Dark Devotions

Chapter 1

Shaedryn

"Mind those sails!" I call out, watching my crew scramble across the deck. The wind catches the dark canvas, and Mother's Whisper responds like a living thing beneath my feet. "Tighten the mainsheet, Renn. She's listing to port."

"Aye, Captain!" Renn's voice carries over the crash of waves.

Salt spray kisses my face as I grip the wheel, feeling the familiar pulse of the sea through the worn wood. The silver trim along the railings catches the morning light, making the carved oceanic creatures seem to dance. After three months at sea, the gentle rock of the deck feels more natural than solid ground.

"Weather's holding steady," says Tanul, my first mate, consulting his charts. "We could make Draelith by week's end."

"Change of plans. Set course for Vhoig."

He raises an eyebrow. "Thought you hated that cesspool."

"I do." I adjust our heading, watching the teal tattoos on my forearms shimmer with the movement. "But the crew needs shore leave, and we could use some supplies."

"And you?" 

I shoot him a look. "What about me?"

"You've been pacing the deck at night. Again." He folds his arms. "The crew's noticed."

"The crew should mind their own business."

"They do. You're their business." He taps the chart. "Something's eating at you, Shae. You haven't been yourself since we left Ilymar."

The wheel creaks under my tightening grip. She's right, of course. The restlessness has been building for weeks, an itch under my skin that even the open sea can't soothe. But I'm not ready to examine why.

"Set a course for Vhoig," I say instead. "Just long enough to resupply and let everyone stretch their legs."

He nods, knowing better than to push. "I'll inform the crew."

"Port side oars!" I call out, guiding Mother's Whisper through the crowded harbor. "Mind that merchant vessel to starboard. Steady now."

The dreams flash through my mind again – water and whispers, a voice I can't quite place. I shake my head, focusing on the task at hand.

"Draw in the sails, we'll take her in slow. Yuri, watch that bowline!"

My crew moves like a well-oiled machine, but I catch their sideways glances. They've noticed my distraction these past weeks, the way I pace the deck during the midnight watch. The way I sometimes stop mid-sentence, lost in thought.

"Fenders out!" The dock approaches, and my men scramble to position the wooden buffers. "Ready the mooring lines!"

The ship slides perfectly into her berth, and the usual bustle of docking begins. Crates scrape across the deck as the crew starts unloading our cargo. The familiar routine should be comforting, but that nagging sensation persists, like an itch just beneath my skin.

Tanul appears at my side, his presence steady as always. "Well, this is unexpected."

Music drifts across the water – strings and pipes playing a lively tune. The streets beyond the dock gleam with golden lanterns, and flower garlands drape between buildings. Laughter and chatter echo from the taverns, mixing with the sound of celebrations.

"Quite the welcome," he says. "City's more alive than usual."

I grunt in response, my mind still caught between reality and those haunting dreams. Pink and gold banners flutter in the evening breeze, and somewhere in the distance, someone's singing.

"Must be some festival," I mutter, not really caring which one. The dreams tug at my thoughts again – that voice, those words I can't quite remember when I wake.

"Shae?" Tanul's voice pulls me back to the present.

I blink, realizing I've been staring at nothing. The crew continues their work around us, the rhythm of their movements as familiar as my own heartbeat.

"Don't you know what time of year it is?" Tanul continues, brow furrowed.

I shake my head and mutter that I don't have the time to care.

I rub my temples, trying to chase away the remnants of another restless night. That voice – soft, melodic, urgent – slips through my fingers like water every time I wake. The dreams leave me more exhausted than when I went to bed.

"Those crates aren't going to move themselves," I call out to the crew lounging near the gangplank.

"But Captain," Arlin whines, casting longing glances at the festive streets beyond. "The festival's starting. All those lonely hearts looking for company..."

"Then you better work fast." I check the manifest. "Twenty cases of Ilymar red need to go. Make it happen, and your night's your own."

A collective groan rises from the crew. 

"Twenty?" Renn slumps against a barrel. "That's cruel, Captain. Even for you."

"Consider it motivation." I tuck the manifest into my coat. "Besides, festival means higher prices. Rich merchants getting sentimental over their wine."

"Speaking of sentimental..." Fennick waggles his eyebrows. "Bet there's plenty of fine folk who'd love to warm a captain's bed tonight."

"Move those crates, or you'll be warming the brig instead."

The crew scrambles to work, though I catch snippets of their grumbling. Let them complain – keeps them busy enough not to notice the dark circles under my eyes or the way my hands shake slightly from lack of sleep.

"I'll handle the manifest," Tanul says, appearing at my shoulder. "Go. Clear your head."

I nod, too tired to argue. The wooden planks of the dock creak under my boots as I make my way into the city, leaving Mother's Whisper and her busy crew behind. The festival's energy wraps around me – all gaudy decorations and lovesick fools throwing coins at flower vendors. Perfect cover for whatever's really going on in this cesspit of a city.