by Adalyn Grace
There’s a gleam in the mermaid’s eyes as she tucks her hands under the man’s arms and lugs him farther into the alleyway, out of sight. I can only hope she’s not dragging him directly to the sea.
Ferrick, meanwhile, leaves only after double-checking me for injuries. “Stay here,” he says seriously before he turns, hurrying toward the street.
I have no desire to follow. Instead I lean my head against Bastian’s chest as he holds me, relaxing into the feeling of wholeness that comes with his touch. Connected like this, I can’t tell whether it’s my curiosity that spikes or his when Shanty’s eyes glimmer with mischief.
“What are you up to?” he asks, to which she squares her shoulders.
“Trust me, pirate. I’m about to be positively brilliant.”
* * *
I’m leaning against the main mast back on Keel Haul when Shanty hands me her creation.
“No need to say thank you.” She beams as I grab the parchment. “You can just slip me a bonus when it’s time for payment. Make it that navy blade of yours and we’ll call it even.” There’s a hunger in her eyes when she peers at Rukan.
I cover the blade with my coat and out of her sight as I spread the parchment onto my lap, startling at the moving image that plays back at me in a loop. It’s … me. But it’s not a still, captured by an artist. It’s in full color, lifelike and dazzling.
I straighten, realizing this parchment is similar to the one Yuriel and Vataea were looking at back on Arida, and like the one Lord Garrison showed me during the council meeting. This one in particular is of me in the gambling den, raising a glass of bubbly with other patrons as we bet together on the games. Merrily we laugh, seemingly having enough fun that anyone would be jealous to have missed out. Below it, the parchment reads:
HER MAJESTY, QUEEN AMORA MONTARA, TO WED!
It looks as though Visidia may be getting a new king sooner than we thought! Her Majesty’s tour of Visidia started just days ago, and already she’s getting friendly with the people of Kerost. Could love soon be in the air for our queen? Better get ready, bachelors.
There’s a list of ads at the bottom of the moving parchment, featuring Ikaean stylists and wardrobe consultants to help get them ready for my visit. It’s worthy of an eye roll, but considering it leaves out the more unfortunate events of Kerost, it’s also brilliant. What’s depicted is short, sweet, and exactly the kind of show expected from me. I clutch the parchment tight, only truly feeling my tiredness as relief settles into me.
“This is brilliant,” I tell Shanty, to which she bats her pink hair over her shoulders.
“I am brilliant. You’re welcome.”
Casem sits behind her, eyes the hazy white of someone using Curmanan magic. “The news is already spreading,” he says, voice distant. But as the blues of his eyes return, so does his excitement. “The mind speakers are eating this up. Ikaeans are replicating the story and taking it back to their island to be redistributed, and they want more. They want documentation from each one of your stops. We can spin this story however we want.”
“Only if we’re the ones who stay on top of it,” Shanty warns. “These gossip pieces are so popular, lately; people will be competing for information. The best gossip makes for the fattest coin purse, so we’ll need to get our stories out the quickest.”
Had the purpose of this trip only been about ensuring my people favor me, this would’ve been a brilliant strategy. Now though, it’s a nuisance. It just ensures more eyes on my movements, and that I’ll need to be more careful moving forward.
I hand the parchment back to Shanty, and she marvels once more at her work. “We’ll see about that bonus,” I tell her, “but thank you. I appreciate it.”
“For the queen?” she teases. “Any time.”
Standing at the helm with a compass in hand, Bastian casts a sour glance at the parchment. He only scoffed when he saw the headline, and now spends his time glaring at his compass, pretending to be unbothered.
“Our itinerary doesn’t have us getting to Zudoh for another three days,” he says. “We’ll have to contact them and let them know we’re arriving early.” I don’t miss the hopeful edge of his voice, and guilt turns my throat thick. I wish it could be Zudoh next as planned, but my main objective is to find Ornell, and figure out what he knows about the legendary artifact.
“We’ll go to Curmana first.” I try to sound aloof about it, but Bastian’s eyes narrow with suspicion and Ferrick stirs from where he sits across from me, brows furrowing. “Casem, contact them and let them know our plans have changed.”
Casem stills. “But we have an itinerary.”
“Not to mention Curmana is on the complete opposite side of the kingdom,” Bastian grumbles. “Going there now wouldn’t make any sense. Both your mother and Zale will chew off our heads if we ignore the plans.”
“We’re not ignoring,” I say. “We’re protecting ourselves. If we want to stay ahead of the gossip parchments, we don’t need all these reporters knowing our next location. They’d mob us.” It’s a lie that rolls easily off my tongue. One that has enough merit that, for a moment, no one argues.
Ferrick’s response is the first to come, quiet and wistful. “Gods, what did I get myself into.”
I ignore him and stand on tired legs to lift my chin toward the others. “My mother would want us to take precautions. If something were to go wrong again, the last thing we need are a thousand new gossip parchments.” Not to mention that, with so many reporters sniffing around, finding Ornell will only be that much harder. “Tell her we’re visiting Curmana next, and that we’re keeping our itinerary flexible. She’ll understand.” I put every ounce of authority I have in my voice, refusing to explain or elaborate—which would require coming up with a lie I don’t have.
Bastian’s jaw clenches, but even if he can feel that I’m not telling him the full truth, it’s not as though he can read my actual thoughts.
“Set our course.” I leave him at the helm and head below deck before he or the others can pry any further.
Down in the cabin, Vataea’s already sleeping off her alcohol, twisted in the ropes of the hammock like she’s been fished straight from the sea. She doesn’t so much as twitch as I clamber into my hammock beside her, exhaustion settling into my bones.
When I shut my eyes this time, I pray that, for once, it’ll be sleep that waits for me, not Father’s ghost.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Black as spilt ink, the night sky is coated with stardust that shimmers dimly in the sea’s reflection. I stare at it from the rigging, weary and sluggish from my broken sleep and the alcohol still filtering through my body.
As usual, the faces of the dead were there to greet me the moment I shut my eyes. Father was among them, face shrouded in smoke and his bloodied hand reaching toward me in desperation as the mass of Visidia’s fallen grab on to him, weighing him down.
I do everything I can to put the memory out of my mind, humming a quiet shanty as I dip my head back against the ropes.
My first time up here, my palms had sweat so much I’d barely been able to maintain my grip. Last summer, scaling the rigging with Bastian was the first moment I remember feeling truly alive. I remember the heat of his breath on my skin as he steadied me, keeping me from falling. The way his eyes glimmered with delight as a seagull squawked at us in greeting, and he squawked right back. The way the sea salt air tore through my hair and brushed against my face, telling me that this is where I belonged.
It was my first taste of true freedom, before I knew the truth about Father and the Montara family.
Before I lost my magic and Father slid a sword deep into his stomach to protect me.
I hadn’t been a queen, then. I’d been Princess Amora Montara—a girl who was naive enough to believe she could protect a kingdom she hardly knew, with a magic that was nothing more than a lie.
It feels like a lifetime ago; when Father’s body was sent out to sea, that girl sunk into the depths beside him.
Now a queen I hardly recognize has taken her place.
Silver moonlight peeks from behind a curtain of clouds and I shut my eyes against it, stilling hot tears before they come. No matter how hard I try to think otherwise—no matter how hard I try to pull my thoughts from this dark place and focus on what needs to be done—my mind keeps pulling me back to a single thought: as much as my past self yearned to one day sit upon the throne, perhaps I’m not the rightful ruler of this kingdom.
But for now, until Visidia is back on track, I am the ruler they need. I’m the only one with the knowledge to atone for my family’s past. And until then, I will not cry, but fight to give my people the kingdom they deserve.
Only when the rigging sways beneath me do I open my eyes and steady myself, gripping the ropes tight. I jerk my attention down, expecting Bastian. But my protests stop short when I see it’s Ferrick who’s inching his way up. His forehead is knitted with nerves, and every few inches he climbs he stops to curse under his breath.
“Stars.” I sigh and unravel myself from the ropes, descending a few feet so that he doesn’t have to torture himself by climbing any higher. “You should be sleeping.”
“I could say the same for you,” he tries to say, but his teeth chatter so fiercely that his words quiver. He winces as a particularly vicious tide slams into the ship and he grips the rigging desperately.
I roll my eyes and press a hand to his back, helping Ferrick regain his balance. The sea doesn’t take kindly to visitors during the winter. The dusky water is thrashing and vicious, and every movement feels amplified here on the rigging.
“Casem snores like a drunken sailor,” Ferrick mutters, shrinking his neck into his coat like a hermit crab. Some of his breath escapes, pluming the air around him in smoky wisps. “I was going to steal a candle from Bastian’s room to melt the wax and stuff my ears. But then I saw you.”
I imagine his smile would mirror mine if he weren’t so busy burrowing as much of his exposed skin into his coat as physically possible.
At his stubbornness, I can’t help but laugh. “Wrap your hands in the ropes.” They’re the same instructions Bastian gave me on my first climb. “The sea’s rough tonight, so it’s best to be cautious. We can go lower too, if you’re scared—”
“I’m fine.” Bracing himself against the cold winds, Ferrick retreats from the warmth of his coat. As instructed, he winds his hands around the rigging for safety and hesitates for only a second before flipping to face the sea. When I lean back against the rigging, he follows suit.
I trace his eyes to the tides, which no longer feel quite so dark. The moonlight shines brighter, igniting what looks like thousands of tiny crystals upon the water. They brighten the sea like a gemstone.
Now more than ever, I wish I could learn time magic. I would freeze myself in this moment, moon-soaked and overlooking the ocean. I would become Keel Haul’s figurehead, glued to this ship for all of eternity. Traveling forever, rather than sitting on a throne built upon blood and burned by lies.
“It reminds me of the night we fought the Lusca.” Ferrick’s voice comes gently, as if aware he’s coaxing me from my own dark thoughts. “The sea was calmer then—at least until the beast showed up—but it was dark like tonight. Beautiful, too … if not for the giant monster trying to kill us.”
I’m surprised by how genuine my laugh is. It’s not like back on Arida, where I must play pretend.
Ferrick was there the night my life changed. He’s been there for all of it. With him, there’s no pretending.
“That night, you became the bravest person I’ve ever met.” It’s surprising even to me how natural it feels to be around him. How comfortable.
His laugh is soft, nearly swept away by the wind. “I could say the same for you.”
I think back to that moment when I threw myself onto the Lusca. How I’d thought about the stories Visidia would tell in my honor, and how proud Father would be when I showed him proof I’d bested the beast. I never did have the chance to show him Rukan.
Silence weighs heavy between us, but it’s not tense or awkward. Moving closer to Ferrick, I settle into that silence, letting my eyes shut and my head fall upon his shoulder as he winds an arm around me. I’m not sure how long we stay like that, but it’s only when Ferrick stirs that I lift my head to eye him.
“Are we doing the right thing?” His lips are pressed thin, and his green eyes are bothered and distant, as though he’s trying to piece together a puzzle.
“By ‘we,’ are you asking me if I think I’m doing the right thing?”
Foot bouncing against the rigging, he nods. “I don’t feel good lying to everyone. Vataea deserves to know about Blarthe, and even Casem’s trying his best to make this easier for you. He’s in communication with your mother and the other islands every day, trying to make this as smooth as possible. The Montaras lied for ages; you don’t have to be the same as them.”
Staring at the cloudless sky, I wonder if any gods can hear my sigh.
“I stopped knowing what the right thing to do was a long time ago, Ferrick. All I can do is what I think is right. And for now, that’s making Visidia the priority. I won’t be the same as my family; I’ll tell everyone the truth when the time is right. But for now, I stand by my decision.” I kick at the rigging, letting the ropes tangle in my boots.
Ferrick’s scoff is so soft I nearly miss it. “You’re too used to doing things on your own. Give the rest of us some credit, would you? We want to help.”
I hide my scowl, tired of hearing that. I spent eighteen years relying on someone else, and look where that got me. The best way to get something done is to do it myself. If they can’t keep up, that’s not my problem.
“I appreciate you looking out for me.” There’s a sharpness in my tone I don’t bother masking. A warning that it’s time for this conversation to end. “But I’m doing what I believe is best for my kingdom.”
“Well, tell me how I can help you, then,” he argues. “I’m trying to do everything I can to be there for you. To be a good friend, a better adviser, a stronger fighter with more magic. What can I do better?”
As my heart drops to my stomach, I clench my fists around the rope. “You’re perfect, Ferrick. I promise, this isn’t about you.”
His chest falls as he sinks deeper into the rigging, and for a long moment he lets the silence expand, the only sound between us that of thrashing waves and sharp winds. When he eventually turns back to me, his eyes are as sharp and as clever as a fox’s. So quietly that I’m uncertain whether I’ve made the words up in my own head, he says, “If that’s how you want it to be, fine. But your stubbornness will be the knife in all of our chests one day, Amora. Gods help us.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Even my bones are tired as I claw my way up to the deck the next morning.
I spent hours on the rigging well after Ferrick left, until my fingers had numbed from the cold, my grip had grown slack, and I could no longer keep my eyes open. Only then did I sneak back into my hammock, stealing a few hours before thoughts of Father and visions of the dead woke me again.
Bastian’s the first one I see when I step onto the deck. He’s seated alone on the starboard side, while Vataea and Shanty sit portside. They have an unrolled burlap sack filled with dehydrated fruits, hard cheeses, and dried meats spread out between them. While they play a strange card game that requires flipping cards and being the first to slap their hands on the deck upon seeing certain ones, Bastian busies himself with a familiar item. I’m breathless the moment I see it—my satchel.
He’s emptied it of its contents, scattering bones and teeth over the canvas. Though he doesn’t yet use the magic—I’d feel it if he did—I can sense him considering it as he holds a bone between two long fingers, using his other hand to gently scratch the bone with the edge of a small push blade. His will pulses within me, and I know at once that he’s trying to call soul magic to him.
It doesn’t come.
“You never told me
you were having trouble with it.” I take a hesitant seat in front of him, running my fingers along the familiar ridges of the bones. While part of me hates the longing that springs to life within me, there’s no denying its existence.
I hate what I was forced to do with my magic. I hate that I spent eighteen years learning to kill for the sake of a beast within me that never even existed. I hate that my magic was nothing more than a lie.
But I don’t hate my magic; I could never hate the most intimate part of me. And one day, I’ll get it back in its true form. Gentle. Peaceful. Protective. The way soul magic was created to be.
Bastian squeezes the bone between his fingers, tighter this time. He scrutinizes it as though it’s some kind of puzzle, and my heart practically trembles as I remember the last time I saw that expression on his face, back when I’d been creating Rukan. It was the first night we truly kissed.
My skin itches with the discomfort that urges me to get out of here and distance myself from Bastian, but the pulse of my magic within him keeps me seated.
“That’s because only now, when you’re stranded on a ship in the middle of the sea and have limited places to hide from me, do I get to talk to you.” His voice is cheery enough that I roll my eyes.
“Well, I’m here now. Tell me what’s going on.”
He makes a faint tsking sound under his breath. “You seem far more fascinated in what I have to say, than I care for the answers you might have. But I do have an idea—something to satisfy both of our needs.” He looks up, stars dancing in those dazzling hazel eyes. “Have you ever considered asking nicely?”
What I wouldn’t give to throw this blasted pirate overboard.
I bite my tongue and twist my lips into the iciest smile. “Would you please tell me why you can’t use soul magic? You arrogant, oafish, bast—”
