I tried to convince Anassa that being at the middle of the ship would help ease the unsteadiness and let her relax, but she growled at me, at Stark, and then snapped at Cratos.
It’s midafternoon and I’m considering sitting down with Venna and Noemi for another sign language lesson. I’ve spent all my nonvomiting time on the boat concentrating on studying and improving, and Venna’s been a patient teacher. Noemi asked to join, too.
But before I can go find them, Lucien calls out from his position at the helm. “We’re approaching the coordinates!”
I grunt and sit up. Stark helps pull me to my feet, and I keep hold of his hand for a moment as I stare out at the endless blue.
Only, it isn’t so endless any longer.
The others all gather at the rail. We shade our eyes against the glare of the sun on the water. And it’s just… there.
A dense fogbank hangs over the sea. The sky around it is crystal clear up until a point, and then it darkens significantly.
There’s a strong wind. Our sails flutter, and the rigging whips as we’re carried closer to the fog. And yet that thick mist doesn’t move.
It’s as if someone pulled a cloud down from the sky and tied it to the waves. No, to the island.
A chill streaks down my spine, and my grip on Stark’s hand tightens.
“Haunting,” Venna says as she steps onto the deck, voicing what we’re all thinking.
That wall of white stretches endlessly across our path, and we’re about to be swallowed up. I swear I can hear whispers in the wind. Moisture gathers on my skin, cold and clinging.
“Do you… feel that?” I ask Stark.
It’s strange. The seasickness that has followed me since we left the harbor is gone. It eases up the moment the first tiny droplets meet my skin.
Now, I have a growing sense ofawareness. Alertness. It’s like an instinct I didn’t know I had, pointing my eyes in the direction of the fog, willing me to listen to the wind.
“Yes,” Stark confirms.
Something pulls my eyes from him. I press against the railing, staring, waiting.
Out of the endless white comes the tower. We’re drifting closer to the edge of the fog now, close enough that the sun is lost behind its looming wall and our ship is drenched in shadow.
Even still, I can see the island. It’s a dark mass waiting for us, the jut of the tower unmistakable—as are the pack symbols carved into its face.
Elias gazes in wonder at the sight. I think it’s the first time I’ve seen his expression lack all artifice.
“It’s like legend brought to life,” he murmurs to himself.
We all stare at the foreboding tower in front of us as the mists around the top begin to clear. The black shape grows larger and larger, until it looks impossibly tall, like something from a fantastical story.
“Oh shit!” Lucien shouts. Sudden cold air rushes around us. I gasp and whirl. He yanks the wheel as hard as he can, spinning it so fast that the spokes blur.
“BRACE!” he screams.
44
MERYN
I turn wide eyes toward the island.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, massive spiked rocks spear out of the sea. They must’ve been hidden by the fog, but we’re in it now, the ship soaring toward them.
White water splashes up toward us as the hull groans under the weight of the sudden turn.
“Fuck!” I shout, staggering back.
