A minute later, I’m finally set down.
“Untie the mooring lines and get off the boat,” Antoni hisses before the noise level decreases exponentially.
Two shallow thwacks, and the ring that kept the lid sealed pops off like a cork. Air, sweet, delicious air penetrates my cramped lungs. I steal lungfuls of it as Antoni reaches down and grips me underneath my armpits to heave me up.
His gaze rakes over me in quick sweeps. My hyperventilation and complexion must display how I feel because he says, “The worst is over.”
But is it? Don’t I need to crouch inside another small hole? I really don’t like tight spaces.
He motions to the open hatch. “Get in.”
I swallow down another wave of panic along with a growing sob. “I don’t think I can—”
“Fallon, please. If you don’t, then all the risks Giana and Mattia took will have been wasted.”
I flinch because the guilt he lashes me with feels like a whip.
As though the birds have awakened the serpents, the boat rocks hard and knocks into its neighbors.
I fall against Antoni as he mutters, “I need to get up on deck to steer.” He grips my head between his palms, presses his forehead against mine. “Fallon Rossi, I don’t know if you believe in omens and gods, but I believe everything happens for a reason, and those birds . . . they came out for a reason. Maybe that reason isn’t you, but what if it is? What if they came to help you get away?”
My mouth goes dry, and my pulse rears to a stop.
Of course.
This is Bronwen’s doing!
Or the crow’s!
His rough thumbs are soft against my cheekbones. “Perhaps serpents aren’t the only animals you can charm.”
I swallow, and it feels like I’m trying to gulp down an obsidian spike. HaveIdone this? Has my panic somehow carried every bird in Luce to me?
I nod, my forehead slipping off Antoni’s, then twist my face away from his and climb down into the hole. It’s twice the length of the wine barrel, but so shallow, I need to lay down. Bolstered by Antoni’s words, I slide into place.
Antoni stands above the hole and wastes precious seconds staring down at me. His eyes seem to gleam as though he’s seeing someone else in my stead.
Or not seeing anyone at all.
The boat bucks sideways, tipping the barrel and stealing the trapdoor from Antoni’s fingers. The slice of wood shuts with a deafening whack, pitching me in total, suffocating darkness.
Don’t panic, I tell myself, flattening my palms on either side of the cubby space.Don’t panic. Bronwen is watching and the crow is aiding.
Or the Cauldron.
Or one of our gods.
I feel both discombobulated puppet and shiny fishing lure, flopping from a fraying string between calculating men and shrewd beasts.
Whoever is manipulating my fate should probably have toned down my allure to avoid their chosen doer becoming someone’s choice prisoner.
Forty-One
What feels like a century later, Antoni’s boat stops moving. I think we’ve arrived until I hear gruff voices overhead. Their words are muffled by the closed cabin door and the small rug strewn over the floor, but I don’t miss the soft thump of someone jumping aboard.
The groan of wood makes my breathing falter. And then the door hinges creak and the voices become so clear that I know someone’s standing on the threshold, peering down the three steps that lead into the cabin. What will they think when they spot the empty barrel? Unless Antoni has disposed of it or shut it?
“Commander thinks the girl’s behind the birds,” comes a voice I’ve never heard before.
