Chapter 43: Dark as the Seafloor

In the following weeks, Maritza wasn’t the same. The blank, absent expression never left her face, and along with looking pale, she had lost fifteen pounds. Ronan had tried talking to her but it was to no avail, and he’d given her plenty of space to process her near-death experience, though he couldn’t hide his concern any longer.

Maritza was in her usual spot in their bedroom, sitting in front of the vanity mirror shaped like an opened seashell, staring at her own white face. The plate of grilled fish and green beans that Ronan had left beside her for dinner the previous night was still right where he had set it down, untouched, and beginning to stink from remaining out all night. Ronan’s nose scrunched and he removed the plate, set it aside, and tripped on an empty rum bottle at the feet of Maritza’s chair.

He never saw her eat, and the only movements he ever did witness were when she poured a stiff drink and occasionally sipped at it. Ronan’s heart sank, and he couldn’t remember the last time they’d even spoken. Had it been five days, or an entire week at this point?

The last thing she had told him, right before she began to lock herself in their bedroom, were the words, “I died, Ronan. I died and I saw something horrible.”

But she never expanded upon it.

Ronan knelt down, removed the empty bottle his foot had kicked along with the other finished bottles of alcohol from beneath Martiza’s feet, looked at her, and said, “Martiza, please talk to me and tell me what you saw.”

Maritza was silent, still, and acted as if Ronan were not even there.

The sight chilled him, and he said, “You’ve been in here for so many days now, the Seahorses are worried about you. What happened is nothing to be ashamed of. We’re all happy you’re alive, and I’ll stand by you, training with you, to help you overcome whatever is going on.”

Maritza’s eyes blinked as though she were in great pain, and although she said nothing in response, it was enough for Ronan to know that the woman he adored was still somewhere inside, but suffering deeply. He wanted to remain sympathetic, but it was beginning to get difficult to speak to himself.

And if he thought about her deep state of depression for long, it brought him down, disrupted his training, and clouded his own judgement. He sighed gently, feeling defeated and heartbroken that she was in such a warped state of pain, and he made for the door to their room.

He perched his hand on the door frame, took a final glance over his shoulder and said, “It’s Clove’s Merchant exam today. She said she really wanted to see if you, if you’re up for it. Everybody really wants to see you.”

Ronan was choking on his final words, yet he managed to add, “Especially me.”

With that, he took his leave, trying to compose himself as he walked down the creaking, wooden stairs of the temple and through the corridors that resembled a ship’s promenade deck. Despite the heartbreak, he needed to be his best self for Ike, who was pacing madly outside, twiddling his thumbs near the edge of his long, brown beard.

Ronan set a hand on Ike’s shoulder and told him, “Goodness, what do they have you hauling in those barrels? Bricks? Look at the size of your arms!”

Ike was nearly bursting out of his beige buccaneer shirt.

Ike paced some more and replied, “Do you think Clove will pass? Of course she’ll pass, she’s Clove! But I’m so worried. And thank you! I’ve just been trying to keep up with Illia’s training. She says I’ve got a natural talent for the Seahorse magic.”

Ronan’s eyebrows spiked and he smiled as he said, “I’ll say! You’re almost a Rank 6. They’ll consider you for Master soon enough!”

Ike shook his head and twirled his beard around a finger. “Oh no, I can’t even think of such a thing. I need my girl to pass this exam before I even consider another thought of any kind.”

Ronan laughed, and the two walked towards the noise of people gathering in the common grounds, near the benches and firepit adapted from an old shipwreck.

“Hey,” Ike said, coming to a halt. “How’s Maritza? Is she alright? We’ve all been through so much together, and I want her to be okay.”

“She’s still silent,” Ronan said dismissively and with a tiny nod and fake smile. Ike could tell that Ronan was feigning hope.

Ike looked Ronan in the eyes and said, with real determination, “She’s strong. She’ll pull through.”

Before Ronan could thank him, they were drawn into the crowd of noise around the blazing firepit.

There, Clove was, setting up a red and gold stitched blanket spread out with various seafaring trinkets on it, from compasses to tasty spices to pocket spyglasses. Although she stood an entire head if not two smaller than the other Seahorses around her, she commanded the attention of the area. Her long-sleeved white bodice was tucked into a pair of tight black pants held together by clasped metal rings on the sides of her legs, and around her waist was a light blue sash that reminded Ronan of how beautiful he thought water to be before Maritza had drowned.

Ike’s heart stopped in his chest, and he mumbled, “She looks exquisite.”

Clove’s long black hair was braided in four parts in the front by golden bands, and her large ponytail draped over her shoulder. Her fingers were adorned in all sorts of valuable rings she’d collected from her travels, and around her neck were two slim gold chains and a silver locket. She caught Ike and Ronan’s eye, then gave both a quick wink before standing beside Illia.

“I repeat,” Ike murmured, this time a little louder, “she’s exquisite.”

Ronan plastered as genuine a smile on his face as he could and said, “She looks happy.”

“Nightblades!” Illia said, addressing the crowd. They all took their seats around the fire, and Ronan and Ike rushed to join them.

“In our fight against the Hellsworn,” Illia continued, “it’s essential that we maintain a strong infrastructure both inside and outside our temple.”

Illia waved to Clove and said, “There is no unit of our ranks more important outside these walls than the Merchants, who trade and travel, bringing back with them knowledge of what is happening all over the world, and who is using what and when. Clove here may have been a Butterfly, but she has proven that she is more than capable of joining the Seahorses. What is now to be determined is if Clove is ready to become a Seahorse MERCHANT!”

At Illia’s words, the Seahorses stomped their feet and clapped their hands.

“Your test begins now,” Illia said to Clove. Illia gestured to Scindo, who jumped to his feet and over to the blanket of fancy wares.

Illia smirked deviously, then said, “In order to be an excellent merchant, you’ve got to be able to sell seawater to a sailor.”

She handed Clove a tiny, closed glass jar of water, and said, “Sell Scindo this water to pass your test.”

Suddenly, Clove got nervous.

“Oh, sure,” she muttered. “I can do that.”

Clove thought of how she might conjure an idea to pass this test. Selling regular water to a man who endlessly sailed the seas they’ve grown up around? It was no easy task. But she had been studying the art of making sales for months, and wasn’t about to quit on the exam now.

Clove looked out to the crowd, hoping she might get some inspiration from her friends. She saw Ike and Ronan root for her, and Clove smiled brightly as they were joined by another.

A gentle hand touched Ronan’s back, and Maritza asked him, “Is this seat taken?”

She was walking weakly and Ronan had to help her sit down.

“Actually,” Ronan told Maritza, “It’s got your name on it.”

The two smiled at each other lovingly, and Ronan watched as the Maritza squinted at the sun’s rays that she hadn’t felt in weeks. He kissed her on the cheek and wrapped his arm around her.

Maritza cupped her hands together, and with all her energy shouted, “You can do this, Clove!”

Clove nodded with a wide grin, looked at Scindo, held out the jar of water and asked him, “So, Mr. Scindo, when was the last time you drank a nice glass of water?”