“Rancour!” I shout, my voice barely cutting through the chaos. He turns, dark eyes sharp beneath his soaked hair.
“Captain!” Rancour yells, steadying himself as the ship lurches again. “We’re about to turn! Brace yourself!”
Turn? Turn where?
But before I can snap at him for an explanation, the whole ship veers, listing so sharply I’m slammed into the railing. The wood crushes against my ribs, the impact stealing the breath right from my lungs. I cough, doubling over, and for a second, I swear I taste blood on my tongue.
Water surges over the sides in a torrent.
Rancour’s shouting something, but I can’t make it out. I catch the flash of his arm, but it’s too late—a loose rope whips around the mast and swings toward me like a bullet. It cracks against my shoulder, and pain explodes through my arm, dark spots edging my vision.
“Damn it!” I hiss, gripping the railing hard enough to splinter the wood. Pain or not, I’m not about to black out. I refuse to give in.
I force myself upright by sheer power of will. The deck lurches again, and another wave crashes over us, soaking me to the bone, the salt burning in every scrape and bruise.
Rancour reaches out. His fingers close around my arm, steadying me as the ship tilts again, and through the roar of the wind and water, his voice cuts through. “Look up, Captain!”
I drag my gaze skyward, breath rasping in my chest. Above us, a line of white forms in the sky. At first, I think it’s the clouds. That they somehow morphed or came with the wind. But no. It’smoving.
Seagulls. Hundreds of them, forming a thick line that veers toward the Marauders’ ship before stretching out beyond it.
My gut twists. “Is this…?” I mutter, bile rising to my throat.
Rancour’s lips curl into a dark smile. “The Lady’s not too keen on being outsmarted.”
A sick feeling pools in my stomach. The sea goddess’s wrath, laid out plain as day for all to see—even the Marauders. They just have to look up to know exactly where we’re headed. We may be faster than the Red Ones now, but if they can track us by the sky, we’re as good as cornered.
I spit the salt from my lips, muttering curses under my breath. “Rancour,” I snap, forcing my voice steady, “you got a regular compass on you?”
He blinks, his smirk faltering, but digs into his soaked coat until he pulls out a battered brass compass, scratched and weathered. He flips it open, showing me the needle wavering as it settles.
“We’re heading straight for the Sister Islands,” I say, piecing it together in my mind, two and two forming a bleak answer.“We’ll reach the Trial, alright. But so will the Marauders. That’s what’s going to happen, isn’t it?”
“Only one way to find out, right? We hang on!” he screams.
I hate that he’s right.
All we can do now is pray we reach the Sister Islands first, finish the Trial, and somehow slip away before the Marauders catch up. Because a vengeful goddess is one thing—but Roche of the Crimson Marauders is another beast entirely.
Call me a fool, but of the two of them, there’s only one who’d flay me alive without blinking.
And this time, I’m not about to put a bullet through my head to avoid that. Not a chance.
42
Vinicola
“Everybody tied up?” Mr. Zayan asks, his voice strained as he clings to a wooden bar, a hammock knotted around him. He’s the only one still standing, if you could call it that—though he looks more like he’s clinging on for dear life.
Around me, the rest of us are strapped to similar bars, swaddled up in hammocks like salted fish. It’s a bit humiliating, really—bound like we’re cargo instead of crew. The fabric’s cinched around our chests and shoulders, knotted tight to keep us from bouncing around like dice in a cup. I try to shift, but I’m held fast.
“Over here! One more!” someone yells, but with my neck straining against the fabric, I can barely manage a glance. Not that I’d want to, honestly. My head’s already a spinning mess from the constant sway and the distant roar of the sea beast outside.
Fabulous choice, this plan of ours.
But, as Fabien pointed out, something has to give. And if we’re to get even a wink of rest before the Trial, well…we’ll have tosettle for feeling like trussed-up game hens. At least we’ve got daggers strapped to our wrists for quick escapes.
“Alright, listen up,” Miss Captain says, pushing her way past dangling legs and elbows until she wedges herself between me and Fabien. She nods for Zayan to tie her in. “We’ve already lost three: Gunn, Morgan, and Bones went overboard, and there’s no getting them back. So let’s keep sharp and do what we must to survive this.”
