucking back a curl that had blown loose from her scarf.

"You disappear every night," Flynn said, leaning back onto his hands and looking up at the sky. "It wouldn't take a brilliant mind to figure that out." A smile lifted his tone. "Unless you think I have a brilliant mind?"

Csilla chuckled. The first genuine one since the masquerade party.

"Do your dreams plague you in the day?" Flynn asked. "It's fine if you don't want to talk about it, but I am curious."

"You always are," Csilla said. In the past, this would be the part where Csilla would push him away and mock the idea of vulnerability, but up in the nest it was just the two of them, two birds flying high above the sea. As she gazed ahead into the night without the comfort of the stars to guide them, the unknown should've rattled her. Yet next to Flynn she felt safe. With him she could spread her wings, with him she could be free.

"The wraith only visits me at night," she said. She glanced down at her legs, focusing on the scuffs at the knees of her pants, trying to somehow anchor herself to the conversation. "I've stopped sleeping at night because..." She paused. Csilla could wear an intimidating mask and say the words that needed to be said to gain the upper-hand against those who challenged her. She always promised herself she wouldn't let others see the holes in her armor, but the holes had only spread.

"...I'm scared that if I fall asleep, I won't wake up again."

Flynn grabbed her hand and she didn't pull away this time.

"So that's why I found you sleeping in the cargo the other day," he said. "You were even snoring."

A small smile escaped from Csilla. "It seems to only feed on my dreams at night," she said. "But lately I've been feeling its presence during the day too. Maybe it's getting stronger."

"You must be feeding it well." Flynn turned his head to look at her, his cheek resting against the wooden post in front of him "I didn't know you were such a good chef, Csilla."

Csilla threw her head back and laughed, earning a chuckle from Flynn. They smiled at each other and for a moment it was just the two of them, alone in the world.

"What do you dream of?" he asked, his tone soft and gentle. "Are they always nightmares?"

"They always start off pleasant," Csilla said, remembering the beauty of Rhoda's smiles in the dream. "Rhoda and I—we're together—and we're happy. The air is warm, the jungle alive. I never know I'm dreaming and I just want to stay there, you know? It's a dream I could easily get lost in." She sighed and rested her own cheek against the railing in front of her, looking into the sea of Flynn's eyes as she continued. "But each time, the dream twists and I'm faced off against Rhoda once more."

"You duel Rhoda every time?" Flynn asked, concern knitting his brow.

"And every time she dies," Csilla said. She closed her eyes, trying to erase the image from her mind. "Over and over again. Everything around me dies."

Flynn squeezed her hand. "Aye." His voice was so quiet she could barely hear it over the wind. "It wasn't your fault, you know."

"It was my sword," Csilla said. "Of course it was my fault."

"You can't blame yourself. Rhoda's mind was tainted by Magnus. You didn't ask for any of that to happen." "Yet it still did." Csilla sighed, "If I'd tried harder to fix our relationship. Maybe even if I just let her be captain, things would have been different." Would Rhoda have listened to Magnus's whispers if she had already had what she wanted?

"But you can't change any of it." Flynn pulled away from the post and turned to her, sitting with his legs folded and crossed. "You can only move forward. You have to move forward. I see it in your eyes sometimes, you know. The guilt. I can't watch this dreamwraith eat away at you."

"I won't let it," Csilla said. She let go of the post and swung her legs around until she mirrored him. She leaned in and lightly kissed his lips, then the scar on his cheek that he'd gotten when fighting on Crossbones. The look of surprise on his face was one she wished she could capture and revisit again. "I will defeat it. I promise."

XX

Smuggler's Harbor was a small, isolated island at the northern most point of Cerulia.

It was one of the first trading ports established by the island nation, its location a convenient halfway mark between Baltessa, Incendia and Ventys's old port, Icehaven. But since the fall of Icehaven years ago, Smuggler's Harbor had turned into more of black market, a place where people went to do crooked things.

When Csilla had heard the Ruin Witch say they'd find the Serpent in this place, her feelings about it teetered. On one hand, it made sense. Witchbloods and their deal-making ways would find the most work on a busy island like this. However, this was Smuggler's Harbor and the handful of times she had docked for resources, something had always gone missing.

"Keep your guard up," Csilla told everyone as they stepped onto the dock. "This may be a Cerulian island, but some folk will do anything for coin." She glanced at her crew, noticing how Kane's gaze flicked nervously around the area.

The harbor was alive with men unloading barrels and crates from a ship docked next to the Wavecutter. A small dog barked at one man and nipped at his ankles while his comrade laughed. Gulls circled the area, ships groaned as they rocked against the tide, and the sky remained gray, almost as if the dark cloud was following them. Or perhaps they were the one chasing it.

"How long will you be docked?" A burly man stepped in front of Csilla. He wore a hat made of straw and his pants had been cut so that his legs were bare from the knees down.

"We should be gone by nightfall," Csilla answered.

The docker hitched his brow. "Not even planning a night's rest?" His narrowed gaze traveled up the ship, eying the white merchant sails they had hoisted from the masts. "Name and trade?"

Csilla hesitated, wondering, trying to quickly produce a name that was not her own. Something that would not draw attention in case spies from Incendia lurked about.

The docker shifted his weight, growing impatient. "I can't let you dock if you do not—"

"The name is Jack Rattler," Flynn said, taking a step forward. "Though you may have heard of my other alias, Handsome Jack?"

The docker stared forward at Flynn, expression unchanging.

"The greatest tea trader this side of the Silver Sea? Also known as the Silver Tea?"

Arius snorted as he tried to hold in his laugh. Csilla squashed his toe with the heel of her boot.

"Are you here with a shipment of tea?" The docker scribbled something in the book he carried.

"No, no tea today." Flynn laughed casually. "I only have some quick business to address, a messenger gull or two to send. As my lovely partner stated, we will be out of your docks and sailing away from your harbor before day's end."

The docker nodded and snapped his book shut. "Very well, then. Three hundred gold pieces."

"Three hundred?" Csilla asked. "That's more than asking price."

"You bring no goods to our harbor, yet you take up two docking stations with your massive ship." He crossed his arms. "Three hundred gold pieces."

Csilla looked at Flynn, then to where Kane had been standing before. Suddenly, Kane was in front of the docker, hands fisting the man's shirt. He shoved him into a stack of crates, knocking over a barrel of fish next to them. The gulls that had been circling above swooped in, collecting a free lunch and drawing more attention to the scuffle.

"It will be one hundred gold pieces," Kane said in the man's face, still fisting his shirt.

Csilla and Flynn both navigated through the gulls to get to them.

"But the asking price is two hundred," the docker whimpered.

"You're lucky if I give you any gold you—"

Csilla's hand at Kane's shoulder made him freeze. He quickly let go of the docker and yanked his hands back like they had been burned. When he turned around, his face was pale and his eyes were troubled. He gripped at his chest and winced.

"Are you okay?" Csilla asked quietly, trying to catch his gaze, but he wouldn't look at her.

"I'm fine," he grumbled, shrugging her off. "I apologize. I...I'm not thinking straight." He walked past her, not waiting for her to respond to his apology for his outburst. She watched him with concern as he blended back in with the crew. Something was going on with him and that wound of his whether he wanted to admit it to them or not.

"Mate's been out at sea too long," Flynn said as he brushed off the man's shirt. "Do hope you'll understand. You were saying the cost would be asking price, yes?"

"Aye," the man groaned, rubbing the back of his head.

Flynn clapped the docker on the shoulder. "You have a merry day, sir."

Csilla motioned for the crew to follow and they left the dock behind, making their way into the market streets of Smuggler's Harbor. The short, slanted buildings that lined the dirt road were stacked so close together, the spaces between them were only wide enough to allow a person to walk through. Mud had made its own path down the center of the roads, coating their boots as they continued on, searching for signs of where they could find the Serpent.

"Spread out and listen in on conversations," Csilla said to her crew. "There must be word of him somewhere."

Csilla took to the left side of the road, eying the stalls of rare jewels and suspicious jarred substances. She kept her gaze wandering over the items for sale, shaking her head subtlety at merchants as they tried to make deals with her. She would not be tempted by any of their haggling. She only wanted to hear what the folk had to say.

"My husband swears he saw it," said a merchant who stood in a stall filled with intricately woven tapestries. She turned to a woman who stood next to her with wide eyes and dark hair twisted up in a pile on her head. She quieted her voice. "A seagrim."

"A what?" the woman said, confusion twisting her brow. "What is that?"

"It's a dark creature of the sea. Old tales say once a seagrim marks you, you'll drown within the next moon."

The woman looked suspiciously at the merchant. "I don't believe you. Creatures like that don't exist any longer."

"Listen," the merchant said, quieting her voice even farther. Csilla had to take a step closer, standing behind one of the long tapestries that hung. "My husband sails with a trading crew from here to Terran and he's heard rumors."

"Rumors?" the woman asked. "What kind of rumors?"

"Well, you know about the Storm heir, right? My husband heard that something happened on Crossbones they're not letting the island nation know. Something about that girl and Limbo. What if...she's the one bringing these creatures in?"

Csilla fought the urge to expose herself right then and there and demand the women stop their wild rumors. Crown officials had decided it would be best to not cause panic among Cerulians regarding Magnus almost rising, but what worried Csilla was how many others had heard this rumor and how many believed it. If only these women knew that Lorelei fighting the fire god in Limbo was the only reason he wasn't creating havoc and destruction right then. Csilla quickly left the stall and went back toward the center of the road where the crew had gathered.

"Anything?" Kane asked as she joined them.

"Nothing of substance," Csilla said. "You?"

The rest of the crew shook their heads as Arius strutted in. He wore a new hat that he hadn't been wearing before and carried two long skewers of stacked meat chunks and vegetables.

"I thought we were supposed to be searching for information," Flynn said, snatching one of Arius's skewers for himself.

"I was hungry," Arius admitted. "However, the man who sold me this hat said that we can find the Serpent at the tavern at the end of the road."

"How did you..." Csilla's voice trailed off, confused and amazed at the same time.

"Oh," Arius laughed. He shrugged and took a bite of one of the meat chunks. "I just asked him."

There was no point in pondering Arius's ways any longer and the crew continued to the down the muddied road. Merchants yelled for them to buy their wares, to come try their trusted elixir, but they paid them no mind—except for Arius—and made a direct line for the shabby-looking tavern at the end.

The inside didn't look any better than the outside, slanted planks nailed to the wall in an attempt to cover up holes. A bartender looked up at them from the bartop he was wiping down. When no one asked for a drink, he continued back to his wiping as if they were not even here. The tavern was oddly quiet, folk scattered around the clustered tables, some alone and chugging down their drinks. Csilla's gaze traveled over them all, trying to find the one of them who would be Serpent. It wasn't until she looked into the far corner that she saw him.

He sat alone, his hands shuffling cards. His brown skin was as unblemished as the Ruin Witch's, his silver bundled and tied at his neck. There was an aura about him that exuded the magic in his veins. Csilla could have assumed based on that alone, but what let Csilla truly know the man was the Serpent were his golden eyes that looked back at her.