The hammock swung, gently swaying with the rocking waves. Vel found it to be a nice feeling, almost rocked like a baby.

  She stared at her blue pendant, holding it in her hands, not that there was much to look at when it was so dark under the main deck. Yet, with what little lamplight there was, it still glinted every once in a while.

  A real mother would have rocked me, she thought. Would have loved me, maybe even sang to me, or tell bedtime stories. Well, at least bedtime stories that didn’t end in some glorified sacrifice. She sighed, recollecting the odd stories Edard told her, making her last months bearable. Or rather, any of the months of her life━she had a boring life up until he entered it. Of course, rescuing him was proving to be less so, but significantly more stressful.

  Vel clasped the necklace around her neck again, then tucked it under her dress for safekeeping. She turned her head, looking at Amalia’s hammock. The other woman was unmoving, eyes closed, and face shrouded in yellow locks. How easy it seemed for her to sleep, whereas Vel? She’d had too many bad dreams lately for comfort.

  With a sigh, she pushed herself up, nearly tumbling out of her hammock as she dropped to the plank floor. Hammocks. They were new to her, and yet, she found them to be comfortable, particularly out on the rocking waves. Just a little too damn hard to get in and out of, which was exactly why she smiled.

  Oh the tales I'll have for Edard, she dreamed, making her way up the steps to the main deck. Aden sat on a barrel near the stern, back against the wall as he slept, and Sigurd maintained a post at the front of the forecastle.

  The hunter looked back at Vel as she climbed the steep steps up to him. “Can't sleep?” he asked.

  A heavy sigh escaped Velmira as she neared, wrapping her arms around herself to protect from the cold. She opened her mouth, looking at Sigurd’s stoic gaze, then clamped it and shook her head. Instead, she looked out over the moonlit sea, sparkling beneath the stars.

  “You’ve been . . .” Sigurd trailed, glancing away, “stressed.”

  Vel scoffed playfully. “Whatever gave you that idea?” she asked, rolling her eyes.

  “A hunch,” Sigurd said, and with a more serious expression, he turned, facing her. “Velmira, your dreams have━”

  “We talk about me all the time,” Vel interrupted, Sigurd frowning. She sighed, shaking her head, “I just want a break. From me, I guess, from this destiny thing, or whatever it is.”

  “From being the [sacrifice], or the [dark avenger]?” Sigurd asked.

  “Both, I suppose, but primarily the first.”

  Sigurd pursed his lips, nodding. He placed his elbows on the railing, leaning forward and clasping his hands together. Vel looked where he did, out at the expanse of endless waters.

  “Can we talk about you?” she asked.

  The hunter sighed, hanging his head a bit, contemplation coloring his face. After a long moment, he looked at Vel. “What do you want to know?” he asked.

  Vel hummed for a moment, considering a list of questions, all of them sensitive. Sigurd, far as she knew him, was rather closed off, but . . . Well, he'd been weaving his way into her life in a place where she would have expected her family to be if she had one.

  “Your wife, um,” she started, hesitant, “How did you handle the loss?”

  Sigurd raised his brow. He turned from the water, running a hand through his head. “There's a priest out there buried six feet under,” he said, and scratched at his chin. “I didn't handle it well, Vel. I got angry and depressed, but mostly angry. I never found the man that gave the order to have her killed, just the one that held the knife.”

  “Is that why you worked for the church?”

  “Yeah. Hoped I could have gotten close enough, but I had my moment.”

  “You did?” Vel asked, furrowing her brow. “As if you could have figured it out?”

  “Yeah. But I gave a man mercy that another didn't give my wife, then ran away with his lover.”

  “You took his lover? How is that any better!”

  Sigurd deadpanned, Vel furrowing her brow.

  “Oh. Oh,” she nervously laughed. “Me. I suppose I'm a bit tired.”

  “A bit?”

  “Yeah,” Vel nodded, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “So if you hadn't let Edard go, you'd have found the man who ordered your wife dead?”

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  “Yes . . .” Sigurd said, then shook his head. “No,” he finished. “I was a fool, Vel. I'd fooled myself into thinking that after working so much to tie up their loose ends that they'd let me into some sort of inner circle.

  “Graysie has passed on, and her direct killer is dead, no help from Retribution. It's been years.”

  “How did she die?” Vel asked.

  Sigurd opened his mouth slightly, only to stare for what felt like eternity. Briefly, his eyes grew glossy, and he looked away, back over the glistening sea. As his composure crumbled, so did Vel’s heart, his shoulders stooping so low that she was afraid they’d collapse to the floor entirely.

  Would this be me? she thought, looking over his form as he turned further away. Would this be me if I lost Edard? Tearing her eyes from Sigurd, Velmira looked out over the sparkling water. What was a beautiful display only moments ago was now solemn. Vast, yet so empty; somber. If he’s gone . . . She trembled to think of it, to even consider Edard was dead, though she’d been considering that throughout this journey, sometimes even expecting it. Edard was supposed to be dead, but Sigurd displayed a mercy his wife’s killer hadn’t.

  “I don’t want to be you,” Vel whispered, though she hadn’t meant to, yet she couldn’t bear holding in the heartache.

  Sigurd sighed, shifting in the corner of Vel’s vision, her eyes still glued to an empty horizon. “I don’t want you to be either,” he said.

  Velmira nodded, a hand gripping the railing as she bit back tears. “He’s my everything,” she said, voice wavering. She reached a hand up, pulling her pendant free and looking down at it. Could this be all she might have left of him at the end?

  “Graysie was mine too,” Sigurd said. He straightened out, Vel turning to look at his glossy eyes, the tears on his face piercing her heart. “It’s rare for a priestess to be married,” he started, glancing off towards the distance, “and even more rare for her to be pregnant. You’ll never meet a pregnant priestess.”

  Furrowing her brow, Vel reached out, placing her hand on Sigurd’s arm. “You lost a . . . ?” she choked.

  “The man who killed her cut the baby out of her,” Sigurd said. He shook his head, looking away, the faintest smile coming to his face as if he were remembering something. He turned, looking at Vel, a light in his eyes that wasn’t there before. “It was a girl,” he said. “We were having a little girl.”

  Sigurd. A dad. Well, he’d mentioned something like it before, Vel recalling how he’d been proud of her if she was his daughter━proud of her for protecting herself. Proud for killing evil men to protect herself. He’d . . .

  I have a family, Vel realized, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders. It wasn’t her against the gods. No, it was her and her family against them. Sure, the man didn’t look old enough to be her father, but he’d treated her like he would have his own daughter━pushed her to improve, and to take care of herself. For avenging sake, he pushed her to be her own person! Not a [sacrifice], not even a [dark avenger]! Just a girl! One that mattered for more than preordained destinies!

  Velmira lurched forward, wrapping her arms around Sigurd. She buried her face into his chest, if only to hide the tears that escaped her eyes, but she couldn’t hide the shutter her form made as she allowed herself, willingly, to crumble; she allowed herself to be weak. Or rather, she wasn’t bothered to appear so weak before the normally stoic hunter, who even freed himself from his usually stiff demeanor to hold her.

  “Thank you,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

  “For what?” Sigurd asked.

  “Being my family,” Velmira said, holding him just a little tighter. “I could never replace what you’ve lost, and I wish you hadn’t lost them, but I’m glad to have met you.”

  She heard a sniffle. “Damnit, Velmira,” Sigurd said, his chest heaving as he huffed. Shifting, she looked up at him, his tears unending, but the way he looked at her with that smile made her laugh. “If Amalia ever sees this . . .”

  Raising an eyebrow, Vel asked, “You’re not equally as concerned about Aden?”

  Sigurd huffed, then nodded his head towards the aftcastle of the ship, Aden very much awake now. Vel blinked, stepping away from Sigurd. Damnit is right! she thought, not sure how she felt about Sandy seeing all of that. At least he didn’t hear them, right?

  “Amalia will have thought I’ve gone soft.”

  “You are soft,” Vel said, wiping at her tears. “You just don’t trust anyone, I think.”

  “Much easier to trust a sheltered, naive girl than it is someone who has been out in the world,” Sigurd said, running a hand down his face.

  “Naive!” Vel shot him a look, crossing her arms. “I’m not totally naive!”

  “Uh huh,” Sigurd nodded, his raised eyebrow disbelieving.

  “I’ll punch you again.”

  “That hurt you more than me,” he said, leaning on the railing. “You should get more sleep.”

  “So now you tell me when to go to bed?”

  “Someone has to,” Sigurd said.

  Velmira rolled her eyes. She was tired, especially after all the emotions she’d relieved, and . . . “Sigurd,” she said, looking up at him. “It’s okay to kill if it’s for the right reasons, right?”

  The hunter nodded, his expression growing more serious. “You need to be able to protect yourself and the people you love, Vel. Sometimes that means killing.”

  “And if it was for vengeance?” she asked, considering who Sigurd had killed. His wife and child were dead, so was he protecting himself, or . . . ?

  Sigurd sighed. “I see what you’re getting at,” he said, crossing his arms and looking towards the ship’s sail. “I did kill for vengeance. I was my own authority, and I took justice out on someone all on my own, but I would do it again.”

  “When is it murder?” Vel asked, furrowing her brow.

  “I suppose when it’s no longer for self preservation and justice,” Sigurd answered. “I’d rather kill killers than let them go, Vel. That’s something you’ll have to decide for yourself. What constitutes how justice should be dealt?”

  Vel sighed. “I used to think the Pantheon of Retribution did, but . . .” She shook her head, glancing away. “Am I supposed to avenge every life the gods took?”

  “I don’t know, but Vel,” Sigurd looked straight at her, “we can’t let them do what they’ve been doing. Remember that you can kill to defend yourself, don’t ever forget that.”

  “Yes,” Vel said, sighing out the tenseness in her shoulders. “We’re going to save Edard, then I’m going to kill the gods. Never will they kill me or my family’s families again. Nor will they have such a vile grip on this world.” She steeled her gaze, turned, then looked out over the horizon, tiny black specks forming over it. Land. They were close, much closer than she’d thought.

  “Not alone, you won’t,” Sigurd said, and Vel looked at him, a smile coming to her face. She looked back at the landmasses barely visible.

  “This is our world━for the people, not for the gods. Not for corruption; for us.” That . . . Yes. That was what she wanted. A place free from the oppression of the gods, a place she, Edard, and everyone she’d come to love could peacefully live out the rest of their lives.

  I’m going to avenge the world.