Prologue - 362 Years Ago

Deep below deck, in the overwarm belly of an impressive ship, the musty smell of brine and damp wood are impossible to escape. The humidty is a palpable thing, thick enough to tease my skin as I try restlessly to find solace in an afternoon slumber. Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to escape the heat by imagining the narrow roads of Rotterdam paved with uneven cobblestones. A cooler salt breeze winding gently through gabled houses that lean into each other, whispering secrets. Freshly baked rye bread and colorful tulips stretching out of clay pots. 

The tender, aching warmth of home. 

But the more I try to fist the fabric of those memories close to my chest, the worse the slithering grip of anguish tightens its hold on my heart for all the things we’ve lost. 

The force of the sea groans against the ship’s hull, barely covering the sounds of the families just outside our stateroom, huddled together amongst the barrels and cargo and feverishly whispering prayers in dozens of tongues. My family is considerably lucky to have afforded our room, thanks in great part to my mother and me who spent all winter long sewing blankets to sell at the weekend markets in New Amsterdam after Father lost his entire herd to disease. My fingertips still ache from the effort. 

Sitting up in the thin cot, I find both my parents sound asleep in the double bed against the wall on the other side of the small room. My brothers take up the floor, having to fold their long limbs in on themselves to fit in such a tight space. They, too, seem to have found the dark place our minds go in slumber. 

Traitorously, my gaze slips to door. 

While our accomodations certainly leave much to be desired, it was a blessing that the only rooms available at the time of our booking held no windows. Without even a sliver of access to the outside world, we don’t have to fear the burning threat of the sun. 

Well, they don’t. 

The sun doesn’t offend me like it does them. Still, without understanding why I would be different in such a way, Father insists I fear it anyway and has forbidden me from it. But I miss its eager caress on my face, the way my skin glows with warmth after spending too long in its light. I miss the rush of breath that catches in my lungs under a particularly beautiful sunset when the world looks like a painting, meant to be admired. 

Without a window or any sort of time piece it’s hard to know the hour, but based on the heat creeping down into the lower decks, my guess is that it must still be midday. It’s been nearly a week since my family has slept, so I might have ample time for a small, teensy excursion. Swinging my legs over the side of the cot, I carefully, quietly, press my toes into the open spaces of floor not covered by my brothers’ unconscious bodies and ease up to a stand, considering the risks. 

If anyone in my family wakes to find me missing, they will undoubtedly clench their fists into my hair and drag me back to this room to chain me to my lumpy cot for the remaining month we have at sea—I’m not sure even Billy would protect me. Henry would take great pleasure in seeing me suffer for my recklessness. But the temptation is just too strong—I wasn’t made to be kept in the dark. 

Not like they are. 

I make quick work of tiptoeing toward the narrow wooden door, gently pushing it open and softly clicking it shut behind me. The smell in the passageway is even worse than in the room. The ripe tang of fear floods through my senses, wafting from the sicky and hungry bodies gathered throughout the cargo. I almost gag from the force of it.

The staircase leading up to the main deck is slick and steep enough that I have to lift my skirts to watch my footing, and by the time I make it to the top landing the rotted muscles in my legs cramp. But soon the warmth of the sun hanging overhead presses into my cheek, and I pull in a long breath of fresh ocean air, and it’s worth it. My eyes water as I blink against the bright light reflecting off the water. Long shadows of of the mast cast out along the surface of the rippling ocean, and I move to the starboard side to look over the railing at the deep blue green, at the sea that seems to go on forever. It makes me feel small, insignificant. Human. 

I close my eyes and smile. 

It’s not long before the metallic scent of blood begins to overcome that of the seawater. I open my eyes to look around, finding over two dozen people nearby—some of of them exploring the main deck, some of them sailors hard at work, all of them flushed and thrumming with the sweet nectar of their mortality. 

I spot a young man carrying a thick bundle of rope across the long planks of the deck, his golden hair glinting. He’s got the tall and broad-shouldered frame of a man, but still holds traces of his boyhood in his rounded cheekbones and rosy lips. I’d guess him to be a year or two younger than me, if I were still alive and aging. Twenty-three, perhaps? Or twenty-four? 

He walks with purpose, his long strides confident and assured as he calls out a handful of commands to the other men who work around the masts and sails. A sailor, then—and one with some rank. His tanned skin is flushed with exertion, as golden as the curls that sweep along his strong brow, and it suits him well. He’s handsome in a way that lingers, burrowing deep in the hollow of my belly and setting roots. Other passengers mill about, but my gaze remains steadfast.

I sit and watch him for long minutes, the melencholy of my life swirling around me in cruel punishment. I’d left our stateroom seeking some relief, hoping to catch a deep breath of fresh air and put some distance between me and the reality of my life, but . . . 

My heart churns like the wild surface of the sea, brimming with the loss of a life I still yearn for. I’d hoped that, with time, the ache of it all would ease. But every day I live in this foreign body is another day I spend hating what I’ve become, hating the life I want so badly but can never now have. 

When I was a young girl, I used to dream of a prince who might come to take me away. Who might slay dragons and pierce the hearts of my enemies so that he could get to me, and then we’d kiss in the moonlight and he’d make me his bride. I dreamt of children with little hands and flushed cheeks who looked one-half him and one-half me. Of slow, winter mornings and vibrant, sunny summers. All the things I will never have. Everything ripped from me. 

Perhaps I could pretend, keep the fantasy alive. If only for a day. 

The young man approaches the railing to look down at the sea, and I take my chance. Lurching myself forward toward the same edge, I grip the gold-plated railing tight in my fingers and lean over to look at the ripples of water that catch the light. I’m a good ten or fifteen feet from him, but I can sense I’ve earned his attention. 

“Be careful, miss.” His accent is melodic, his voice a blooming rumble beneath my skin. I feel every sturdy beat of his heart in the air between us, can smell how alive he is. How fragile and yet . . . daring and eager in the way young men are, ready to prove themselves against a wicked world. 

I turn to look at him. Tracing the slope of his curious lip, I ask, “What’s your name?” 

Aquamarine eyes study me, brighter than the blue green ocean surrounding us. “Thomas,” he says. “And yours?” 

“Clara.” I smile. 

His throat flutters with his pulse, and I imagine what he might taste like. What it might feel like to pull long, languid sips from him. “Pleasure to know you, Clara. Have you been on a ship before?” 

I shake my head. “Never.” 

The corner of his mouth lifts in a lopsided grin that steals the air around me. “Might I suggest keeping distance from the railings? I’d hate to see you go overboard.” 

“Sounds like an adventure, actually.” 

His grin grows. “Maybe for the seconds it would take to fall, but don’t let the warm day make a mockery of you, Clara. That water is cold enough to shock even the strongest of swimmers.” 

“Are you?” I ask. “A strong swimmer?” 

“I suppose I am.” 

“Then you could jump in after me. Perhaps you’ll earn a medal or something. For saving the life of a silly woman who tried to fly.” 

His amusement sparks as he takes a step toward me. There are still so many feet between us, and yet he smells so good that I feel crowded by him. “Is that what you’re doing, Clara? Trying to fly?”

I love the way he says my name, like it’s something worth holding on the tongue. A fine wine, bursting with hidden flavors. So different than the way my brother’s say it, sour and chastising. I turn to look a him fully, pressing my hip against the railing. His eyes dip down to take in my dress, the frills and bows that decorate it. “It would be an adventure, wouldn’t it?” I ask, pulling his focus back to my face.

I can see it now: a flicker of hesitation. A tightening around his beautfiul eyes. “Tell me, who might you be traveling across the seas with? A beautiful girl like you should hardly be left unattended on a wretched journey such as this.” 

“Wretched?” 

He nods. “It’s not easy, spending weeks bared to the elements. Many find the experience quite difficult.” 

I lift my chin. “I find it quite interesting. And I hardly need a nursemaid, Thomas. I’m perfectly capable of moving about on my own.” 

“I mean no offense. It’s just that . . .” His eyes slip to the sailors working behind him, to their sweat soaked linen shirts and their dirty, blistered hands. “I’m afraid there are many aboard this ship who might seek distraction from their discomfort, who might cause a pretty girl like you harm.” 

My focus narrows in on his use of the word pretty. “Would you?” I ask. “Cause me harm?” 

His eyes catch mine again as he turns his head with a firm shake. “No, my lady. Of course not.” 

I smile. And as Le Soleil drifts toward a new world, I let myself slip further into my own delusion. “Have you ever danced with a woman before, Thomas?” 

“My mother,” he says after a beat. “Why?” 

“What about a young girl of your choosing?” 

He shakes his head again. “Where I come from, there isn’t a lot of dancing.” 

I brave a wide step forward, closing a bit more of the distance between us. The rhythm of his heart kicks higher, and I can almost feel it pulse inside my own stomach. “Would you like to dance with me?” 

His eyes widen. “There’s no music.” He looks around the large deck. “People will see.” 

I move even closer. “Then take me to the shadows,” I say quietly. “Please, Thomas. Let us share an adventure.”

His eyes spark, dropping to my mouth. “Why?” he asks. 

My smile widens. “Because it would please me. And you, too, if you let it.” 

Thomas looks at me for a moment that pulls taught, and then his scent changes to something that tastes much sweeter, like the slide of a tongue along a sugarloaf. The corner of his mouth lifts as he nods once, wiping his hands along the front of his pants before holding one out to me. “Come here, then.” 

I place my hand in his, and his teeth flash with a grin that overtakes his whole face. Thomas pulls me gently toward the walls of what must be the quarters for the crew and officers, darkened by the long shadows of the tall masts. His skin is so warm against mine; I can only hope I’ve soaked in enough of the sun’s warmth that my hands aren’t as cold as ice. 

“I’m not very good—”

“Oh hush.” I lift his hand to my waist before curling my palm along his wide shoulder. 

My brother, the opposite of my prince in every way. His skin is so pale he looks transclusent, his eyes dark with hunger. Dread snakes through my belly like an oily black ick as I watch him, an abomination who’s shape matches my own. 

I wonder if he’d have the answers to the questions that have plagued me since I died nearly eighty years ago, and was remade under the light of a long-lost moon. 

Perhaps I could introduce myself and ask. 

But when his looming gaze eventually lands on me, I watch in rapt fascination as his eyes round and his nose flares. 

He sinks his teeth into the tender arch of Thomas’s neck. 

And then he rips out his throat.