“How…”
He inclines his head toward the deck beneath my feet, and the grin he flashes at me is downright devious. My eyes lower, and it’s only then I spot the smallgoiteíamarks etched into the wooden planks of the vessel. A few familiar markings stand out. The one for water, three rows of jagged wave lines, and the mark to drain, a chevron with a single line bisecting the middle, are the most common. Another is also repeated: two parallel lines crossing a wavy line. The mark for strength.
“Why didn’t you carve any to control the ship?” I ask while my mind tallies the various markings around the deck. There’s easily a hundred of them notched into the boards beneath my feet, the railings, the masts, and even the stern itself. The realization of how much magic the ship holds makes me wince. It must have taken years off the life of the carver, assuming they were all done by the same person.
If they’re even still breathing at all.
“Now, what would be the fun of that?”
I’m struck speechless, torn between frustration and amusement.
Nikolas booms a laugh, and I hear the chuckles echoing around the deck, drawing my gaze to the rest of the crew, who throw us surreptitious glances. I narrow my eyes back at them.
“Tell me, Starling, did you feel the fear of the unknown? The rush of excitement flooding your body? The thrill of triumph?”
I push my annoyance aside and think over his words for a moment—not that I need to. If I’m honest with myself, I felt all those things and more. There’s no denying it, so I nod in response.
“Exactly. Magic is a wonderful thing—a gift from the gods. Butfeelingis also magical. If we usedgoiteíafor everything, nothing would be worth living for.”
“A captain and a wise man,” I chuckle, shaking my head. “Who would have thought?”
Nikolas flashes his dazzling grin again, and this time I return it.
“Obviously you won’t see it from here, but Vilea is on the other side of those mountains.” He nods behind me, and I turn.
Under the golden rays of sunlight seeping through the white veil, the mountains have an ethereal quality, light shimmering off thick white veins running through their rocky sides.
My mind wanders from the jagged mounts to the unyielding edges of my future. The trials in Vilea loom just as high, their weight heavy and unrelenting. Will I have what it takes to overcome them?
And then there is the weapon—the mere idea of it feels as elusive as catching shadows in my hands. How are the others expected to steal something when they don’t even know what they’re looking for? Only the most skilled and formidable Nightwings and Songbirds from the Aviary qualify for Alpha Flight. But skill and strength aren’t always enough. Their former Flight Commander’s death is proof of that, and his absence hangs over them like a cloud that no amount of wind could chase away.
“That’s the Rithean Range?” I ask.
“It is.” Nikolas gives me an appraising look. “Have you traveled to Eretria before?”
“Only through books.”
“Ah, so you’re a scholar, then?”
“No,” I reply with a scoff, suppressing a laugh. Did he think I was an Owl? “Just a dreamer, I suppose.”
“Now,thatmakes more sense.”
Since the waters have calmed, I loosen my death grip on the railing and angle my face toward him. “What makes you say that?”
“You can always tell when a person has adventure in their blood and dreams in their soul,” the captain says, the glimmer of respect in his eyes bringing a small blush to my cheeks. “They’re the ones who stand at the helm when the oceans are rough. Even if there’s no promise of making it through the storm.”
A crooked smile curves my lips as I turn forward, preparing myself for what lies ahead.
Steeling myself for the storm to come.
Time has felt like aparadox, slipping away faster than I realized, and before long, we’ve almost reached our destination.
The moment we crossed into the autumn kingdom, the change in climate hit me like a gust of icy wind. Gone were the endless days of sun-drenched warmth I had always known. The crisp, cool air carried the scent of fallen leaves and damp earth, a stark contrast to the eternal summer I was used to. My breath fogged in front of me, and I had to clutch my cloak tighter around my shoulders, unprepared for the sharp chill in the air.
AfterThe Nightingaledelivered us to Corinth, the rest of our journey to the Eretrian capital unfolded over a few days in a haze of sprawling townships, each bustling with life and activity; vibrant autumnal forests painted in hues of gold and crimson; and rolling hills that seemed to stretch endlessly into the horizon. Along the way, the distant sounds of laughter and chatter from market squares mingled with the rustling of leaves in the crisp autumn breeze—a montage of sights and sounds that marked every mile we traveled.
Corinth reminded me of the Sorrows in the way a raindrop reminded me of a thunderstorm. The docks of the port had been a city all on their own—a maze of double-story piers and decks, wooden bridges, and staircases. Hundreds of boats, large and small, were tethered along every length, making me wonder how their owners navigated them into place. The streets were still bustling with activity, as vibrant as they hadbeen when we first arrived earlier in the day. Music and laughter spilled from balconies and windows, carrying through the air and blending into a melody of contagious joy that made me feel at odds with the tycheroi of the city.
