Gypsy snorts. “And you value your life so much?” She lets her words hang, her smirk taunting. “Didn’t seem that way back at the shipwreck. Or even now.”
I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to roll my eyes as annoyance prickles through me. Dealing with people—a necessary headache, but one I’d hoped would sting less than this. “If I’m dead, I won’t get to finish my plans, will I?” I snap.
It puts a smile on Gypsy’s face.
“Well,” Vinicola starts, the eagerness in his voice breaking through, “if anyone’s got the right to tell our story, I’d say it’s me. I’ve got an excellent memory for these sorts of things.” He turnsto Gypsy and Zayan, his expression hopeful. “If neither of you objects…?”
Gypsy waves her hand in a dismissive gesture, though there’s a spark of interest beneath her casual exterior. She’s curious, but she won’t admit it. “Fine,” she says, feigning indifference.
Vinicola leans forward, eyes bright. “So, where to begin… Miss Captain here”—he gestures to Gypsy—“started it all. She defied her father, Silverbeard, who’d wanted nothing to do with the compass, and decided to go after it anyway, his warnings be damned.”
Silverbeard. Gypsy’s father. The name’s familiar enough—anyone who’s sailed these seas knows it. It hits me then: I’ve heard stories of his daughter too, the wild one with the sea in her blood, who was meant to captain his crew one day. Or rather… used to be meant.
Gypsy interrupts with a sly grin. “You missed the part where Zayan went running to him like a rat in the hold, which is exactly how he found out in the first place.”
She’s still smiling, almost as if betrayal doesn’t sting her. But I remember how she and Zayan had made up barely twenty minutes ago, and I understand. This is just how they work.
“She thought I wanted to start a war between the Serpents and the Marauders,” Zayan adds, his voice tight, “but she was wrong.”
The atmosphere in the room shifts slightly at Zayan’s admission. Gypsy gives him a sidelong glance, her expression softening just a bit. But she doesn’t say anything, and the moment passes.
“Anyway, she was all alone, didn’t know Mister Zayan was shadowing her. She went ashore, swam with the compass lodged in her boot, got it working, and then stole a ship from two angry pirates who’d locked me up below deck. Mean as hell, those two.Miss Captain here shot one’s kneecap clean through and made the other swim to shore.”
Zayan laughs, shaking his head. “I actually saw those poor bastards. I don’t think that one’ll ever walk straight again.”
Gypsy shrugs. “I warned them. They should’ve just handed over the ship nicely when I asked.”
Vinicola’s excitement grows as he speaks, the story tumbling out in waves. “So, I joined Miss Captain on her journey. I figured it’d just be the two of us, but then Mister Zayan here decided to join the merchant ship those two pirates we left behind sailed with and started chasing us. Then, this storm hits—huge, rolling waves and all. I was pretty sure I’d die before I got to see my mother’s face again. And then, wouldn’t you know it, Zayan jumps right onto our ship, proclaiming his love…”
“No one proclaimed their love,” Gypsy denies.
“…And then, it turned out that whole storm was the compass’s fault. So, Miss Captain chucked it away, right onto that merchant ship, and we watched the storm zero in on them like it had a grudge. Then we escaped, made it to shore on a nearby island, and…”
“You threw the compass away?” I interrupt, disbelief tightening my voice. I’ve spent years hunting it, only to hear it was tossed away like driftwood. My jaw clenches as anger rises, tempered only by the sting of irony. Of course they’d toss out the one treasure I’d been risking my neck to find.
“What were we supposed to do, let it drown us?” Zayan retorts, defensive.
They don’t see it, don’t understand the stakes here. The Trials, the compass, the gateways—all discarded like meaningless relics. But the Lady doesn’t make mistakes in choosing. She’s toying with them now, but they don’t realize how far she’ll take them before she’s through.
“We did what we had to,” Gypsy says coolly, “but it’s not like we got away clean.”
For some reason, her frustration makes me smile. “Yeah? She got you good, huh?”
“If you consider showing me a talking monkey after dosing me with some jungle toxin ‘good,’ then yes. She got me,” Gypsy deadpans.
A dry laugh escapes me despite myself. “Just you?”
“Just me,” she mutters, unamused.
Ridley, caught up in his own thoughts, mutters, “So the compass brought the storm, and you tossed it to save yourselves. But the Lady doesn’t just let go. That compass is a key, a guide. You were chosen.” He pauses, his gaze thoughtful. “Did it come back to you?”
“I found it in the sand,” Vinicola says, sheepish.
“After that, we decided to follow it,” Gypsy admits, a reluctant hand rubbing the back of her neck, as if even the memory of that damned monkey unsettles her. I can’t say I don’t understand. The Lady’s got a twisted sense of humor—and an even worse sense of justice.
I could help her, I realize. If Gypsy’s really tangled up in the goddess’s games like I am, there are ways to shut her out. Techniques I’ve used before, imperfect but better than nothing. The real question is, do I feel like offering it?
“And that’s how you ended up at the shipwreck?” I ask, seeing now how they stumbled into the zone without even realizing it.
