Owen exhaled, shaking his head as if he barely believed his own words. “When a god or goddess deems someone worthy—through devotion, heroism, or favor—they grant them a godsmark. It’s a direct blessing. A bond. Agift.”
Vivienne’s throat felt tight, her mind swimming with questions. “But what does itmean? What does itdo?”
“According to legend, the mark grants a fragment of the god or goddess' power,” Cirrus said, still tracing the vines on her wrist. “You keep that power by aligning your actions with their values.” He met her gaze. “It seems Elandra is pleased with you, Banns.”
Vivienne swallowed hard. The weight of that statement pressed against her, heavy as the island’s grief.
“Wait a damn minute.” Lewis’ eyes darted between Vivienne’s wrist and the flourishing tree. "So you’re telling me Viv has…plant powersnow?" He threw his hands in the air, exasperation written across his face. “Whyher? No offense, Vivs, but plants are myentirelife!”
Florence clapped Lewis on the back, nearly knocking him forward. “No onechooseswho gets godsmarked, Blume. If there were a checklist, everyone would have one. Banner’s the first I’veeverseen.”
Owen, who had been studying her silently, finally spoke. “Did it hurt?”
She turned to him, surprised by the soft concern in his voice. “No,” she answered, then let out a shaky breath. “But it shocked the everdark out of me.”
Relief washed across his features.
Florence sighed, wringing her hands. “This has been heartwarming and all, but we need to move.” She gestured toward the rainforest. “We can marvel at Vivienne’s new ink once we’renoton an island actively trying to murder us.”
Vivienne exhaled, forcing herself back to the present. Owen was still weak, and the Zephyrus was still miles away. They had survived so much, but Enyo was still out there.
And she knew he wouldn’t stop until Verdance became her grave.
48
“Keep moving,” Florence whispered, her voice razor-thin, barely audible above the rustling leaves.
They had wasted too much time arguing over the safest path. Cirrus insisted they follow the river, retracing their steps, but Florence had known a quicker way—one that shaved off miles. What she hadn’t mentioned, at least not until it was too late to turn back, was that her shortcut veered dangerously close to Enyo’s camp. Every step was a risk.
The group crept forward in near silence, their movements slow and deliberate. Each snapped twig or misplaced footfall felt like the bang of a cannon.
"Shh! Be quiet," Vivienne hissed under her breath.
"Iamshushed, Viv,” Lewis muttered. “It’s not my fault everyone else is loud."
Her eyes narrowed, confused for a moment. Lewis was on the opposite side of where she heard the noise.Shit.
The underbrush rustled violently. Figures emerged from the trees, stepping into the moonlight—Enyo’s men, their weapons already drawn, their leering grins promising nothing but cruelty.
Her heart was a caged beast, battering against bone.
“Drop your weapons,” one of the sailors growled, his blade glinting in the pale glow. “You’re coming with us.”
Cirrus' hand twitched toward his cutlass, but Vivienne shot him a sharp, pleading look.Not here. Not now.They were outnumbered, and any fight would be over before it began. One by one, their weapons clattered to the ground.
The men wasted no time. Rough hands wrenched their arms behind their backs, binding them tightly. Rags, crusted with filth and the gods only knew what else, were shoved into their mouths. Vivienne gagged against the rancid cloth but forced herself to breathe through her nose. There was no point in struggling.
They were marched through the camp like war trophies. Fires crackled around them, casting long, flickering shadows across the rows of tents and makeshift structures. Vivienne caught glimpses of stolen supplies—barrels, crates, weapons—all pilfered from the Zephyrus crew during the raid.They’ve been living off our resources while hunting us down.The thought sent another wave of fury through her.
At the center of the camp, towering wooden stakes jutted from the ground like execution posts. The moment the sailors tied them in place, Vivienne knew exactly what this was.A display. A spectacle.Enyo wanted an audience. She reluctantly drew her gaze upward.
The captain lounged in a crude wooden chair, his wounded leg propped on a stool, his bandages already soaked through with blood. The sharp, jagged lines of his tattoo—a coiled serpent bound in broken chains—shifted with the rise and fall of his shallow breaths. He was in pain,good, but the dark gleam in his eyes warned that he was still very much in control.
Enyo’s lips twisted into a cruel grin. “Well, well,” he crooned, his voice like rusted iron. “I think you need a new nickname,Vivienne.” He spat her name like it was vulgar filth. “I’m thinking…cockroach. I’ve tried to kill you and your little friends several times, and yet… here you are.” He scowled. “And look, your plant friend is back from the dead.”
His murderous gaze zeroed in on Lewis.
Her stomach lurches, a sudden and sickening freefall.No!
