The Iron Below

The storm had followed us like a curse. The sky was a bruise of rolling clouds, thunder shuddering through the masts as rain lashed against the deck. Every board groaned beneath our weight, the ship alive, breathing with fury. I held Isabella by the arm as we crossed the corridor. Her steps were light but unwilling, her silence sharper than any scream. Water dripped from her hair, tracing the edge of her jaw like tears she refused to shed. She didn’t speak when I dragged her past the crew, though they watched, half curious, half fearful. They’d seen me like this before. They knew what rage looked like on their captain’s face, but even they seemed uncertain whom it was meant for now. We reached the lower deck. The lanterns swayed with the ship’s motion, their light slashing through the dark like flickering knives. The smell of tar, salt, and damp wood filled the air, heavy as a grave.

“Keep moving,” I said.
She stumbled on the last step, catching herself on the wall. “You’ve won, Captain,” she said, her voice quiet but steady. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

I said nothing.

“You have your ship, your crew, your vengeance. You still have nothing.”
The words hit harder than I’d like to admit. My grip tightened on her arm. “Careful what you say to me, Isabella.”
She looked over her shoulder, her eyes glinting in the lanternlight. “If you were capable of listening, maybe I would.”

The corridor narrowed ahead, closing us in like the throat of some vast beast. Every sound was amplified, the thrum of the hull, the steady patter of rain, our breaths mingling in the thick air. I reached the door to the brig and threw it open. The hinges screamed, echoing through the lower deck. The space inside smelled of iron and mildew. Chains hung from the wall.

I turned her to face me. “You remember this place, don’t you?”
Her chin lifted slightly. “I remember how it felt to leave it behind.”
“Then you should’ve stayed gone,” I growled.
“I tried,” she whispered. “You’re the one who came back.”

I grabbed the chains from the wall. The links clanked, echoing through the small chamber. She flinched, only once, when the cold metal brushed her wrist.

“You think you can scare me?” she said. “You already took everything from me.”

Without another word, I fastened the shackle around her wrist. The lock snapped shut, loud and final. The sound carried through the air like a verdict.

She didn’t resist. She didn’t beg. She only looked at me, her voice low and steady when she spoke. “Do you ever ask yourself what all this vengeance is for? What it’s supposed to fix?”
“I don’t need to fix anything,” I said, though the lie sat heavy on my tongue. “I just need to finish it.”
Her lips parted, a bitter laugh, soft and without joy. “You’ll never finish it. The sea doesn’t let men like you stop.”

The ship lurched as thunder cracked overhead, the lantern swinging wildly, light and shadow cutting across her face. I stepped back, breathing hard. She sat there against the wall, the chain glinting at her wrist, her shoulders straight despite the weight of it.

“You’ll stay here until I decide what’s to be done with you,” I said.
Her eyes narrowed. “My child?”
“Mauve will see to it,” I said, turning toward the door. “You’d best pray she doesn’t grow attached.”
At that, something flickered across her face, a tremor of fear, or fury, or both. She pulled at the chain, the links rattling in the silence. “Don’t touch her!”

Her voice cracked, and for the first time that night, it wasn’t calm. It wasn’t collected. It was human. I paused at the threshold, my hand on the door. I didn’t turn back, not at first. I let the storm fill the silence, rain hammering, waves roaring, the heart of the ship thrumming beneath our feet.

Finally, I looked over my shoulder. “You should’ve thought of that before you betrayed me, Isabella.”
“You don’t even know what betrayal is,” she said, her tone almost a whisper now. “You call it loyalty when it serves you and vengeance when it doesn’t.”
“Careful,” I warned.

Lightning flashed again, illuminating her face in white. The defiance there hadn’t dimmed, if anything, it burned brighter in the dark. That was when I turned and left her.
The door closed behind me with a deep, echoing thud. I slid the bolt in place, the iron groaning as it locked. For a long moment, I just stood there, my hand pressed against the wood, feeling the faint vibration of the storm outside and her silence within.The boards creaked, the rigging moaned, and somewhere above, the waves broke against the hull with the sound of fury itself. By the time I reached the main deck, the storm had eased to a steady rain. Mauve stood at the helm, her eyes flicking toward me but saying nothing. She didn’t ask about Isabella. She didn’t have to.

“She’s below,” I said. “Bring the child to your quarters. I’ll decide what’s to be done with it later.”
Mauve hesitated. “Aye, Captain.”

Her tone was even, but I saw the flicker of doubt. The crew would whisper. They’d wonder what kind of man locked a woman in chains and left her in the dark. Let them wonder. I’d been called worse things than monster. I turned my eyes toward the horizon. The storm clouds were breaking apart, moonlight threading through the mist. The sea stretched endless and black, and for the first time since I’d set foot back on the Black Serpent, I realized how quiet it had become. The kind of quiet that comes before something breaks. Below deck, the sound of the chain echoed faintly through the hull, metal against wood, slow and rhythmic, like a heartbeat. It didn’t matter. Tomorrow, we’d set course again.