Chapter 133
The table falls silent as Cora raises a hand, her warm smile aimed at me. It’s the kind of smile I’d seen a thousand times on my childhood visits to her. It feels strange now, hollow and misplaced. I don’t return it.
Khale doesn’t even glance our way. He stares straight ahead, his expression hard, as if trying to will Wake and me into vanishing.
Wake and I sit, and I open my mouth to finally address the myriad questions swarming my mind. But Cora lifts a finger, stopping me with a soft, “In a moment, darling. First, we give thanks.”
I hesitate, feeling a strange hush ripple across the deck. Around the table, the crew bows their heads, and I catch glimpses of solemn expressions. The air thickens with expectation, as though even the wind knows something significant is about to happen. The soft clinking of utensils dies away, replaced by a stillness that feels almost sacred.
One by one, the people seated at the table speak. Each voice rings with conviction, reverence, and a touch of something I can’t quite place—hope, maybe? Devotion? The words themselves are simple but deeply personal.
A woman near the end of the table thanks Ægir, patron of the Anchor Clan, for guiding their ship through the ocean’s restless tides. As she speaks, the waves lapping against the ship’s hull seem to quiet, their rhythm slowing as if in acknowledgment.
Another man gives thanks to Tangaroa, the conqueror of the Eternal Sunrise, for the unrelenting strength of the sun’s rays that illuminate their path. The waning sunlight warms noticeably, casting a golden glow across the table that makes the food shimmer like a feast from myth.
One by one, names are spoken—Amphitrite, Olokun, Nu—and each is met with a subtle but undeniable reaction from the sea or sky. A gust of wind ruffles the tablecloth when Amphitrite is mentioned. The water near the hull shimmers with impossible clarity at the name of Olokun.
I sit still, hardly breathing as I intently observe. It’s a reverent ritual that I’m witnessing—grace before supper, fellowship and communion. It’s showboat-y and sacred, and I feel thoroughly out of place, as if I’m trespassing.
I glance at Wake, whose expression is unreadable but whose eyes flicker with recognition at each name. These are his gods. Our gods?
Finally, all eyes turn to Cora. She rests her hands on the table, her blue eyes glistening as she looks across the group. “Electra,” she begins, her voice warm and steady, “I thank you for merging my destiny with my granddaughter’s in this unexpected, miraculous way. I had not thought I would ever share this world with Phoebe, but thankfully, you and Dagon had other plans.”
At her words, a faint rumble echoes in the distance, like thunder growling just over the horizon. The wind picks up, carrying with it the scent of salt and ozone. My pulse quickens as I feel a tug, deep in my chest, that matches the weight of Cora’s words.
“And now,” Cora continues, raising her glass, “to forging new ground.”
The crew echoes the toast, their voices ringing out as they clink glasses. Plates are passed, utensils clatter, and the somber mood lifts, replaced by laughter and conversation. But I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve just witnessed something monumental, something I don’t fully understand but am undeniably a part of.
I glance at Wake, whose gaze lingers on Cora for a beat before shifting to me. His expression is softer now, almost thoughtful. He nudges my hand under the table. “You all right?” he asks quietly.
I nod, though my heart feels like it’s racing a marathon. “Yeah… I think so.”
But even as I pick at my plate and try to join the lighthearted chatter, my mind keeps returning to the rumble of distant thunder and the warmth of the setting sun. What exactly have I been pulled into?
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
