As the sun crept across the sky, the tension loosened its grip. Gypsy kept muttering about how the storm caught us off guard, but it never returned. Now, it’s the morning of our second day, and she’s visibly more relaxed at the helm—though the exhaustion is etched into every line of her face. She’s the only one who hasn’t slept yet.
I’d sing her to sleep if I wasn’t afraid of Zayan’s wrath. For some reason, my singing rubs him the wrong way. Strange, considering I’m the best bard these islands have ever known—if I do say so myself.
Speaking of which...
“Did the direction change?” Zayan’s gruff voice breaks the silence. He emerges from below deck like a bat from its cave—hair wild, eyes squinting against the sunlight.
Miss Captain checks her golden compass and shakes her head. “Nope, still the same.”
Zayan mutters a curse.
He’s worried. According to him, if the needle hasn’t shifted, it means we’ve got a long way to go. And a longer journey means more stops—more opportunities for trouble. We’ve already set sail with barely enough supplies to make it through a few days, let alone a trek across the gods-forsaken Whisperwind Sea.
A few sad, empty barrels and chests are strapped to the deck, hopeful for rain that refuses to show. We’re all parched. My throat feels like I’ve swallowed dried kelp, and from the way Zayan keeps licking his lips, I’m guessing he’s feeling the same. Gypsy, on the other hand, hasn’t said a word, but I catch the way her hands grip the wheel tighter every time she glances at those barrels.
Zayan’s busy setting up a fishing rod, probably praying we’ll hit one of those magical spots where fish decide to bless us with their presence. Meanwhile, I’ve gathered what little gunpowder we have onto the deck—because if a goddess shows up looking for a fight, I’d rather throw something explosive at her than rely on my usual charm.
Not that charm’s gotten me very far lately, anyway.
Still, Miss Captain has that look in her eyes—the one that sparkles like stars when the night winds catch her hair. It’s the look of someone who’ll claw her way to freedom, come hell or high water.
Yet here we are, dry as old bones, with no rain in sight.
“Take it easy, love,” Zayan says, stepping close to her. “Wouldn’t want to burn out so early.”
She waves him off like she’s done at least twice since our last stop. “I’ve survived worse,” she says, her voice firm but her movements a little less so.
Let’s be honest—anyone with half a brain can see she’s exhausted.
My mother always told me I had the heart to achieve great things, but she never met Miss Captain. There’s something about her—an aura that pulls you in. A sort of energy that just makes you want to follow her, whatever she wants to do. I never thought my life was boring—oh no—but one look at Gypsy Flint and you just know her life is on a whole other scale. Grander. Wilder. More intense.
She’s the pulse of this ship, the very rhythm of it. Even now, with that energy running low, she’s still the shotcaller. Me and Zayan both know it.
“There should be a small island on our course soon,” Zayan suggests, glancing at the map. “It’s uninhabited but has fresh water and plenty of shade. Like the one we stayed on yesterday.” He points to the map, tracing a route with his finger.
Miss Captain watches him, her lips pressing together. She’s about to say no—oh, I can feel it—but then her eyes flick to the compass. The moment softens. Her resolve shifts.
And just as she’s about to speak, the compass needle twitches.
Her expression sharpens. That soft moment is gone, replaced with a grin that spreads across her face, and a blush that creeps back into her cheeks.
“I don’t think so,” she says, the words carrying a new energy. “The direction just changed.”
Her words float through the air, reaching me like a soft breeze. Zayan and I both freeze, our gazes locking onto the compass. And sure enough, the needle is shifting east.
“It changed,” Zayan whispers, disbelief mingling with...what is that? Relief? Fear? Some odd cocktail of emotions that I wouldn’t want to drink.
Gypsy cracks her neck, the exhaustion seeming to melt away as she grabs the wheel and steers us toward this new course. To her, the tiredness doesn’t exist anymore. Toher.
The compass points us to the east,
We must heed if we fear the lady’s wrath,
But Miss Captain’s strength has ceased,
Too weary to guide our path.
Zayan and I exchange a glance.
