The Coral Veil

Outlines of large ships swayed against the starry night. Lanterns lined the streets, casting the nightlife in a new glow. Yet, out of all the places in Numa Cay…hells, out of all the ports on the Isle of Virella…I had to choose Tide’s End? The loudest, rowdiest, grimiest port.

A thick, nose-scrunching stench of low tide swirled on the breeze, along with other odors I hadn’t known were possible, dredged from the cobbled gutters. I didn’t want to think much of it. Especially since this street offered nothing but pubs, taverns, and distilleries. Apparently, it didn’t matter what time of day it was. It was always packed with drunk sailors.

That was good though. The more bodies packed in, the less likely anyone would notice mine. If they’d noticed me gone yet.

I shifted my weight, wincing. The stolen boots stabbed needles into my soles with every step. The pants were too tight and hung low on my frame, bristling with mismatched pockets. An old saber swung at my side. It was more rust than blade, but it gave the illusion I knew what I was doing. Not that it would help. I hadn’t held one in five years. I was probably just as rusty.

My shirt barely covered me. My midriff and arms were exposed, but here, that wasn’t unusual. Women on this side of the island wore far less. Some strutted past in outfits that made mine look modest. At least the cowl shielded my scalp from the breeze. That was one small comfort I hadn’t stolen.

My mouth went dry. I adjusted the hood with a shaky hand, hoping the gesture looked casual, not desperate.

I shouldn’t be so nervous, right? I mean, looking around, I saw not only humans but siren-blooded folks with hair in pinks, purples, greens, and even orange. Yet none like mine. Damn it. My aquamarine hair still blazed like a beacon. Unique enough that if someone knew me, they could be pick me out of a crowd. I might as well have stitched a map to my scalp. Still, a tightening coil squirmed in my gut.

I took a breath and looked across the street. The Pelican’s Roost didn’t look like a pub for the faint of heart. Good. That meant they’d never think to look for me there.

With a gulp, I pushed off the wall and stepped into the noise. The door groaned as I pushed it open, heavy and swollen with sea air. A wave of heat and noise hit me like a slap. Stale beer, liquor, and the eye-watering stench of bodies gave me second thoughts about this. The Pelican’s Roost was packed shoulder to shoulder with sailors, gamblers, and locals who looked like they hadn’t slept sober in weeks. The air reeked of sweat, spilled ale, and something sweet and rotting I couldn’t place. A fiddler played in the corner, half-drowned by the roar of laughter and shouting. Someone was singing. Someone else was bleeding.

The floorboards were slick beneath my boots, sticky in places, and warped in others. A woman with a scar down her cheek shoved past me, sloshing rum from a chipped mug. She didn’t look back. Good. I didn’t want eyes lingering. Not on me. Not tonight.

A table near the hearth erupted in cheers. Cards slapped wood. Coins clinked. One man stood to shout something about a sea serpent and promptly fell over. No one helped him up.

The bar stretched across the far side, carved from driftwood and stained with decades of drink. Behind it, a broad-shouldered barkeep wiped a glass with something that might’ve once been a rag. His gaze swept the room like a lighthouse beam; slow, steady, unforgiving, and landing on me.

“Oi! Lass!” the stout barkeep let out a shrill whistle. “Saber stays up here at the bar.”

I could feel eyes on me like cheap perfume. My heart skipped a beat before I realized what he was talking about. A stack of various blades sat on the counter behind him.

My fingers suddenly didn’t want to work properly as I unbuckled my belt. Stepping around people, I squeezed through to the bar. Laying my saber on the counter. The barkeep’s beady eyes narrowed on it, brows furrowed in thought, before looking up at me.

“Name?” He asked, setting a mug of ale down to a very drunk scraggly man to my right.

Oh gods. A name. I need a name.

“Brin,” I stammered out, my heart beating rapidly. The barkeep eyed me again, whipping his hands off on a towel before producing a paper and pencil.

“You got a last name, Brin?”

“Terrian,” I blurted out. “Brin Terrian.”

He unsheathed the blade just enough to wedge the paper—my name scrawled across it—into the gap between hilt and metal. It hung there, exposed, like a brand. Then, without ceremony, he tossed the weapon onto the growing pile in the back.

“You lookin for someone?” He asked, his eyes leaving mine to trail up to my hair. I fought the urge to yank the hood down over my entire face. Too late. He’d seen enough.

“Work,” I answered, fishing a copper out of a pocket, “and a drink.”

“What kind of work?” the barkeep asked, one brow slightly rising as he filled a mug of ale, not even bothering to ask what I wanted.

I wanted to say, whatever gets me out of this damn place and away from Captain Sticc. But I thought better of it.

“Ship work,” I shrugged. “I heard this was a good place to look.”

“How much siren ya got in ya? You seem young.” He crossed his arms, completely ignoring a woman down the way trying to flag him over. “No one’ll think twice about hirin’ if yer half or more.”

“Barely enough to turn my hair,” I lied. I’d said that lie so often in the past day and a half, I was starting to believe it.

He had a right to be cautious.

Folks with half or more siren blood were mandated to serve ten years in the King’s Armada. A good portion tried to escape. An even greater portion ended up dead either way. Anyone caught helping an escapee found themselves in jail, or on the chopping block.

The barkeep nodded, as if that was a reasonable answer, and gestured to the various tables along the walls. “Most captains set up along those. Good luck lass.”

I turned from the bar, mug in hand, and scanned the tables the barkeep had pointed at. No signs, no flags, just clusters of people orbiting figures who didn’t need introductions. Captains. You could tell by the way they sat. Like they owned the surrounding air, and like they would gut anyone that came near them.

Perhaps the ale was a bad decision. The warmed liquid on an empty and already sour stomach didn’t sound like a good idea. But my dumb ass took a sip of it anyway.

I found a spot on the wall and leaned against the old wood. There was absolutely no open tables, and I wasn’t about to invite myself to any of those that had an open chair. Not yet anyway.

Instead, I watched a ragged-looking crew. I watched them play for a moment. The cards were worn, edges frayed, symbols faded. One man slapped down the Lovers like it meant something. Another groaned and threw the Tower. The woman perched on the armrest laughed, a low, throaty sound that didn’t match her face. I didn’t know what game they were playing, but it wasn’t one I wanted to join. They were playing with tarot cards. The idiots were playing a game of cards with a tarot deck. How drunk were they?

I shifted my weight, trying not to look desperate to get off my feet, while debating whether to approach. My gut twisted. If he was half the idiot his crew apparently were, perhaps I had a chance.

That’s when the scraggly drunk from the bar stumbled past me again. Mumbling apologies with a sour breath. A his glassy eyes lingered on me for only a moment before going straight for the captain. He leaned in close to the silent captain, one hand gripping the back of his chair for balance.

He whispered something. There was not a chance in the hells I could hear it, but the hairs on the back of my neck stood. The captain didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just turned his head, slow and deliberate, until his gaze met mine. Eyes as black as his hair, bore into me.

I froze. The gulp of ale staled midway down my throat, and before I could look away the captain motioned for me with two fingers.

I didn’t move at first.

His fingers stayed raised, patient and precise. A beacon. Suddenly aware of how clammy my palms had become, I whipped one on my pants. The other tried not to slosh the ale out of the mug as I stepped forward.

The crew barely noticed. One man cursed at his cards. The woman on the armrest raised a brow, but didn’t speak. The captain didn’t shift to make room. He didn’t need to.

I slid into the seat across from him, mug still in hand, heart thudding like a war drum. The relief on the soles of my feet was instant, even if he didn’t hire me, perhaps I could at least sit here for a few moments longer.

Up close, he hadn’t looked as old as I’d thought. Perhaps a few years older than I? Late twenties, early thirties? His coat was clean, knuckles scarred, and his black hair gleamed like wet ink under the lantern light. His face was unreadable. Not cold. Not warm. Just… still. A curious glint in his eyes gleamed for a moment as he eyed me.

“I’m Captain Kerrin Rask, of The Coral Veil,” he said, as the blonde woman slipped into a chair beside him. Her blue eyes darted from me back to the crew. Clearly not impressed.

“You’re siren bred?”

“I have some, yes,” I nodded, noticing the blonde tap her mug once. Something about her was off. I could feel the faint tingle of magic in the surrounding air. She wasn’t siren, her hair color ruled that out, but she wasn’t entirely human either. Fae, maybe? Smart move for a captain. Expensive too. Not only are they natural mages, but they can tell when someone’s lying… shit. I might as well stab myself in the foot.

“Are you in trouble?” Captain Rask asked outright. My spine straightened. Breath hitched.

Lying would be stupid. I noticed the blonde raise her finger from her mug ever so slightly. She never looked at me, but her ears were all on me.

“Not yet,” I said, voice calmer than I felt, flashing a malicious grin. It was true. As far as I knew, they hadn’t reported me missing yet. Therefore, I wasn’t in trouble. “Night’s still young. I haven’t even finished my first drink.”

The corner of the fae’s mouth twitched, like she wanted to add something. Instead, she tapped her mug.

Captain Rask narrowed his eyes, leaning back in his chair.

“Have you been in trouble with the Armada?”

“No. Not with the Armada. Never been with the Armada,” I said, shaking my head. That was the truth.

My mind flashed to a woman—tall as I was, a few years older, same heart-shaped face. Her brown hair marked her human. Her uniform marked her Captain. Draped in Armada blue and gold.

I wasn’t in trouble with the Armada.

It was her I was in trouble with.

The fae’s brow scrunched slightly, as if in thought. Then slowly, a single hesitant tap.

“We are sea rackers,” Captain Rask said after a moment. A grim look settled on his face, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to go this route or not. “We salvage off sunken shipwrecks in the Verdant Drift, along the coral reefs known as the Emberedeep.”

The name alone sent a chill down my spine. I’d heard of the Emberedeep—everyone had. A labyrinth of drowned ruins and razor coral, where compasses spun and ships vanished without a trace. Some said the reefs were cursed. Others said they were alive.

Neither sounded great.

Rask watched me, gauging my reaction. The fae beside him didn’t move, but I could feel her attention sharpen.

“You’d be diving,” he said. “Not just hauling rope or scrubbing decks. We need someone who can slip through tight wrecks. Someone who can hold their breath longer than most.”

He didn’t say siren-blooded, but the implication hung in the air like salt. Shoulders eased a bit as I took another sip.

“I can dive,” I said, setting the mug down. I can do more than just dive. “And I don’t scare easy.”

The fae tapped her mug once. No hesitation this time.

Rask’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. More like a decision settling into place.

“Then be at the docks before dawn,” he said. “If you’re late, we leave without you.”

The docks were quieter than the Roost, but not by much.

Mist clung to the water like a second skin, curling around crates and mooring lines. Lanterns flickered in the wind, casting long, broken shadows. I kept to the edges, hood low, steps light. My feet finally grew accustomed to the boots. The Coral Veil waited at the far end, dark and silent.

I didn’t run. Running drew attention. I walked as if I belonged. Like I wasn’t counting every heartbeat. I glanced over my shoulder watching the…

Thud!

“Shit!” I cursed, walking right into…

“Brin,” his low voice, scratchy with the morning air. “I see you made it.”

“Sorry, Captain!” I jumped back.

Captain Rask raised a brow at me, holding what looked like it had been a mug of coffee. Except half of it had spilled on the walk. His attention shifted from me to the soldiers not far off. His jaw clenched as he glared down at me.

Two Armada soldiers stood near a fisherman as he unloaded his early morning load, talking low but not quiet enough. Their uniforms were crisp, boots polished, swords sheathed but ready. One held a folded paper. The other scanned the crowd.

“Full-blooded siren,” one said. “Aquamarine hair and eyes. Slim build. Mid twenties, pretty female.”

My stomach dropped.

The fishmonger shook his head. “Haven’t seen anyone like that. Not this morning.”

“Not in trouble?” Rask’s growl pebbled my skin. I wanted to shrink into nothing. I would dive into the waters right now and make for a swim. But the transformation always took just seconds too long, I would be caught before I hit open waters. If not by the Armada, by the Armada-sanctioned merfolk that patrolled the waters. Plus, I had been in that damned small tank so long, my tail muscles didn’t have the strength.

“Board now,” he ordered. My breath caught as my eyes widened. Had I heard him right?

“W—what?” I asked, and for the first time in a long time I felt the warmth of hope. Not the heat of anger, or pain, but hope.

“Vera, take her aboard,” he spoke just over her shoulder.

Vera, the blonde-haired fae, hummed her merry way over to me. Not an ounce of urgency in her steps as she looped her arm through mine. Her face was painted with a kind smile and a knowing wink.

Her grip was deceptively gentle, but firm enough to keep me moving. We walked like old friends on a morning stroll—not fugitives dodging conscription.

“Don’t mind the boys,” she whispered as we stepped onto the gangplank. “They’re all heart and half brain.”

I didn’t respond. My mouth was too dry, and my legs were still trying to remember how walking worked.

The deck of The Coral Veil was already alive with motion. Ropes coiled, crates shifted, boots thudded. One man was trying to tie a knot with his teeth. Another was arguing with a parrot-sized dragon perched on the rigging.

Vera leaned in. “They’re good in a fight. Terrible in a kitchen.”

I opened my mouth to reply, but a sharp voice cut through the morning air.

“Oi! Vera! That the new recruit?” A tall, burly man yelled from the helm, half leaning against the rail with a cigar clamped between his teeth.

“Aye, Fergus sweetie,” Vera patted my arm, leading me up to the quarterdeck.

“She looks a bit pale,” Fergus noted, eyeing me as he stood straighter. “Ya ain’t seasick yet, are ya? We haven’t even left port…”

“She’s our new siren,” Vera clarified.

I looked back toward the dock. Rask was already walking up the gangway. The mist curled away from him as if running away from his anger. Oh, gods, this was bad.

“Aww,” Fergus gave a curt nod, as if that explained it all. “I’m surprised you agreed. Most hear where we’re going and run off.”

“Fergus, Vera,” Rask ordered as he ascended the last step to the quarterdeck. “I want out of this port, go make the orders.”

“Aye Captain,” they said in unison, leaving the two of us alone.

“C—Captain,” my throat tightened around the words I wanted to say. Had I just jumped into the fire before I even out of the frying pan?

“Do you know what the rarest color a siren can posses is?” Rask stood tall, watching his crew scramble about the deck, raising the gangplank, casting mooring lines, and raising anchor.

“No…” I admitted, knowing how ignorant I was of my own kind.

“It’s not gold, not silver,” he said, taking a hand and lazily running it through his inky hair before turning his dark eyes onto me. “It’s black.”

“You?” my voice came as a whisper.