Prologue: The Boy the Sea Refused
Rourke
The first thing I learn about the sea is that it is kinder than blood.
I do not understand that yet, of course, because I am only a boy when my father decides the ocean would make a better grave than the earth beneath our family home, and boys are foolish enough to believe fathers are supposed to protect their sons even when those fathers are staring at them as though something vile has crawled from beneath their child’s skin.
Rain lashes against my face hard enough to sting.
The night has swallowed everything beyond the small boat rocking violently beneath us, leaving only flashes of silver lightning to illuminate the black water stretching farther than my young eyes can comprehend, and every time thunder splits the heavens, I flinch despite the way my wrists ache beneath the rope binding them together.
I am cold.
So cold my teeth will not stop chattering.
My soaked brown hair hangs over my eyes, plastered against my forehead and cheeks, and the thin nightshirt they dragged me from my bed wearing clings uselessly to my body.
No shoes.
No coat.
No explanation that makes sense.
Only my father.
My mother.
And the ocean.
“Father?”
He doesn’t answer.
Another wave slams against the side of the boat, throwing me sideways hard enough that my shoulder strikes the wet boards, and pain shoots down my arm as I scramble upright again.
“Father, please.”
His jaw tightens.
He is standing at the opposite end of the boat with one hand wrapped around the rail and the other gripping the rope attached to my bound wrists, keeping as much distance between us as the little vessel allows.
He has never looked at me this way before.
Not when I accidentally broke one of Mother’s porcelain birds.
Not when I climbed the eastern wall after being told not to and tore my trousers badly enough that my tutor threatened to resign.
Not even when Lucan and I fought in the courtyard and I bloodied my older brother’s nose.
Those times he had been angry.
This isn’t anger.
I would prefer anger.
Anger means there is something I can apologize for.
Something I can fix.
This is different.
This is fear.
And disgust.
I look toward my mother.
“Mother?”
Evelyne Vale sits near the bow with both hands clasped tightly against her mouth, her pale face streaked with tears that disappear almost immediately beneath the rain.
She won’t look at me.
“Mother, tell him.”
Nothing.
“Tell him I didn’t mean to.”
Her shoulders shake.
“Please.”
Still nothing.
Something inside my chest hurts worse than my wrists.
I pull against the rope.
“Father, I can control it.”
“You cannot.”
His voice is barely audible beneath the storm, but I hear every word.
“I can.”
“You nearly killed your brother.”
“I didn’t!”
My voice breaks.
Lightning splits the sky.
For one heartbeat, the world becomes white.
And I remember.
Lucan pinning me against the courtyard wall earlier that afternoon, laughing because I was smaller, because I could never beat him in a fair fight, because older brothers apparently possessed some sacred right to make younger ones furious.
I remember pushing him.
I remember him shoving me harder.
I remember falling.
I remember my palm splitting against a jagged stone.
Blood.
Pain.
Rage.
Then something inside me had awakened.
Not appeared.
Not arrived.
Awakened.
As though it had always been there.
Waiting.
My bones had twisted.
My skin had burned.
The scream that left my throat had become something else halfway through.
Something deep.
Something ancient.
Something that made every horse in the courtyard rear in terror.
I remember Lucan’s face.
That is the part I cannot forget.
My brother hadn’t looked angry anymore.
He had looked terrified.
Because the little boy lying beneath him had disappeared.
And in his place—
Scales.
Dark ones.
Black as the deepest part of midnight, slick and gleaming beneath the afternoon sun.
A body far larger than mine should have been able to become.
A serpent.
Not the little snakes gardeners sometimes killed near the hedges.
Something enormous.
Something impossible.
Something with teeth.
I remember Lucan screaming.
I remember Mother’s glass shattering somewhere behind me.
I remember Father drawing his sword.
And then I remember becoming myself again, naked and shaking on the stones, blood running from my palm while everyone stared.
No one touched me.
No one asked whether I was hurt.
No one told me it would be all right.
Father ordered the servants away.
He locked me inside my room.
Hours later, he came for me.
And now we are here.
“I didn’t hurt Lucan,” I whisper.
“You could have.”
“But I didn’t.”
“That thing could have killed him.”
My breathing becomes faster.
“That thing is me.”
Father’s expression changes.
Barely.
But enough.
Enough for a child to understand something he should never have been forced to understand.
He wishes I hadn’t said it.
Because saying it means he cannot pretend the monster and his son are separate things.
My mother finally makes a sound.
“Edric.”
Father turns toward her.
“Don’t.”
“He is a child.”
“He is cursed.”
I stare at him.
The word strikes harder than any fist could.
Cursed.
Father turns back toward me.
“There are things in this world that should never have been born.”
My mother sobs.
I stop breathing.
Perhaps that should be the moment I begin hating him.
Years later, I will wish it had been.
Hatred would have been easier.
But I am still a boy.
And boys love their fathers even when their fathers do not deserve it.
So instead of hating him, I try to convince him I can still be good.
“I won’t do it again.”
My father looks toward the water.
“I promise.”
Silence.
“I’ll stay away from Lucan.”
The boat rises on another wave.
“I’ll stay in my room.”
Nothing.
“I’ll never tell anyone.”
My voice cracks.
“I’ll be good.”
Mother makes a broken sound behind her hands.
I look at her desperately.
“I’ll be good, Mother.”
She finally looks at me.
I almost wish she hadn’t.
Because there is love there.
I know there is.
But there is something stronger.
Cowardice.
She loves me.
She simply doesn’t love me enough to save me.
I understand the difference before I am old enough to have a word for it.
“Please,” I whisper.
My father begins wrapping the loose end of the rope around his hand.
My stomach drops.
“No.”
He steps closer.
I scramble backward.
“Father.”
Another step.
“No.”
“Rourke.”
It is the first time he has said my name tonight.
I begin crying harder.
Not quietly anymore.
Not with whatever dignity a frightened boy is supposed to possess.
I sob.
“Please don’t.”
My back hits the side of the boat.
There is nowhere else to go.
“Father, please.”
He reaches for me.
I kick.
My heel catches his shin, but he barely reacts.
“I’ll control it!”
He grabs my arm.
“I swear!”
“Stop fighting.”
“I DON’T WANT TO DIE!”
Mother screams my father’s name.
He ignores her.
I twist violently, but I am a child and he is a grown man, and terror cannot give me enough strength to change that.
“Mother!”
She stands.
For one beautiful second, hope tears through me.
She is coming.
She is going to stop him.
Mothers stop monsters.
Mothers save their children.
She takes one step.
Father looks at her.
“Evelyne.”
One word.
She stops.
I stare at her.
“No.”
Her hand presses against her lips.
“Mother.”
She doesn’t move.
“Mother!”
My father lifts me.
I scream.
I kick.
I bite his hand hard enough to taste blood, and he curses, nearly dropping me onto the deck.
“Please! Please, I’ll be good!”
He grabs me again.
“I’m sorry!”
The edge of the boat presses against my stomach.
Black water churns below.
“I’m sorry I scared Lucan!”
Thunder explodes.
“I’M SORRY!”
Father leans close enough that I can see rain running through the lines around his eyes.
For the briefest instant, something flickers there.
Regret.
Perhaps even love.
It isn’t enough.
“Forgive me,” he whispers.
Then he throws me into the sea.
Cold.
There is no other word.
No pain at first.
No fear.
Just cold so violent that my body seems to forget how to exist.
The ocean closes over my head.
Darkness swallows me.
I try to scream and water fills my mouth.
My bound hands jerk uselessly as I kick, but I don’t know which direction is up anymore.
The storm tosses me beneath the surface as though I weigh nothing.
My lungs burn.
I see lightning through the water.
A distant silver flash.
I kick toward it.
My head breaks the surface.
I cough violently.
“Father!”
The boat is already moving away.
“FATHER!”
A wave strikes my face.
I choke.
“Mother!”
I glimpse her.
She is standing at the stern.
Watching me.
“Mother!”
She reaches toward me.
Too late.
Too far away.
“COME BACK!”
The storm devours my voice.
“PLEASE!”
The boat grows smaller.
I kick harder.
The rope around my wrists makes swimming almost impossible, but I try anyway.
“DON’T LEAVE ME!”
Another wave rolls over me.
I disappear beneath the water.
When I surface again, the boat is farther away.
“FATHER!”
Nothing.
“LUCA—”
Water fills my mouth.
I cough.
Cry.
Kick.
Beg.
I promise every god I have ever heard about that I will be good.
I promise never to become the serpent again.
I promise never to frighten anyone.
I promise to sleep outside.
I promise to leave home when I am older.
I promise I will make myself smaller and quieter and easier to love.
I promise anything a terrified child can think to promise.
No one comes back.
Eventually, I stop calling for them.
Not because I understand.
Because I am too tired.
My arms feel heavy.
My legs stop kicking as hard.
The storm continues without caring that a boy is dying beneath it.
And perhaps that is the second thing the sea teaches me.
The world does not stop simply because yours is ending.
My head slips beneath the surface.
I force myself upward once.
Twice.
The third time, I cannot.
I sink.
Blackness wraps around me.
My eyes remain open.
There is nothing down here.
Nothing except cold and silence and the strange pressure of the water holding me from every direction.
My chest screams for air.
I think of my mother.
Her hand reaching toward me.
Not far enough.
I think of Lucan.
I wonder whether he will miss me.
I think of Father.
There are things in this world that should never have been born.
Something moves beneath me.
My eyes widen.
A shape.
Long.
Dark.
Impossible to distinguish from the water except when lightning flashes far above.
For one heartbeat, I think it is the serpent.
My serpent.
Maybe this is what Father meant.
Maybe monsters belong at the bottom of the sea.
My body convulses.
I cannot hold my breath anymore.
Water rushes in.
The burning stops.
Everything becomes strangely peaceful.
And my final thought is embarrassingly small.
I don’t want to be alone.
Then there is nothing.
“CAPTAIN!”
A voice tears through darkness.
“Something off starboard!”
“Debris?”
“Too small!”
“Then leave it. Reef the damned—”
“It’s a boy!”
Hands.
I feel hands.
Or perhaps I dream them.
Something hooks beneath my arm.
Another hand grabs the back of my nightshirt.
“Gods, he’s tied!”
“Get him up!”
My body strikes wood.
Voices surround me.
“Not breathing.”
“Move!”
Someone rolls me.
Pressure crushes my back.
Nothing.
Again.
“Come on, boy.”
Pressure.
“Breathe.”
Again.
“Come on.”
My body jerks.
Water explodes from my mouth.
I cough so violently that pain tears through my chest.
“There!”
“Easy!”
I cannot see.
I cannot understand.
Hands turn me onto my side while I vomit seawater onto the deck.
“Get those ropes off him.”
A knife flashes.
I scream.
“No!”
“Easy, lad.”
“NO!”
I try crawling away, but my arms collapse beneath me.
“Don’t touch me!”
“Someone get Mara.”
“I said don’t—”
My body shakes so badly I cannot finish.
The rope falls from my wrists.
I scramble backward until my spine strikes something solid.
Men surround me.
Pirates.
I know what pirates look like from illustrations.
Weapons.
Leather.
Scars.
Tattoos.
One enormous man has blood smeared across his shirt.
Another wears enough knives to outfit a small army.
They should frighten me.
They do.
But none of them look at me the way Father did.
“Back away.”
The voice is deep.
Commanding.
The men obey immediately.
A man steps through them.
He is broad and weathered, dark hair streaked by silver at his temples, beard soaked with rain, a long coat hanging heavily from his shoulders.
He crouches several feet away.
Not close enough to touch me.
“What’s your name, boy?”
I stare.
He waits.
Lightning flashes.
I flinch.
“R-Rourke.”
“Rourke what?”
My lips tremble.
Vale.
The name forms inside my head.
But I see my father’s hands.
My mother’s face.
The boat disappearing.
I swallow.
“Just Rourke.”
Something shifts in the man’s expression.
He looks at the raw marks around my wrists.
Then toward the black sea.
Understanding settles over his features.
It makes him look dangerous.
Not toward me.
Toward whoever put me there.
“My name is Garrick.”
I say nothing.
“This is my ship.”
Pirates.
Definitely pirates.
I curl tighter against the mast.
Garrick glances toward one of the men.
“Blanket.”
A thick wool blanket is brought forward.
Garrick doesn’t put it around me.
He sets it on the deck between us.
“You can take it.”
I stare at the blanket.
Then him.
“Why?”
His eyebrows draw together.
“Because you’re freezing.”
I don’t understand.
People don’t simply give things.
There is always a reason.
Always a condition.
“What do you want?”
A few pirates exchange glances.
Garrick looks almost offended.
“For you not to freeze to death on my deck.”
Before I can decide whether I believe him, another voice cuts through the storm.
“Where is he?”
Everything changes.
The pirates move.
Not from fear exactly.
But quickly.
A woman pushes between two enormous men as though neither exists.
Her long dark hair is braided down her back, though half of it has escaped in the storm, and she wears a deep green dress beneath a heavy coat thrown hastily over her shoulders.
She sees me.
Stops.
Her face changes.
“Oh.”
That one small sound nearly breaks me.
Not because there is pity in it.
Because there is horror.
But not horror of me.
Horror at what has been done to me.
She moves forward.
I recoil.
She stops instantly.
“I’m sorry.”
Nobody apologizes to children.
At least nobody apologizes to me.
She crouches.
“My name is Mara.”
I stare at her.
“Garrick’s wife.”
Behind her, Garrick mutters, “Unfortunately.”
She doesn’t even look around.
“Say that again and I’ll throw you overboard.”
One of the pirates snorts.
Garrick’s mouth twitches.
I stare between them.
I don’t understand why anyone is joking.
My family just threw me into the ocean.
I am cold.
My wrists hurt.
My chest burns.
I don’t know where I am.
And these strange people are behaving as though threatening to throw one another overboard is affectionate.
Mara notices the blanket.
“May I?”
I don’t answer.
She waits.
Actually waits.
No adult has ever waited for my permission before doing anything.
Finally, I nod.
She reaches for the blanket slowly and wraps it around my shoulders.
Warmth surrounds me.
I almost cry again.
“There,” she whispers.
Her fingers brush wet hair away from my forehead.
I jerk.
She immediately withdraws her hand.
“Sorry.”
I stare at her.
“Are you hurt anywhere?”
I shake my head.
Garrick looks pointedly at my wrists.
Mara sees them.
Her face hardens.
“Who tied you?”
I look toward the sea.
The boat is gone.
“My father.”
Nobody speaks.
Mara’s voice becomes very quiet.
“Your father put you in the water?”
I nod.
“Why?”
I shouldn’t tell them.
If they know, they’ll do the same thing.
Maybe pirates hate monsters too.
Maybe everyone does.
“I did something bad.”
Mara’s eyes narrow.
“What?”
I look down.
“I scared them.”
“How?”
My fingers curl into the blanket.
“I can’t tell you.”
“All right.”
My head jerks upward.
She doesn’t press.
Doesn’t demand.
Just sits there.
“All right?” I whisper.
“You don’t have to tell me anything tonight.”
“But—”
“You nearly drowned.”
Her voice softens.
“Secrets can wait until morning.”
My throat tightens.
“What if I’m bad?”
Something passes over her face.
“Are you?”
I think about the serpent.
“I don’t know.”
“Well.” She settles onto the wet deck in front of me as though she has nowhere else she needs to be. “I’ve met a great many bad men.”
Several pirates grumble behind her.
She ignores them.
“Bad men rarely worry about whether they’re bad.”
I don’t know what to say.
“What if I’m cursed?”
This time the crew becomes very still.
Garrick’s gaze sharpens.
Mara studies me.
“Who told you that?”
“My father.”
Her jaw tightens.
“What else did your father tell you?”
I hear his voice again.
Things that should never have been born.
My chin trembles.
“He said I shouldn’t have been born.”
The deck becomes silent enough that I can hear the sails snapping above us.
Garrick stands.
He turns away abruptly.
“Captain?” one pirate asks.
“Nothing.”
His voice is murderous.
“Just deciding whether we turn the ship around and find the bastard.”
Mara looks over her shoulder.
“Garrick.”
“I said deciding.”
Despite everything, a tiny sound escapes me.
Almost a laugh.
It hurts my chest.
Mara turns back.
She sees it.
Her expression softens.
Then another wave strikes.
The ship tilts.
Fear slams into me.
I gasp.
The blanket slips.
Something inside me moves.
No.
Heat tears through my bones.
“No.”
Mara leans forward.
“Rourke?”
“Get away.”
My fingers cramp.
Pain rips through my spine.
“GET AWAY FROM ME!”
The pirates reach for weapons.
Garrick spins.
“Don’t.”
“But Captain—”
“I said don’t.”
My body twists.
I scream.
The blanket falls away.
Dark scales race across my skin.
Mara’s eyes widen.
I hear men curse.
My bones lengthen.
My human hands disappear.
The world changes.
Smells sharpen.
Heat becomes visible in strange pulses.
The deck suddenly seems smaller.
My body coils instinctively around the mast, thick black scales gleaming beneath the lightning as the serpent bursts free.
Someone whispers a prayer.
Another pirate stumbles backward.
I wait.
For the sword.
For the disgust.
For Garrick to order them to throw me back.
I lower my head.
Make myself as small as something this large can become.
I hate this.
I hate me.
Then Mara stands.
“Mara,” Garrick warns.
She ignores him.
She always will.
I know that years later.
I don’t know it tonight.
She approaches.
I recoil.
My serpent body tightens.
She stops.
“Rourke?”
I stare at her.
She recognizes me.
Not the serpent.
Me.
“Can you understand me?”
Slowly, I lower my head once.
A nod.
Her eyes shine.
“All right.”
She takes another step.
Garrick swears under his breath.
“Mara.”
“He’s frightened.”
“He has fangs longer than your fingers.”
“He is still frightened.”
“He’s also a bloody enormous snake.”
Her head whips around.
“Serpent.”
Garrick blinks.
“What?”
“If we’re going to raise him, at least use the proper word.”
Silence.
Every pirate on the deck stares at her.
So do I.
Garrick looks from his wife to me.
Then back.
“Raise him?”
Mara plants her hands on her hips.
“Do you plan to put him back?”
“No.”
“Do you plan to leave him at the next port?”
Garrick looks at me.
My body tightens.
“No.”
“Then apparently we’re raising him.”
One pirate begins laughing.
Another joins.
Garrick rubs a hand over his face.
“I married a lunatic.”
“You married above your station.”
That earns more laughter.
I don’t understand these people.
But for the first time tonight, I am not afraid.
Mara turns back toward me.
She approaches again.
This time I let her.
Slowly, carefully, she raises her hand.
Her palm touches one black scale near my face.
I freeze.
She doesn’t recoil from the cold.
Doesn’t grimace.
Doesn’t scream.
Her thumb moves gently across the scale.
“There you are,” she whispers.
Something inside me breaks.
Not the serpent.
The boy.
I lower my enormous head into her hands.
Mara presses her forehead against me.
Behind her, Garrick releases a long breath.
“Suppose the boy needs a surname.”
Mara looks at him.
Garrick shrugs.
“He said he doesn’t have one.”
I shift again before I can stop it.
Scales retreat.
Bones contract.
Moments later I am lying naked and exhausted on the deck.
Mara immediately wraps the blanket around me and gathers me against her.
I stiffen.
She doesn’t let go.
Not tightly.
Just enough.
Enough that I can leave if I want.
I don’t.
I bury my face against her shoulder.
Garrick crouches beside us.
His weathered hand settles briefly on my wet hair.
“Rourke Vane,” he says.
I look up.
“What?”
“Has a decent sound to it.”
My lips part.
“Vane?”
“If you want it.”
Another choice.
They keep giving me choices.
I don’t know what to do with them.
“Would that make you my father?”
Garrick goes very still.
Mara looks at him.
The pirates suddenly become intensely interested in ropes, sails and anything except their captain.
Garrick clears his throat.
“Suppose it might.”
I study him.
“Will you throw me away if I turn into that again?”
His face changes.
The humor disappears.
“No.”
“If I hurt someone?”
“If you deliberately hurt one of mine, you’ll answer for it.”
My stomach twists.
“But answering for something isn’t the same as being thrown away.”
I stare at him.
“You’d still let me stay?”
“Boy, everyone aboard this ship has done something deserving a kick in the arse.”
Someone behind him calls, “Especially Finnick.”
“Shut up!”
Garrick ignores them.
“Family isn’t something you earn every morning and lose every night.”
I don’t understand the words completely.
But I remember them.
I will remember them when I am thirteen and break a man’s jaw for insulting Mara.
When I am sixteen and Garrick gives me my first command.
When I am twenty and men begin whispering that the discarded boy has become something dangerous.
When I am thirty and kingdoms lower their flags at the sight of mine.
I remember them when Skull Island kneels.
When pirates call me King.
When enemies call me monster.
And years later, when a violet-eyed princess walks directly toward me, I will finally understand why this night mattered.
Because my blood family taught me that love had conditions.
The sea taught me survival.
The pirates taught me loyalty.
And Mara Vane teaches me the lesson that will take nearly a lifetime to believe.
She pulls the blanket higher around my shoulders and presses a kiss into my wet hair.
“The sea doesn’t get to keep you,” she whispers.
I clutch her coat.
Outside the ship, the storm begins to weaken.
Behind us lies a family that threw away a monster.
Ahead waits a world that will someday learn to fear him.
But tonight I am neither monster nor king.
I am only a freezing little boy wrapped in a pirate woman’s arms while a ship full of criminals decides without ceremony that I belong to them.
And for the first time since my father looked at me with horror, I close my eyes without wondering whether I will wake.
The sea had been meant to become my grave.
Instead, it delivers me to my family.
