There is just the moan of the hull. Just the sound of groaning wood and someone—one of the crew?—whimpering.
I peel myself from Arion’s arms and look around. Felix is unconscious, his hair matted with blood and his leg trapped under the mast. Gavriall cradles his head while Vesper breathes fast and shallow above them, clutching her side. Her legs have remained. She didn’t get wet. But her skin bleeds and a large splinter spears her hip. Amaya stands from where she was thrown, soaked to the bone and utterly frozen save for her eyes as they rove the ship.
We’re all alive.Barely.
“An ominous omen, to be sure,” the skull chitters beside Felix’s unconscious body, “mind your hearts and beware of her.”
Amaya kicks her away with a growl. A few of her crew rush toward Felix, freeing his leg before bandaging his wounds. He’ll survive. For now. In fact, he’s the lucky one. Lying here, unconscious, without needing to continue on.
“Fuck,” Gavriall curses, rising on unsteady feet. “That was—”
“Let’s just do this already.” Vesper storms past him, brandishing a sword from the bandolier strapped across her chest. “Warlock, dry the mermaid. We’re wasting time.”
“It’s been… seconds,” Gavriall sputters. “What do you mean we’rewasting time?”
Because she knows, I think, my throat constricting at what we’reabout to do.She knows how much danger we’re in if the sorcerer finds us here.But I don’t say that. Can’t find it in me to speak, only breathe.Just keep breathing.Arion moves to dry me with the magic he definitely shouldn’t be using, but Amaya beats him to it. She stalks forward, around us, to the railing and peers out over the trench. With a wave of her hand, hot winds dry my scales. Instantly, I transform back. Long legs bare beneath my skirt. I climb to my feet hastily.
Amaya doesn’t acknowledge me. Only her crew. “Ready your weapons. We don’t know what truly awaits once we set foot off this ship. We need to be prepared for everything. Move in units of four. Do not let your crew out of your sight. If we lose one another, meet back here at dawn.”
“About our ship,” a young woman with a shaved head and pitch-black brows says. “How are we going to leave? It’sdecimated.”
Amaya glances over her shoulder, her feline expression sharp. “We have a warlock on our side. When we return, he will repair it with his godly magic. Won’t you, Arion?”
“Yes.” Arion nods without question, without hesitation. He joins Amaya, and together—side by side—they appear as two fierce warriors, an almost palpable air of anticipation crackling between them. My stomach roils. “It won’t be a problem.”
Amaya grins, heedless of the horrors below. “Good.”
Goddess.We really need to find that fucking heart. My limbs refuse to cooperate when I try to step forward, and instead I hesitate, feeling Vesper move beside me. Though she doesn’t speak, she glances at me, her navy gaze wide and worried. Any and all remaining pretense falls away from us. This isn’t just any other theft. This is more dangerous than anything we’ve done before.
She takes my hand. Surprisingly, she squeezes it.
And then she lets it fall. “Great luck, Zephyra,” she whispers.
“Great luck,” I murmur back.
Amaya joins us in the next second, fingering the sharp tip of her dagger. “What will be our first concern when we breach the castle?” she asks us.
“The guards,” I say at the same time Vesper says, “Everything.”
Amaya’s eyes flick between us before she nods once, as if satisfied.She has no idea though.Noneof them do. Not even Vesper, who seems to grasp the danger of our situation better than anyone else.
If we survive the night, it’ll be a goddess-damned miracle.
Swallowing hard, I force myself to say, “Let’s go.” And together, we climb down the shattered wood planks and into the Sceleratus Trench. There is no more turning back. There is no more running.
This is it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
ARION
Before us, the castle rises. Exactly as Zephyra described it.
The drained seafloor groans under my boots as I stare up in unadulterated loathing. Spires blackened and twisted, its windows glow with an eerie amber light that pulses like a heartbeat. Even without the sea to cradle it, the structure feels alive. It feels likemagic.And I want to fucking incinerate it.
The pain in my shoulder blades sharpens at the sight, a serrated throb building along the joints where my wings twist and jerk forward. The pain has never truly ceased in all my years of carrying them, but here—as magic coils through the air like a heady toxin—it seems to gnaw deeper. My wings pull harder.
Abysses.
