Echoes Through the Walls

**Isabella**

I couldn’t move as Blackthorn forced me down onto the bed. The candlelight trembled, throwing jagged shadows across the walls, turning the room into a prison of flickering gold. I knew what was coming, the routine cruelty of a man who believed power was measured in how much he could take. His grip was iron, his breath hot and steady against my neck. I turned my face away, swallowing the cry that built in my throat. Every muscle in me went rigid. I tried to imagine anywhere else, the sea, the wind, James’s voice, but his presence dragged me back into the cold reality I could not escape.

The moments blurred, lost to the sound of my heartbeat and the weight of him pressing down. I hated how my body betrayed me, how it remembered what my mind refused to accept. Every breath felt like a punishment for surviving. When it was finally over, the room fell still except for the faint crackle of the dying candle. Dawn was beginning to creep through the curtains, soft and pale, too gentle for the ugliness it revealed. My body ached. My hands trembled as I drew the blanket around myself, desperate to hide the shaking he’d caused. He stood above me, his silhouette outlined in the faint light, a dark figure that had once been my captor and was now my husband by name alone. His voice came low, cold, almost amused.

“Still think silence will save you?”

I lifted my gaze to meet his, my cheek raw from where his fingers had gripped too hard.

“Do you think forcing your will on me makes you more of a man?”

His jaw tensed. For a heartbeat, the only sound was the steady drip of rain from the eaves outside. Then his hand struck my face, the crack echoing through the stillness.
Pain flared, sharp and bright. I refused to cry. I had given him enough already. He leaned close, his tone no louder than a whisper, but every word cut like glass.

“It makes me your man. Whether you like it or not.”

I tasted blood where my teeth caught my lip, but I didn’t look away. The defiance was small, perhaps even foolish, yet it was all I had left. When he finally turned away, I lay still, clutching the blanket like armor. My cheek burned, my heart thundered, and I stared at the faint line of light crawling across the floorboards, the promise of morning that never seemed to come soon enough. The first thing I heard was my daughter’s cry. It cut through the walls of the inn like a blade, thin and sharp, carrying the tremor of fear that only a mother could recognize. My breath caught before I could stop it.

For a moment, I didn’t move. I lay still in the bed, staring at the ceiling’s cracked beams, feeling the chill that clung to the morning air. Then the sound came again, louder this time, more desperate. My child’s small voice rising against the noise of a waking harbor. I sat up quickly, wincing at the stiffness that seized my body. Every muscle ached from the night before. The room still smelled faintly of smoke, salt, and the ghost of him. I reached for my dress on the chair and froze as the door creaked open.
Blackthorn stood there, his broad shoulders filling the frame, eyes dark and sleepless. He didn’t bother to knock. He never did. Mara cried again. He exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple with a rough hand as if the sound itself were a personal offense.

“I should never have let the child live,” he muttered.

His voice was quiet, but it carried enough venom to still the air in the room. The words struck harder than any blow. My stomach twisted. My hands trembled in my lap.

“Don’t,” I whispered before I could think better of it. “Please...”

He turned to me then, and the look in his eyes made the rest of my plea die in my throat. There was no pity there. Only the same cold calculation that had ruled him since the moment we met.

“She’s a reminder of your treachery,” he said. “A reminder of him. Every time I hear her cry, I remember what you took from me.”
“You lost nothing,” I said, though my voice was barely audible. “You bought me like you would a ship, or a bottle of rum. You never loved me. You never even tried.”

His gaze hardened.

“Love?” He let out a short, humorless laugh.

“Love doesn’t keep a crew loyal, Isabella. It doesn’t win battles. It sure as hell doesn’t bring back what was stolen from me.”
“She’s a child,” I said softly. “My child. She’s innocent.”

He stepped closer, his boots heavy on the worn floorboards. The scent of the sea and smoke clung to him, an aura of iron and salt that filled the room.

“Then pray she stays that way,” he said, voice dropping low. “If she grows to be anything like you, I’ll see to it she never lives long enough to betray anyone else.”

The silence that followed was unbearable. I felt the tears threaten to come, but I forced them back. I would not give him the satisfaction. He glanced toward the basin of water near the window, then back at me.

“Clean yourself up,” he ordered. “We sail by noon. You will not step outside this room until I say otherwise.”

I stayed still, not trusting myself to speak.

“Do you understand me, Isabella?”
“Yes,” I whispered.

He lingered there a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before turning toward the door. His hand rested briefly on the hilt of his sword, not in threat, but as a reminder of what he carried, of what he was capable of. Then he left, closing the door with a heavy thud that seemed to echo long after he was gone. I sat there, staring at the faint line of sunlight creeping across the floorboards. My daughter’s cries had quieted, replaced by the low murmur of voices beyond the wall. Mauve’s voice, perhaps, soothing her. The thought brought little comfort. Mauve might have once been kind, but under Blackthorn’s command, kindness had no place.

I rose unsteadily and went to the small mirror above the washbasin. My reflection startled me, pale skin, a bruise blooming faintly along my jaw, eyes rimmed in red. I looked like a ghost. I dipped the cloth into the cool water and pressed it to my face. The chill burned, waking the nerves beneath my skin. Each movement felt like a ritual, washing away what could not truly be erased. Outside, I could hear the harbor stirring. Men shouting orders, ropes tightening, waves slapping against the hulls of ships. The sound used to comfort me once, back when the sea meant freedom. Now it only sounded like a cage.

I thought of Mara again, my sweet, innocent girl. I pictured her tiny hands, the way she gripped my finger as though afraid to let go. She was all that remained of James, all that kept my heart from breaking completely. Now she was at the mercy of the man who had once chained me, who had turned my life into something between a nightmare and a memory. I pressed my palm to the wooden wall separating us. For a moment, I imagined I could feel her warmth through the boards, faint, fleeting, but there.

“I’ll keep you safe,” I whispered. “Somehow, I’ll keep you safe.”

The door rattled once, reminding me I wasn’t alone. Blackthorn’s shadow loomed on the other side for a heartbeat before fading again. I sank to the edge of the bed, gripping the fabric of my dress so tightly my knuckles whitened. My heart still beat to the rhythm of the waves outside, steady and cruel. He thought he had won.
He thought he had taken everything. As I listened to my daughter’s soft cries fade into a tired whimper, I made myself a quiet promise, one I didn’t dare speak aloud.
I would find a way to end this. For her. Even if it meant I had to burn with him.