CHAPTER THREE
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THERE WERE NO MORE COTS BELOW DECK. That's what he had told her and Morana was too tired to fight him—fooling Mal and Alina had involved fake crying and she could not shed a voluntary tear for the life of her so Morana had to create an illusion and that joined with the alcohol in her system had made her drowsy.

Sturmhond had offered her his bed—as he had the night shift and was joining the crew on deck. I'm nothing if not a man of manners, he'd said and Morana had been too tired to reply.

Yet the comfortable mattress and soft covers, and the rocking of the ship did nothing to lull her into a peaceful slumber.

Morana had arrived in Novyi Zem, certain she would find whatever had been calling out to her and kill it or whoever it was. Much to her surprise the feeling in her gut had led her straight to the Sun Summoner and her... Mal. Now... Morana hadn't known Alina Starkov was alive.

Not for sure, at least.

And if the Sun Summoner could survive, then it was probable the Shadow Summoner could too, seeing as he was more powerful and experienced and whatnot. Morana had a feeling that leaving Alina alive was a good thing—especially if the Darkling was alive.

She hoped he wasn't. With everything she had, she hoped the man had perished in the Fold. Hope was useless though, and Morana couldn't be for certain. The only thing she was sure of was that she had to stick with Alina Starkov because the constant ringing in her ears and tug in her stomach had faded into the distance like the sun setting over the sea.

That meant temporarily joining Sturmhond's crew—at least until she figured out a way to sever the connection with Alina. Having to tell Sturmhond she wanted to join them might just kill her of embarrassment, yet, the other case scenario was him dropping her off in the next port and taking Alina far away from her, leaving Morana in literal agony as the beacon would heighten.

She cursed all the Saints above for her existence and whatever it was that poisoned her being, making her unnatural.

It's not the Saints you should curse, her mother's voice rang through her head, it's your father. He made you like that.

Morana never met her father, but from what her mother told her, she was sure it was true. She wasn't sure whether he was dead or alive, but something told her whatever was beckoning her to Alina and to the other source point that came calling every now and then, had something to do with him—

The blaring in her ears split through the air.

Morana closed her eyes tightly, covering her ears. It was happening again. Lovely.

And then the pain in her gut returned tenfold. Stinging, like acid running through her veins, like something trying to claw at her soul.

A scream of agony left her lips.

One she heard over the horn blaring inside her brain, ramming against her skull. She could feel the human part of her losing the fight against the darkness that corrupted her being.

Through the pain, she'd forgotten where she was. Her eyes were closed tightly as she curled into herself on the bed. The ringing in her ears was louder than the crew, it drowned out the sounds of the sea. The pain spreading from her gut to the rest of her body was unbearable and Morana had to plead for dawn to come.

Dawn. She needed—

Someone was grabbing her shoulders, shaking her. Morana bit her lip as another scream threatened to leave her lips when a wave of acid flooded every cell in her body, like a contaminant. Whoever it was she couldn't hear. The noise in her ears was too loud... It was burning poison in her mind, trying to get to the soul she guarded with her life so she wouldn't fall over the edge of the abyss. Too much...

Then the pain was gone.

Always the same. Waves that came in sets, taking over her body from time to time, making her keel over. It was a gamble trying to guess when it would begin—when it would end.

Morana just knew that when it came, all her bravado, all the strength she gathered to appear stronger, her mask of illusion, they all slipped away. Leaving her vulnerable to the pain, to the monsters inside her that tried to call her to them.

Join us, they urged her, like calls to like. And Morana would like nothing more than to slaughter them. Perhaps that's what they were trying to do to her too.

"Mora?"

Morana panted, her eyes still closed tightly as she refused to look up at him. She could feel her eyes wet from tears she couldn't hold back, her lip was bleeding from biting it too hard and her throat felt scratchy. She was a mess.

"Morana?" his voice was calm, low, and laced with concern. The usual tone of mockery was forgotten. She felt his hand smooth over her cheek, wiping away the tears. "I know you're awake."

"I bet the whole ship knows it," rasped Morana, and still she kept her eyes closed, and he let out a laugh that lacked its usual conviction.

"The whole True Sea, rather," he mocked, running his fingers through her hair.

Mockery she could deal with. It was ordinary. Normal. A version of herself that cared only about the way the wind was picking up and the skies were growing dark. A version of herself that dealt with the scourge of the True Sea, filthy and brilliant pirates. A version of herself that wasn't plagued by her past—a past she'd never even met, yet managed to grasp at her ankles and drag her to hell.

"They'll think I'm a siren in pain," she whispered to him.

"Another myth to have them quaking."

"What would you know about pirate myths, privateer?" Morana asked lowly, as the way he kept brushing his fingers through her head and the husky sound of his voice lulled her to sleep.

"Pirates have private myths?" Morana hummed in reply and Sturmhond let out a low chuckle. "Damn my license."

"It's quite the shame, yes..." she mumbled, and she was sure it had slipped past her lips in a jumble of words.

Sturmhond took his hand away from her hair and brushed his knuckles against her cheek as the good kind of darkness, the one that embraced her into a peaceful night of rest, loomed over her head. "Good night, darling."

The last thing she heard before passing out of exhaustion was the opening and closing of his door.

•••

Her eyes fluttered open, and she knew dawn was upon them just by the sheer feeling of power in her being.

Morana raised herself into a sitting position in Sturmhond's bed and looked around, thankfully finding his cabin empty. She clamped her lips together and closed her eyes tightly before falling down against the pillow and groaning in frustration.

The pirates could deal with her screams of agony. She would lock herself in whatever cabin they gifted her and promptly told them when sea witches slept they echoed the screams of agony of their drowning victims—it only added to her flare. And when the pain didn't come at night, she would endure it for enough time to shut herself in her cabin.

Sturmhond's crew wasn't considered a pirate crew—no matter how many members had once been pirates. So, all they heard was a broken girl, with agony spilling through her lips. Not that Morana cared what the crew thought about her.

Especially Tolya and Tamar who were the only ones that had witnessed it before, when they were making sure she got to the Shu Han harbor south of Bhez Ju with their little boat. They hadn't said a word about it, and Morana was thankful.

But Sturmhond... Well, the last thing Morana would like was for him to see her—her the abomination, the unnatural creature; the plague.

She felt normal around him; they were a sort of pirate and a privateer who'd formed a rivalry turned strange friendship. Two people with secrets—because she wasn't naïve to think he didn't have them—that found comfort in being the people they wished they could be in each other's presence.

They worked perfectly like that. And her little demons had to go and ruin that like they ruined everything in her life.

Alas, it had been too good to be true. Which was why Morana was set on pretending last night didn't happen and going on living their lies—lives.

Morana made her way to the mirror on the wall after quickly getting dressed once more, in her trousers and boots, and her usual shirt and corset attire.

She ran a hand through her hair and tried (and failed) not to think about Sturmhond's fingers buried in her hair as he lulled her to sleep. Morana scowled at herself in the mirror and braided her hair, letting it fall down her shoulder.

Making sure her face looked alive, and gladly seeing that her lip had been healed and her throat didn't feel scratchy at all—thanks to dawn—Morana grabbed her sword slinging it around her hip before she left the cabin.

The crew members below deck didn't seem to notice her—to the point, Morana was sure they were avoiding her eye on purpose. She shrugged, that was better than seeing pity or something along the lines in their gazes.

Her eyes met Mal's as she was about to step up the main deck, and he gave her a small smile, as Alina slept beside him. "You're a pirate then?" he asked and Morana shrugged.

"From time to time."

"You told us you were a barmaid," Mal pointed out and Morana grimaced, "That you were running from your evil husband."

"I might've lied," she said sheepishly. "In my defense, your friend is a living Saint. Who wouldn't want to join her cause?"

She wouldn't. But Mal didn't need to know that. He didn't need to know that if Morana found no other way to break the bond between her and Alina she would most like kill her. Alina was a nice girl, but she would rather not be attached to the hip of a Sun Summoner.

"Do you..." Mal trailed off with a frown.

"Do I?" Morana echoed and Mal shrugged his shoulders.

"Never mind, I don't even know what I was going to ask exactly."

"When you find out, let me know."

Mal nodded. Morana saluted him with a small smile and went up the stairs, the cold air of the night hitting her face as she looked over to the horizon; she smiled at the orange hues starting to form, giving away to a new day.

And with dawn came quick reflexes, so the moment someone grabbed her arm, her sword was off its hilt and grazing the person's throat—a trick she learned from Bluebeard, may he swindle his way through death.

"Good morning to you too, Mora," Sturmhond greeted her as Morana turned to face him. She didn't lower the sword. He grinned broadly and lowered the blade with his hand leaning over to whisper in her ear, "I was just about to join you in bed, darling."

Morana scoffed with a roll of her eyes, "I'm pointing a sword your way, sea urchin, I would advise you to mull over your words."

"With pleasure." He closed his eyes, humming in thought and his grin didn't leave his face as he opened his eyes again. "I was just about to join you in bed, darling," he repeated.

Her eyes couldn't roll further inside her head otherwise they would get stuck there. "Where's Tamar?"

His face was amused but he answered anyway, "Quarter-deck, I'm sure she'd love to spar. Do make sure you lose some of that hostility, Mora, we're all friends aboard."

"Aye, Cap," Morana replied dryly but before she could go join Tamar he grabbed her wrist and pulled her close. Morana's eyes met his hazel ones and she raised an eyebrow at him. "Yes?"

"I assume you're staying," he said. "Because of the Sun Summoner."

"Am I not welcome?"

"You're more than welcome. I just figured you wouldn't associate with the likes of me."

"Bastards?"

His eyes twinkled, and he smirked, "Privateers. You are a pirate after all."

"I'm not a pirate," replied Morana, fully aware of the fact he was still holding her wrist (her skin was hot at his gentle grasp) and that she might as well just be a pirate—but she liked to contradict him, it was normal.

"Are you a privateer as well?"

The laugh that spilled from her lips was impossible to hold back. "No. I'm..." The Crimson Mirage. A plague. An abomination. The daughter of a monster. A sort of Grisha. "I just like living amongst pirates."

"Hence why I ask, Morana, darling, you're staying, yes?" He raised an expectant brow and Morana sighed before she nodded. He grinned. "Splendid! I've never had a roommate!"

"Excuse me?!"

But he was already striding down below deck and only winked at her before completely disappearing. Morana glared at the spot he had been in, ignoring the way her lips tugged up, and made her way to the quarter deck where she found Tamar.

As infuriating as Sturmhond could be, Morana could trust him to be a liar—and a mind reader. He ignored what had happened last night just as she hoped he would, and continued acting like his usual obnoxious self.

As she approached Tamar, though, the sailor she was talking with, a fellow on the shorter side with a wooden leg and a few teeth missing, met her eyes and he paled, gasping in horror. He staggered back. "You!"

"Me?"

Tamar rose an eyebrow at him, "Zal, she's—"

"She's the sea witch," Zal said as he stepped away from Morana, a trembling hand pointed her away. "I knew I recognized the screaming! Those poor souls... She's come to sink us—"

"Zal!" Tamar screamed just as Zal seemed to gain some courage and lunged himself at Morana fully intent on choking her to death.

Only it was still dawn and Morana was stronger, she grasped his wrist in her hand and twisted his arm to his back until he fell on his knees screaming. "Zal, are you a pirate?"

He nodded his head fervently. "Please don't kill me! Crimson Mirage, I beg you—"

"I don't like those who beg," interrupted Morana as she gave Tamar a pointed look and gestured with her free hand for the girl to calm Zal down.

"I plead, then," Zal said, his voice trailing off as he fell asleep and Morana let go of his arm, causing the man to drop to the floor.

"You have a lunatic in your crew," she told Tamar but the Heartrender narrowed her eyes at her.

"A lunatic who recognized you."

"I've probably been in his crew, Tamar. Can't keep track of all the scourge I meet in the sea. Where did you find him anyway?"

"In the waters further south. Splashing about. The Crimson Mirage got to him."

Morana grimaced slightly. That's why he thought she would sink them, their last encounter mustn't've been amicable. "The Crimson Mirage sure is troubling."

"Yes, it is," Tamar said as she eyed her suspiciously. "He recognized your screams, Mora. How often does it happen?"

Morana's shoulders tensed, and her jaw clenched. "More than I care to admit."

"Maybe I could try and have a look, try and see if you have a sickness—"

"I'm quite sure I'm the sickness, gorgeous. No need to analyze me."

Morana shoved Zal with her foot and took her sword off its hilt.

"Care for some light sparring?" she asked as the sun rose in the sky, and the feeling of the power of dawn began dissipating within her.

Tamar didn't answer for some time but nodded, ditching her axes for a sword and putting herself in position. "I know to keep my mouth shut, Mora, but Sturmhond doesn't. If he sees this is a common occurrence—"

"He'll have to pretend it isn't," concluded Morana.

"Tolya will ask questions, you know."

"And I'll recite a poem and he'll be distracted once more."

Tamar lowered her sword before they even began to fight. She hesitated before asking, "What if you're dying, Morana?"

"Then throw my body in the ocean and I'll become sea foam. Now, are we done with the questionnaire, Miss I-know-to-keep-my-mouth-shut?"

Tamar glared at her before lunging. Morana had but a second to avoid a blow to the head.

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