Her voice cracked out the words. “It’s theAkias.”
Augustus snatched the spyglass from her. Through the lens, a nightmare version of the ship he grew up on. And roaring from the bow, the familiar three-headed god—bull, bear, and jackal. There was no movement, no figure at the helm, no echo of voices on the wind, no clatter of rigging.
He lowered the glass. “It’s her.”
“No. Let me see that,” Blaze said, taking the spyglass. “Gods.” The Ranger fumbled the glass and stepped aside, his jaw muscles flaring. His gaze shot to Augustus with a sea of apologies in his eyes.
Oskar, from Blaze’s other side, asked Augustus, “You’re certain?”
The air seemed to tighten around his chest. “It’s my father’s ship.”
“I don’t see anyone aboard,” Blaze said. “They probably just cut her loose.”
Lili grabbed his wrist as if to squeeze that bit of hope into his bloodstream. “They’re all right. They have to be.”
The words were as much for him as for herself.
Her father, Loto, sailed with Mettius.
A pit opened in his stomach. Losing his father only months after his mother… He couldn’t fathom that the gods would be so cruel.
As they drew near, the creak of the ship reached far and wide over the waves. No lanterns, no signals, no flags.
No life.
It was like witnessing the stillness of a cruel death.
“Pull alongside her,” he called to Victoria at the helm. Then, to everyone else, “Prepare to board.”
Oskar stepped further toward the bow, a shadow in wait.
A groan unrolled across the water, a deep and guttural sound as if the ship was sighing its final breath. The sea slapped against the hull, then nothing. No cry of birds, no flutter of movement, no creak of rope.
Below on the main deck, a child’s voice asked, “What’s that smell?”
Augustus’s stomach turned, and Blaze squeezed his shoulder.
That was decay on the wind, faint but putrid.
The ship held its breath as theEntiapulled alongside her mate.
Silent stares from all over crept along the back of Augustus’s neck, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the main deck of his father’s ship.
Dark streaks slashed across the planks—blood or tar? He couldn’t tell. The smear trail led below into the bowels of the ship. Broken crates littered the deck, and ropes dangled uselessly. Barrels had been shattered.
Behind him, Omar called out an order, though it was quiet. “Arm yourselves. Just in case.”
Augustus was the first across the gangplank, cutlass in hand, knuckles screaming. He jumped into the oppressive silence, the ghosts of his past a shroud. The stench of rot and decay clung to everything he passed.
His crew held handkerchiefs over their mouths and noses, taking it all in. They kicked the pieces of crates out of the way and picked up discarded weapons coated in dried blood. A bucket and brush lay on its side, the water that had been inside long dried up.
Augustus followed the smeared trail of dried blood, moving hanging ropes aside as he went. The more he walked, the less he felt his own feet or hands.
He paused at the stairs that led below, and Lili stopped in his periphery. She wobbled.
Augustus shot back to her side to hold her up. “Lili?”
“I can’t,” she whispered, words catching.
