The fear is still there, but I haven’t felt this truly at peace in so long, I forgot this feeling existed.
Ordus’ stray tentacle has been wrapped around my bad arm every chance it gets. I should probably hate it, but whatever magic it is that Ordus has, his little ministrations make the painin my arm subside enough for me to have a coherent string of thought.
We spent the day setting up containers around the island to collect rainwater. Ordus never asked why, or what the purpose of the containers was. He just did it happily without question. But when I explained to him what it’s for and how it’d work, I half regretted it.
The only time Ordus left my side was for about half an hour, when he came back with three big drums. I felt like throwing my bachelor’s degree out the window whenhewas the one who suggested a filtration system with mesh from the mainland.
I am equally impressed and mortified that a kraken out-engineered me.
I’m pretty sure he picked up on it, so he took the back seat and let me order him around as we put it together—not that I was much help, since my elbow decided to become completely useless after I made lunch. At least the rain saucer was my idea.
I peek at Ordus out of the corner of my eye. His braid falls over his shoulder, and he carefully touches the green scrunchie as if it might break. Every time I see him looking down at the hair tie like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen, my stomach does a flip.
He looks at me the same way, I realize. That same awe, like I’m more than just a body he needs to marry to end a curse. Like he might want me for me, not because I’m something a divine being threw his way—or out of a sense of duty.
It doesn’t matter whether I like it or not. My feelings mean nothing.
I won’t stay here permanently. I need to figure out a way to leave so I can keep running until my eventual death. But…would it be so bad if I hung around here for a while to catch a break? Whoever was at my place will probably think I did a runner again and be looking for my trail in the wrong direction.
It’d be a chance for me to regroup and recover, make a plan, then go for it.
Just the thought of needing to start again makes me sick.
But when I think about the Curse…it doesn’t make sense. How could the fate of all krakens possibly be on my back? I’m a random human plucked off the street. There’s no way aGoddesspicked me to be the supposed savior.
“There’s no…back door?” I think out loud.
Ordus casts his attention to me.
“For the Curse,” I clarify. “You can’t use reverse psychology on the Curse and make it take someone else’s land—okay, not like that. But, I don’t know? Maybe bounce the Curse to a parcel of land not being habited. Like…like the space cemetery in the South Pacific Ocean by…” I click my fingers.Where was it?“Point Nemo!”
“Uh…” He glances to the side, like he’s finding a way to nicely tell me I’m insane. “I…do not know where that point is…or a space cemetery.”
“It’s where countries dispose of their spacecrafts like satellites and space debris.” I read an article back when Dad was alive, when I still had interests outside of pleasing Tommy. “There are no oceanic currents in the area or something like that, so there’s no marine life. If there is, there would be even less life caused by the chemical spillage, radioactive material, general waste, and collision shock. If you deflect the Curse to the cemetery, it would beperfect.”
Ordus scratches the back of his head then snatches his hand away like he doesn’t want to ruin the braid. I bite back a smile—another foreign feeling. Did I smile or laugh with Deedee and Nat?
He frowns. “Even if that was possible, I wouldn’t have the slightest inkling on how to do it. Any kraken who may have ideas are either dead or have gone to seek sanctuary elsewhere.”
“Fuck.”
“I do not have the magical capabilities to wield that type of power,” he adds.
I tip my head back and squeeze my eyes shut. I can’t have the fate of all krakens in my hands. I just can’t. How many krakens are out there? A hundred? Three hundred? Thousands?
“May I ask you a question?”
“No,” I say immediately. Ordus’ face falls, and my gut constricts with guilt. “Maybe,” I amend.
“Who is after you?”
I take a deep breath. It’s the question I’ve been dreading. I figured he’d ask sooner rather than later.
My hand wraps over the scar on my wrist like it might hide the evidence of my past. As I rub it, pins and needles pierce my flesh from my elbow down to my fingers at the thought of Tommy.
There’s not a single person who knows who and what I’m running from, or even my real name. A name carries weight. The moment I say his name, Thomas Gallagher, people will start connecting the dots.
But who would a kraken know? Yes, he’s a king, but he had no idea what a scrunchie was. He thought my skincare products were potions, that humans drink seawater.
