“You got a better plan?” he snaps, his tone sharper than ever. If this weren’t a life-or-death situation, I’d almost laugh at the edge in his voice.
Before I can fire back, Ridley and Rancour stumble over, both looking like they’ve been dragged through hell. Ridley, in particular, is paler than a corpse, clutching the map like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.
No wonder. His hangover must be brutal.
“We’ve got it,” Ridley grunts, slapping the map on the table. He jabs his finger at a speck in the ocean. “This here. Island’s called Solis, and it’s got a twin—Lune, right next to it.”
He pauses, taking a moment to steady himself, still reeking of last night’s rum. “The islands are close enough that when the sun sets behind Solis, the moon rises over Lune. Creates this rare point between them—both rays meet there.”
I snort, leaning in. “Let me guess, there’s land there?”
He glances at the map with a grimace. “If there is, it’s not marked.”
“Did Gypsy hear?” I ask.
“First thing I did was tell her,” he mutters. “She says it’ll be a miracle if we make it there in time.” He shrugs. “But miracles seem to be our currency lately.”
I let out a low breath, my fingers dragging through my hair as the madness of this whole damn quest starts to sink in.
“Aye,” I mutter, glancing at the map again. “Guess we’re in for another one.”
I lean back against the wall, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle in. We’re all running on fumes and barely sober. But add to it the ache in my ears and lungs from the dive and the pounding tension across my temples. I feel like I’m one wrong step from collapsing. And Gypsy? She’s been pushing herself twice as hard.
“Someone needs to take over for her at the wheel,” I mutter. “She’s been running the helm too long.”
“I’ll do it,” Ridley volunteers. Admirable, but I worry for his heart at this point.
Still, Fabien doesn’t have any experience and Vinicola is as good as dead. I don’t know if any of us is sharp enough to do it right now. Might as well take our best bets.
“Come on, then,” I say, pushing off the wall. “Let’s go see if she’s still standing.” Ridley falls in beside me, and even Fabien and Vinicola shuffle along, though I’d wager a leg Vinicola’s loathing every damn second.
As we step onto the deck, the cool night air smacks us, fresh and biting. The stars are fading, and the horizon’s starting to lighten. Dawn’s on its way.
Gypsy’s at the wheel, knuckles white as bone on the wood, like she’s the only thing keeping this ship from splitting in two. Even from here, I can see how the night’s worn her down. Every line of her, rigid and tense, like she’s carrying this whole cursed crew on her shoulders.
“Gypsy,” I call out, low, not wanting to startle her. She glances back, just enough for me to catch the exhaustion in her eyes.
“You all look like hell warmed over,” she rasps, managing a faint grin.
“You’re not exactly glowing yourself, Miss Captain,” Vinicola grumbles, and I don’t even hesitate. My hand connects with the back of his head before I know it.
“Get a grip, Vini,” I mutter, ignoring his wounded glare.
“I’m just stating the obvious,” he mutters, rolling his eyes.
Gypsy chuckles.
“Well, I see you were having fun there, deciphering the clue,” she comments.
“Yeah, he’s a real delight,” I reply, flashing her a grin. She matches it, and for a moment, maybe things aren’t so bad.
But then she turns, her gaze snapping to the horizon. It’s only for a second—a flicker of something that wasn’t there before. Her face shifts from worn to razor-sharp in an instant, every muscle taut, her knuckles somehow turning even whiter around the wheel.
The change is so fast it sets my nerves on edge.
“What is it?” I ask, before turning my own gaze where hers has landed. And there it is.
A ship with bright red sails, moving fast across the water. Even from this distance, the sight of those sails sends a cold shiver up my spine.
