The Sea Thief

Chapter VIII

Tora couldn't move.

It was as if every wisp of air had been knocked out of her lungs. She just stood there, struggling to inhale, to exhale, to do anything.

She had fallen right into the chief's trap.

The second she picked up that paper, everyone would see the word guilty. They would toss their fruit at her, then the stones.

And her parents and sisters would know nothing of it. They would be waiting at night, clutching onto each other, staring at the little door, wondering why the hell she hadn't brought dinner to them.

Tora forced herself to breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

If she accused the chief of lying, what would he do? Would anyone believe her?

She already knew the answer. The words everyone was hooting at her were so cold, so sharp. All their grins showed crooked, yellow teeth, and all their eyes were wide with excitement.

"What are you waiting for?" the chief demanded. "The water has decided. Show us the paper."

Tora's heart and head raced.

She needed a plan. She needed it fast.

Both papers said guilty. And, even if they didn't, there was no way she could have switched them quickly enough, no way she could have done it without someone catching her.

And, if both papers really did say guilty, it wouldn't matter if she did.

She was doomed either way.

Unless-

Unless-

"If you don't pick up the paper, I'll do it for you," the chief said. A scowl was etched onto his face, and his thumbs were buried deeply into his belt. Tora didn't doubt for a second that there were more pieces of paper beneath that belt – pieces of paper that should have been in the water.

Tora shook her head. "I'll do it."

Her hands shook as she bent down and curled her fingers around the paper. She pulled it to her face and undid the creases, forcing her face to keep still as she read the single word.

Guilty.

The chief cocked his head to the side. "Well? Show it to us, girl. Show it to everyone."

With her gaze locked onto the chief, Tora slowly raised the paper into the air.

Then, she shoved it into her mouth.

The paper itself tasted like sand and ashes, but Tora still forced herself to keep chewing and chewing until it was small enough to swallow.

She could have sworn that the boy who had silently warned her was fighting back a smile as she opened her mouth to show everyone just how empty it was.

The chief, however, was far from amused.

"She swallowed it," he hissed. "That means it must have claimed that she was guilty."

"No, it doesn't," Tora shot back. "It said innocent. You can have a look at the other paper. If it says guilty, that proves that the card I just ate said innocent."

Before the chief could even start towards the fountain, his daughter – the guard – clutched at his sleeve.

"I'll do it, father," she said. "It could be a trap. She could be trying to hurt you."

Tora almost laughed at the irony. Almost.

Despite her reeling head and pounding heart, Tora couldn't help but feel dizzy with relief as the guard pushed her father away and raised the paper for everyone to see.

Guilty.

The boy had been right. Both cards did say guilty.

"This leftover card says guilty," the guard said. "That means that the card the water gave her was the innocent one. The water has deemed her innocent."

Hundreds of voices erupted in protest, shouting something about her cheating, something about her being vermin, but Tora didn't let herself wilt beneath their stare.

"Ignore them," the guard murmured to her. "The water has never told anyone they were innocent before. They're just a bit shocked."

Tora glanced at her. "Is there a reason the water always tells people they are guilty?"

"You tell me, thief. Is there a reason you ate your piece of paper?"

"Yes, in fact," Tora said warily. "I did it because I have a love for theatrics."

The guard's eyes moved towards the chief, who was hissing something at the other guards. Then, she nodded grimly.

"The water always tells people they are guilty for the exact same reason," she finally said.

Tora arched her brow. "The water has a love for theatrics?"

"Not the water. The people."

Before Tora could ask her about it, she felt a hand clasp at her shoulder. She turned to find the chief, and for a second, she almost wanted to wretch the paper out from her stomach and spit it into his flaring, oversized nostrils.

But she didn't. She had sisters to go back to, she had fish to steal-

Oh, and she had to thank that boy. Maybe.

"Forgive me for being so impatient," the chief was saying. He gestured at the crusty blood over her arm, over her lip. "And forgive my daughter and the other guards for treating you so roughly. I've asked a physician to treat to your wounds before you leave."

Tora shook her head. "I won't need it. I best be off, chief. I have to-"

In a second, the chief's hand was locked around her wrist. He leaned closer, so close that Tora could feel his hot breath against her ear.

"I insist," he whispered. "It's not every day I get the pleasure of meeting a Selkie."

Even after he moved away and released her arm, Tora could only stare at him.

How did he know? Had she said something? Was it the accent?

As if he could read her thoughts, the chief smiled.

"I'll explain everything if you come with me," he told her.

Tora closed her eyes and forced her head to stop spinning.

Just seconds ago, he had tried sentencing her to her own death. If it hadn't been for that boy, she would have fallen right into his trap. If it hadn't been for that boy-

That boy.

Tora turned to where the boy had been standing minutes ago. Already, the crowd was splitting away, bickering amongst each other as they moved towards the cavern's mouth.

And the boy-

He was nowhere to be seen.

With a sigh, Tora turned back to the chief.

Maybe he knew she was a Selkie because he had found her seal coat. Maybe her seal coat was tucked somewhere in the chief's own home, waiting for her.

"I'll come," she said to the chief. "But don't try to kill me again."

He laughed – a quick, sharp laugh. "The water has decided your fate. Only the water can change it."

As he led her behind the merchants and children, Tora peered past the heads and hoods one last time.

The boy was still missing.

And so were the guards.