Vinicola’s gaze flits to my hip. “And the compass?”
I reach into my pocket, feeling the weight of the metal in my hand, and glance at the needle spinning erratically. “Still no north, just circles.”
“So,” Zayan chimes in, rubbing his chin, “the hourglass remains our only guide to whatever it isshe—“ he tips his head upward, a mocking nod to the heavens—“wants us to find.”
I take a breath, settling my gaze on each of them in turn. “We stay put until moonrise. No point in setting sail without a heading.” I narrow my eyes at Zayan. “For all we know, the safest place for us is right here, within the gateway.”
Vinicola shifts uncomfortably. “Unless that blasted shark’s still out there.”
I feel a chill crawl up my spine, and I know he’s not the only one still rattled by that thing. But before I can say anything, Zayan steps in.
“I doubt it,” he says, his tone dismissive. “It seemed bound to that test, to guarding the hourglass. It wasn’t any ordinary shark. I’d wager it’s got no reason to come after us now.”
I nod, glancing at the deck beneath my feet as if gathering my own footing before meeting their eyes again. “Even if it’s out there, we’re better off facing it from the surface, with weapons in hand.” My arms cross over my chest. “So the plan stands—we wait for moonlight. See what the hourglass shows us and make our move after. Any objections?”
I look around, waiting, but no one speaks up. Seems we’re all in agreement. That’s when Vinicola’s voice cuts through the silence.
“So, how about a celebration?” he chirps, a grin on his face. “The crew’s going wild—everyone’s delighted that Mr. Zayan made it out in one piece. If we’ve got an hour or two to spare…”
“I’m not sure Zayan should be drinking after his heart nearly gave out…” Fabien mutters, but Vini only waves him off.
“If the sea didn’t kill him, a little rum won’t either,” he quips. “Right?”
And that, really, is the only encouragement we need.
Soon enough, we’re sprawled out across the deck, four bottles of rum making their way around our little circle, the hourglass between us, casting faint shadows in the lamplight. The sky’s thick with clouds, hiding any stars, but the night’s warm, and the moon slipping from behind that cover is just a matter of time.
Vinicola tips his bottle back, letting out a satisfied sigh as he lowers it. “To the moon,” he toasts, holding it up with a bright grin. “And to us, who somehow managed to survive the craziest predicament I’ve ever been in.”
Fabien lets out a tired sigh, clinking bottles reluctantly. There’s a flicker of something—maybe amusement—as he shakes his head. Zayan, on the other hand, smirks, his bottle barely lifted, eyes glinting in that lazy, devil-may-care way of his. “To the moon,” he echoes, his tone thick with irony. “May it spare us a few more days.”
I take a long pull from the bottle, letting the rum burn its way down, thick and sharp, until it settles low in my gut. My fingers grip the neck hard enough that my knuckles ache, steadying the slight wobble in my hand. Leaning back against the rough wood of the ship’s railing, I keep my eyes fixed on the dark horizon, feeling the press of salt air.
“Here’s to surviving,” I mutter, my voice rougher than I intended. The others don’t need to hear it, and frankly, I’m not talking to them anyway.
This moment—the calm before whatever madness awaits—is something I didn’t think I’d appreciate, especially not with the likes of Fabien.
It seems not so long ago that I was stealing a ship from two pirates who held Vinicola hostage beneath the deck. To think that that little schooner is already at the bottom of the sea…
But here I am. Somewhat content. Maybe even happy.
Vinicola leans back beside me, eyes on the shadowed sky. “Think it’s all that entertaining?” he murmurs, a wry smile at his lips. “Watching us scramble around like crabs on the beach?”
For a second, I almost laugh.
He doesn’t need to clarify what he’s talking about. We all know. The goddess watches us, mortals. For what reason, I couldn’t guess.
“Crabs have more dignity,” Fabien mutters, taking a swig of his drink.
“Maybe she’s just even more of a bitch than we thought?” I muse, swirling the rum in my bottle.
“I always knew she was the worst damn bitch out there.” Fabien snorts.
Zayan chuckles, stretching his legs out as he leans back. “Yeah, she got you good. What the fuck was that with you not aging? How did that even work?”
Fabien’s eyes narrow, and for a second, I expect him to snap. But he just takes another drink, barely looking Zayan’s way. “You think I understand it any better than you?” he mutters. “After the… tragedy, I washed up on an island, nothing special at first. Thought I’d die of thirst or hunger, but she had other plans. Trapped me there until she got bored.”
“Did she ever, though?” Vinicola quips, still watching the sky.
