Chapter 391:

Naia

I can’t believe he was this easy.

I thought the prince would put up more of a fight. He’s supposedly enamored with the mermaid—follows her around the ship like a lovesick puppy, watches her swim for hours, sighs when she leaves the room. I assumed he’d have some loyalty. Some decency.

Clearly, I was wrong. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝒆𝒘𝙚𝓫𝙣𝙤𝒗𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

He had no qualms about physical pleasures with me.

None at all.

He barely hesitated.

How would that even work with a mermaid?

Well she does change into a human, I suppose.

But the prince? Average. At best. I’ve eaten better men—figuratively and literally. He’s not special. Not memorable. Not worth the effort I put into seducing him.

I’m almost disappointed.

I walk across the deck, my beads clicking softly with each step. The afternoon sun is warm.

The prince’s men keep to themselves. My father sharpens his knives in the corner, his eyes fixed on me.

I ignore him.

The parrot is watching.

It’s always watching.

We all know it—the bird is the Captain’s eyes and ears. Her spy. Her messenger. Her weapon.

It’s not normal.

Firstly, it never eats. I’ve never seen it take a single bite of food, never seen it drink water, never seen it do anything but watch. Secondly, the colors of its feathers are odd—too bright, too purple, too perfect. No bird in nature looks like that.

Thirdly, it’s extremely silent.

Most birds chirp. Squawk. Make noise.

Not this one.

Only when it’s giving out orders—the Captain’s orders,does a peep of sound come from the bird.

It’s supernatural.

The Captain has sent it flying into storms. Into raging fires. Into battles that should have killed any living creature.

It comes back.

Every time.

Fine. Unscathed. Watching.

And its name.

404.

That’s also weird.

What is it? A code name? A secret? Some language I don’t understand?

They say 404 translates into something horrible in the Devil’s language. I don’t know if that’s true. I don’t know if anything the sailors whisper about the Captain is true.

But I know what I saw.

There was a priest. When we traversed the English waters. He heard rumors—whispers of a devil on pirate seas—and he came to find us.

To save us.

He stood on the deck, tall and stern, his black robes billowing in the wind. He held a cross in one hand and a Bible in the other. He spoke of damnation. Of hellfire. Of souls that would burn for eternity if they did not repent.

The Captain listened.

Politely.

With a smile on her face.

Fangs in her smile.

I’d never noticed them before—the sharpness of her canines, the points that glinted when she spoke. But that night, under the lantern light, I saw them clearly.

Claws too.

They came out from her palms—long, curved, deadly.

She just showed them.

The priest screamed.

The Captain said something,I don’t remember what. The words didn’t make sense. The language was wrong. The sound was wrong.

And then the bird responded.

[Affirmative, Host.]

It was not the mocking parrot tone.

This was different. Otherworldly. Uncomfortable.

The sound scraped against my ears. Against my soul.

I have never felt more fear in my life.

The crew thinks the Captain is scary. They whisper about her at night, speculate about her origins, her powers, her nature. Some think she’s a devil. Some think she’s a ghost. Some think she’s something worse—something that has no name in any language they know.

But I’m certain of something they’re not.

She’s a hundred times more terrifying than they believe.

Sometimes I wonder.

What did the bird mean by its words? Host? Like a body inhabited. Like a vessel commanded. Like something using the Captain for purposes none of us can fathom.

Is the Captain really a devil?

Might be.

But what is a devil doing on human lands? What business does a creature of hell have on the mortal sea, hunting mermaids, collecting debts, waiting?

That night, when I conducted the spell—when I reached through the threads of fate, when something reached back—I got my answer.

We’ve always known the Captain was searching for mermaids. She’s been doing it for years—sailing from port to port, interrogating sailors, following rumors. We theorized maybe she wanted a pet. Or to eat one. Or to plunder merfolk treasures.

But I know now.

The Captain is searching for her.

The bird flies away. Toward the flagpost at the top of the ship—the crow’s nest, where the Captain likes to spend her time. I watch it go. A flash of purple against the blue sky.

I wonder.

What kind of being could have enamored an entity such as the Captain? What kind of creature could inspire that kind of devotion? That kind of obsession?

I shake my head.

Some questions are too dangerous to ask.

I spot movement in the corner of my eye. The old man—the prince’s shadow, the one who follows him everywhere, the one who looks like he’s never known a day of fun in his life.

He’s standing by the railing, staring out at the water, his shoulders slumped, his expression gray.

His hair is white, his beard is unkempt, his clothes are rumpled—he looks like he’s been wearing the same coat for weeks.

He looks like he’s never known a day of fun in his life.

He needs to relax.

I’ll help him relax.

I sway toward him, rolling my hips, letting my beads click with each step. Some of the crew notice who I’m going after. They shake their heads. They know me. They know what I’m about to do.

I don’t care.

What can I say? I love pleasures of the flesh. And nothing tells you more about a man than what he’s like in matters of the chamber.

Not his words. Not his deeds. Not his reputation.

Him. Unmasked. Unarmed. Weak.

It’s not the act itself—anyone can perform. It’s the eyes. The moments between. The way they look at you when they think no one is watching. That’s when you see who they really are.

I learned that years ago from the countless men I’ve welcomed into my bed, my body, my web.

The prince, for all his bravado, is just an insecure child. He fucks like he’s proving something—to himself, to me, to the ghost of his brother.

Most pirates are the same. Scared little boys overcompensating.

I wonder what this old man is really like.