Despite my wobbling knees, I push into a standing position, clutching the mast while the boat pitches down the valley of an incoming wave. Higher the wave rises. Its black wall seethes before my eyes. I whimper, my airway squeezing so tightly it crushes my scream to dust as the wave breaks over our creaking vessel, soaking us to the bone.
The North Wind, who has snagged one of the ropes attached to the front sail, shifts his weight to the opposite side of the hull to prevent us from capsizing. His arms draw taut, the muscles of his back contracting as he pulls open the slashed canvas.
My arms do not wish to part from the sturdy wood, this pillar of stability. But these men are counting on me.
Unlocking my fingers from around the mast, I begin shuffling toward the stern, clutching the gunwale to maintain balance. The sea-soaked floorboards are treacherous, slick where algae has bloomed. Then the boat dips, launching over the curved shoulder of a great wave. I gasp and seize the closest thing in reach—Boreas.
We are airborne, if only for a moment. We hit the sea in a spray of icy droplets.
Scowling, the North Wind pries my fingers loose and directs me to the rudder. Once I’ve grabbed hold, Notus and Zephyrus refocus their attention on patching the sails.
The rudder fights me, wanting only to follow the sea’s current. I do my best to keep it straight. Meanwhile, I hunt the waves beyond the thick cloud of rain, seeking rocky crags. A brilliant white bolt cuts the sky, followed by an ear-shattering boom. I flinch, stooping closer to the deck.
“Turn the rudder to the right!” the South Wind bellows. Somehow, he has managed to tie himself to the mast with rope and struggles to sew a patch onto the sail. Zephyrus works on the other sail with equal effort.
I shove my weight against the mechanism, each wave heaving higher than the last.
“Your other right,” he barks.
The stern rolls. My feet leave the ground, fingers yanked from the rudder. I’m launched skyward, and then I am falling, plunging through the roiling black sea.
All this time, it has been waiting. Its pointed nails grasp at my kicking legs, the tangled strands of my hair, for it remembers me, a child, a sacrifice made so Lady Clarisse could exchange my life for that of my father. Is it fate that brought me here, after all this time?
Another wave bowls me over. I’m spinning, grasping desperately for an anchor. My lungs twinge in warning. A furious kick in some senseless direction, and something grabs my hair andyanks. I break the surface, retching sea water.
“Pull her over!” Notus shouts.
I’m hauled onto the boat. My limbs flop in a heap of drenched fabric and pooling water. Rain lashes my skin, and I blink against the sting. Seconds later, Notus heaves himself aboard.
“Give it up, girl,” Boreas growls. He swipes at his dripping hair, blue eyes boiling against the gray. “You have no idea where we are or if we are even heading in the right direction.”
“We just have to find the eagle-shaped rock,” I manage through chattering teeth. “It’s close to his island.”
His eyes bulge in disbelief. “Eagle-shaped rock? Inthisstorm?” He shakes his head at his siblings, who appear equally concerned. “We should turn back.”
“No!” I shove myself upright, grab hold of a nearby crate. We spin, lurch, dip in a never-ending tumult. “We’re close. We have to be.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Boreas roars. “Any longer at sea, and there will be no returning home. We’re lucky we haven’t capsized yet!”
I scan our surroundings desperately. Rain, rain, and more rain. How long have we been sailing for? The marker should be close, but…
“He’s right, Min.” This from the West Wind. “It’s best if we return to St. Laurent and—”
“No!” I bark with a glare. Boreas’ blue eyes harden like two chips of frost, but I will not cower, I will not bend. “We’re not going back. If you disagree, feel free to jump ship.”
With that, I march over to the rudder, tilting the handle to the left so as to ease our passage through two colliding waves. I’m pleased when the brothers take their positions at the sails without argument.
It is a constant battle. I’m not certain how much time passes as we fight our way through the storm, but eventually, a large, dark shape emerges from the dim: the sleek head and hooked beak of an eagle.
“There!” I scream, pointing. “That’s the rock!” And beyond: the crowned turrets of the manor.
Notus takes over, steering us toward the beach at the south side of the island. The wind and hail worsen, but only until we manage to break through the wall of the storm. Then, an eerie silence descends. As soon as we hit shore, I fling myself onto the wet sand with a small sob of relief.
Boreas glances away uncomfortably. “Mortals,” he mutters.
“Don’t forget, you’re one too now,” Zephyrus reminds him as he gathers their weapons from below deck and passes them to their respective owners.
A small footpath winds its way toward the great, ominous edifice in the distance. Step by step, I lead the Anemoi toward the manor, moving as quickly as the uneven terrain will allow. A side door directs us to one of the expansive corridors. It is a dark stretch, broken only by small wells of light.
