The boat cut through the water like it knew the way. No sail should've caught wind that soft, but Nerith stood at the prow, and the ocean seemed to lean for her.
Lira huddled near the bow, shawl dripping, Seri curled in her lap. The little creature's skin flickered with pulses of soft blue light, each one beating in time with her breath. She kept her fingers on its rounded head, needing to feel it, needing to know it was real.
Behind her, Nana squeezed water from her braid. "Storm's wrong tonight," she muttered. "Sky's too clear."
"Not a storm," Nerith said without turning. "A hunt."
Lira peeked at her. The woman was tall, shoulders wrapped in kelp-colored cloth, hair twisted with thin shells that clinked softly when she moved. Her eyes were pale, the kind of pale that could be mistaken for gray or green or something stranger, depending on the light.
"You're from the Pearl Courts," Lira said before she could stop herself.
Nerith glanced back, amused. "Sharp child."
"I'm not a child."
That earned a real smile. "Then you'll appreciate honesty. They will not stop looking for you."
Lira's fingers tightened on Seri. "Why?"
Nerith's gaze lingered on the octopus in her lap. "Because you are proof."
Lira frowned. "Of what?"
"That the ocean still chooses."
A shadow passed under them—fast, heavy. The boat shuddered. Nerith raised a hand, and a wall of water rose along their right side, shielding them from the harpoons flying from a dark boat behind.
The harpoons hit and clattered down, harmless. Nerith lowered her hand. The wave collapsed back into the sea with a soft sigh.
"Stay low," one of Nerith's guards said. His voice was quiet but sharp, his coat a deeper green, marked with stitched pearl circles. He smelled faintly of brine and metal.
Lira ducked down. Her heart thudded against Seri's soft weight.
"Who are they?" Nana asked, voice rough with salt and fear.
"Collectors," Nerith said. "They sell marked children to kings who fear the gods."
"Or worship them," the guard added.
Nerith's jaw tightened. "That too."
Lira swallowed. "And you?"
"I," Nerith said softly, "am not for sale."
The mangroves thinned. Open water spread ahead, black and endless. The stars looked close enough to touch, and the moon still hadn't moved.
Lira couldn't stop staring at Nerith. She moved like water—calm, steady, but carrying weight that could crush if she chose.
Seri's tiny arms flexed around her wrist. A warmth bloomed against her skin, subtle but sure. She felt calmer with every pulse of its glow.
"What is Seri?" Lira whispered.
"A Soul Companion," Nerith said. "A rare one."
"They're all rare," the guard murmured. "Haven't seen a bond in years."
"Bond?"
Nerith crouched so they were eye level. "Some say they're pieces of the ocean's soul. Others say they're the truest reflection of your own. Either way, it chose you."
Lira touched Seri's soft head. "Why me?"
"Maybe because you asked," Nerith said, and her smile was sad.
Another boat closed in on their left. The calm man stood at its bow now, coat dripping, bone trim gleaming faintly. His smile was still too calm for a man hunting a child.
"Lady Nerith," he called. "You know we can't let her leave this bay."
Nerith didn't answer.
"Do you know what happens to islands that defy the sea's will?"
"You're mistaken," she said. "I am its will."
She raised both hands. The water surged—not as a wall, but a spiral, a column that twisted high, catching moonlight like glass. The calm man's boat spun away, oars snapping. Lira gasped, clutching Seri tighter as the spiral collapsed with a crash that sent waves racing.
Nerith lowered her hands, breathing slow and even, but a tremor ran through her fingers as if every command to the sea cost her.
"We'll have company all the way to the Courts," the guard muttered.
"I know," she said. "But she'll be safe there. Safer than here."
Lira looked back. The island was already shrinking, but she could still see the flicker of flames against the stilts and the bell ringing over and over.
She buried her face against Seri's glow and whispered, "I'm sorry."
The octopus's skin pulsed once in answer, soft as a heartbeat.