CHAPTER ONE
Corrick
I’ve lost track of the days.
I should’ve kept track. Prisoners in the Hold used to scratch lines into the walls, though they rarely got more than five.
This feels like more than that.
A lot more.
The first burst of sunlight peeks between the trees that I can see from the bars of our cell. It’s not really acellat all, more of a cave set deep in the woods of whatever island we’re on. We’re a good distance from wherever the pirates live, because unless they come to us, we never hear them: no talking, no shouting, no sounds of life at all. The cave runs deep underground, until the light disappears and we can hear water, but the walls go too narrow, leaving us with no exit that way. Bars block the entrance, fixed and mortared into the stone. Lochlan and I spent our early days testing every bar, every joint, every hinge. But despite the salty sea air andthe rainstorms that drive us back below cover, the bars and mortar stand strong.
A well-constructed prison.
When I was locked in the Hold in Kandala, it felt like poetic justice.
It shouldn’t feel like it now, but it does.
Footsteps crunch through the underbrush somewhere among the trees, but I don’t sit up. This will be our breakfast.
I’ve stopped caring. I roll over and face the cave wall, pulling farther into the shadows.
The crunching stops, followed by a slide of metal against stone.
“Food, boys,” a woman calls. It’s Lina, one of Oren Crane’s people. She whistles a few short notes, like we’re caged dogs. “Come eat now.”
I ignore her. I ignore all of them.
Lochlan doesn’t say anything either. I wonder if he’s asleep.
I don’t care.
“Oren will be back soon,” she says. “You’d best be ready. He’ll have a plan for you, Wes. You want to keep that pretty head on your shoulders, you’re going to do what he says.”
Wes.The name tugs at me, reminding me of nights in the Wilds with Tessa. Her quiet smile, her quick hands, her gentle manner. Her intelligence. Herbravery. I fell in love with her by moonlight.
My heart clenches. I have to shove these thoughts away.
I can’t be Weston Lark here. Wes was warm and kind and rarely had a harsh word for anyone.
If Weston Lark were real, he’d probably be dead already.
Weston Larkwasdead already. I thought Tessa would never forgive me for it.
And now I’m sure she thinks I’m dead for a second time. Or is this the third? I’ve lost track.
I might as well be. I close my eyes.
Eventually, Lina gives up on our silence. Her feet crunch through the undergrowth again, and we’re alone.
The scent of the food doesn’t take long to reach me. Some kind of meat, and what smells like fresh-baked bread. They only feed us twice a day, so I should be starving, but I’m not. I stopped caring about fooddaysago. Birds chirp somewhere out in the trees, waking in the sunlight, but I burrow more deeply under my sparse blanket, pulling my jacket tightly against myself.
Notmyjacket.Harristan’sjacket.
I’ll never see my brother again.
I try to shove this thought away too, but I’m not quick enough. My throat tightens and my eyes go hot. I hold my breath so I don’t make a sound.
