THE DAYS THAT followed were slow like she was travelling through a thick pool of oil and tar. The joy she'd felt at being beside Nikolai again dimmed, and it was replaced by a melancholy that dragged her down until she felt as though she were drowning. She slept in Nikolai's bed at night, clinging to his body like he might disappear from her entirely. Nightmares followed her frequently. So often, that she didn't dare face him, and in the mornings she pretended to still be sleeping while Nikolai crept from his quarters silently.

She still hadn't worked up the courage to tell him all that had happened. How could she ever begin to explain her heart was no longer beating, but shrivelled and mangled inside her chest, just barely alive enough to keep pumping blood? She didn't know if he'd understand, and the idea that he might dismiss her, no matter how unlikely a scenario that was, forced her to bite her tongue anytime she thought she might say something.

What would he say anyway? she thought, fidgeting with her fingers which gripped the railing on the side of the boat's deck. She was looking out over the sea, watching it glisten and glimmer with the sunlight. She realised with a start that up until a few days ago, she'd never actually seen it. The inside of the drüskelle ship had been dark and there were no windows available to them, and anytime they moved she was so busy trying to keep herself alive that she hadn't thought of the beauty the ocean was.

It reminded her of Matthias' eyes, and although that stung and burned, she found some comfort in it. Even though he was what he was, her brother still allowed her to escape. Some part of him was still Matthias Helvar, not the cold-blooded killer she despised. Cold-blooded killer, like you? She shivered at the thought.

She wondered how long she'd been standing out here again. Countless hours had already been spent standing here, in this exact spot. So much so that even Nikolai couldn't help but question her well-being every so often. He was constantly busy running the ship, but that never stopped him from coming to her every few hours.

Even now, he approached her with his brows furrowed and his usual swagger dimmed. The teal frock coat he wore billowed in the wind. She acknowledged him with a strained smile but continued to stare out at the water.

"Are you alright?" he asked, leaning against the railing with his forearms. She shrugged, unsure of how to answer. He sighed and moved his hand towards her own. His fingers were warm around hers, hidden from the rest of the crew by the folds of his coat. "When was the last time you ate?"

"Yesterday," she admitted, eyes fluttering closed as he squeezed her hand. "I'm not hungry. You don't have to worry." He shook his head.

"I'll always worry," he said. "You're standing here as if a ghost." It was meant as a joke, but Freya's throat tightened with unspoken admissions. I am a ghost, she'd thought emptily, I died in the hold of a drüskelle ship. She bit the inside of her cheek so she wouldn't utter the words aloud. Her fingers tightened around his.

"It was difficult. And there are still things I don't wish to talk about, but I will be alright." Nikolai's brows furrowed and a muscle in his jaw feathered, but he didn't say anything. "You don't need to worry." She resisted the urge to kiss his cheek or his knuckles, and he slowly unravelled their fingers before he retreated to his crew.

The silence stretched around her once again, only broken by the waves crashing against the ship hull beneath her and the faraway shouts of the sailors as they worked. The ocean glittered beneath her, broken only by her shadow stamped black on the blue-green of the surface. It reminded her distantly of the Ravkan royal jewels the tsaritsa wore during the last winter fete, and then she remembered everything else that happened that night and almost bent over the railing to vomit.

She recalled the deep ruby colour of Luca's blood, the viciousness of the bullet slicing through the air, the deafening sound of it. It felt like Luca's weight was pressed on her again, and the sun's heat beating down on her was a little too similar to his blood leaking all over her front. The only thing that was missing was the vile wetness of it.

He was alone now, probably still locked in that darkened room of his. Or maybe he'd finally been allowed to leave, in which case he was on the frontlines again, and Freya hated the mere thought of that. She didn't want him anywhere around that horrid place, just as much as she despised the reality that he may still be at the Little Palace. Luca needed to be let free, but she knew that would never happen as long as the war continued, and even if it did end, he would still be shackled to the Little Palace by his name and the legacy he bore on his shoulders.

Freya hoped he had someone to lean on. Someone who didn't flinch away from him no matter what, even if he ended up a little angry. Vanya would stay with him, of that Freya had no doubt, and she prayed that Zoya wouldn't abandon him. David would stay, surely, even if he was silent and he didn't understand.

"Freya." She flinched at the closeness of the heavily accented voice. A hand wrapped around her upper arm, and she almost flung the entire limb sideways. But she stopped herself before she did it, because she knew that voice, and she didn't have to be scared. She turned and looked at Henrik.

His forehead was laced with sweat, and his brows were furrowed, and she wondered if the scar on his forehead had healed or if it never really was as deep as she thought it was. She hummed in acknowledgement, raising a brow in question.

"Do you need help?" She stilled, unsure what to say as her voice caught in her throat. Henrik didn't give her time to collect her thoughts, instead scrambling them further. "That captain, if he's hurting you. If he's... forcing you, then I will help you." His voice was laced with a special kind of disgust after the pause.

Understanding dawned on her as roughly as a grenade explosion. Indignation flared within her, burning hot, but she quickly realised how her relationship with Nikolai – no, with Sturmhond, she reminded herself – had to appear to an outsider. She twisted her body away from the railing, facing him fully and curling her fingers to summon a sound barrier around them. No one would hear their conversation.

"He's not forcing me–"

"You cannot tell me you're the kind of woman to jump into bed with a complete stranger on the same night you met him!" he whispered through his teeth, leaning forward so only she could hear, unaware of the barrier created around them.  "You do not have to lie just because this is his ship. What he's doing is abhorrent."

The corner of Freya's lips turned upwards. "When did you learn such big words?" The humour fell away at his glare. "Henrik, I promise you he's not forcing me to do anything. We haven't even slept together." She almost cringed at the admission. She'd never spoken about her private life like that with anyone outside of Zoya, and Henrik was nothing like her friend. "I... know him. From before, I mean."

Henrik paused, turning to look towards Nikolai as he stood with some sailors, pulling at a rope to raise the sails as the wind picked up. His golden hair glistened when the sun hit it at a certain angle, and Freya could see the muscles of his arms rippling beneath his frock coat even from a distance. She was almost taken away by how gorgeous he was, but then she remembered what she and Henrik were speaking of, and such thoughts were vanquished from her head.

"Is that why he stays untailored?" Henrik asked, curling his nose. "I was beginning to question why he didn't return to his red hair. That is his persona, is it not?"

"Indeed," Freya answered, though she didn't know why Nikolai didn't ask the tall Shu Heartrender – Tolya if she recalled correctly – to return his appearance to that of the pirate instead of the prince. He's lucky his face isn't printed on the money, she thought, pushing a stray pale hair out of her face. "Though I suspect he'll embrace those red locks again soon enough." At least, she hoped he would, lest he be recognised by some stupidly lucky person. She swallowed thickly. "Thank you, for your concern. I know most would leave things be if they suspected such cruelty was happening."

It was true, and although she was rather shocked by the conversation, she knew Henrik meant only good by it. She watched as something strange, almost dangerous, flickered over his face. She sighed heavily.

"You know someone who it happened to, don't you?" She didn't mean to pry, only wanted confirmation, so she could understand him a little better. Henrik nodded, his fist clenching tight and then unfurling by his side three times before he spoke. A muscle looked painfully tight in his jaw.

"I have a friend, back in Ketterdam. She's Ravkan. Suli, actually. She was kidnapped by slavers when she was younger." He paused, staring off into the horizon as if he could spot whatever cursed ship had stolen away the girl he spoke of and strike it down. "She was sold into a brothel until another friend of mine bought her indenture. Now she works for him now, free of such a horrible trade, but I know she still carries that burden."

Freya's chest felt tight. "I am sorry that happened to her. It's not an unusual occurrence in Ravka, but the government doesn't give a shit about the Suli, and even if they did the military budget is too tight to spread border patrol further along the coastline than necessary." It was a cruel and undignified reality.

Henrik's mouth curled in disgust. "Ketterdam doesn't care for anyone who isn't wealthy. They claim to be against slavery, even outlawed it, but not a single girl in most of the city's brothels is there willingly. The Council looks at those indentures and calls it fair trade, those girls' work for money, but they never make any proper money. The only 'fairness' in that trade is for the slavers."

"We'll be in Ketterdam soon. Will you go and see her?" Freya asked, and Henrik's sour face turned into a broad grin.

"It's the first thing I'm going to do."

A/N

After this, there's only one more chapter before I start writing for Season 1. Because Shadow and Bone got cancelled, the storyline after season 1 will follow the books rather than the show, although some elements of it are still going to be incorporated.