Sun poked through overcast clouds, glinting off the churning water. Erinna scanned the rest of the crew, watching as theyscurried about the ship with a myriad of duties. “Does anyone else on the crew have a Talent?” she asked.
“Kane and Asher are the only ones who can harness arcanum.” Lila paused, as if wondering how much to divulge. “Scoutis strong enough to be considered magical, but he can’t formally weave arcanum.”
Erinna nodded and had the sense that there was more Lila could divulge. It would take time.
“Can I go below? See how you’ve set up operations?” It was a huge ask, but Erinna figured she had to try. Lila quickly shook her head in response.
“I don’t know exactly what you and Cap agreed to, but for now, you stay on deck and away from places you can hide.”
Fair. Mast it was.
Asher could use all the help she could get. Erinna would imbue the stone into the wood, which would give the stormsinger a well-earned focus for her casting.
Erinna weaved through the bustle as crew members raced across the deck. A man bellowed from below, scattering a few people like a flock of birds. That must be Brax, Erinna surmised. Apparently, he commanded in grunts and yells as he requested supplies and aid.
Erinna itched to join, hoping that the carpenter would make his way back above deck so that she could at least bear witness to his craft. Only when Lila cleared her throat did Erinna realize she had drifted off in thought, staring at the hatch that led below.
“Sorry, just curious.” Erinna turned her attention back to the large wooden structure in front of her. The headsail and mainsail had been stored while the boat was docked. Though it was clear the intention was to ensure the boat was ready to sail at a moment’s notice.
She dropped her pack with a thud and rifled through the borrowed tools. At least they had decent tools for her to work with.
“The trick is to merge the stone with the wood, not to force it.” Erinna recited the advice her father had given her. Lila yawned, clearly not as interested in the craft as she was.
She pulled the witchstone from her bag. The midnight-blue material was cool in her hand and thrummed with potential. Erinna was still surprised at how high the quality was. She would expect nothing less from an item in Ivan Kellori’s personal collection. Erinna let her mind drift briefly to the family and wondered if they made it safely to the Initian Islands.
Guilt churned lightly in her stomach. She had hoped to return the gift if their paths ever crossed again.
Erinna pushed the growing feeling aside. There was no other option.
She proceeded to grab a small carving knife and could hear Lila shift positions behind her. No doubt ready to pummel her should the need arise.
“You have to treat the stone more like a living thing than a shiny rock.” Erinna continued and gulped down the rising doubt. She warmed the stone between her hands, praying for its assistance. This was not part of the instructions, but Erinna hoped that somehow the magical stone could sense it and not put up a fight. She had only seen her father do this a few times and assisted once.
In her desperation, she grew arrogant. She would make it work. She would figure something out.
Chapter
Seventeen
Erinna reeked of salt and sweat when she returned to camp. The sun had dipped below the horizon, and she had nothing to show for her efforts except cuts, bruises, and splinters.
Fires crackled in makeshift pits, casting jagged shadows across the rocky walls and crumbling old shelters. Boisterous dinner conversations and quarrels competed with the singing crickets. The smell of roasted meat and vegetables filtered from Rem’s cooking fires, but Erinna wasn’t hungry.
She kept to the outskirts, ducking past a cluster of pirates sharpening their blades. Erinna tried not to stay too long in their glares. It was best to avoid anyone who was looking for a brawl. They were a rowdy bunch, yet nothing they’d done seemed particularly cruel.
Questionable, sure.
But not cruel.
A familiar shape flashed in her periphery, and Erinna came to a sudden halt. She rubbed her eyes. Surely her vision was mistaken.
Afton, the Minor Apprentice, was sitting on a log, slumped over a book, an empty plate littered with crumbs resting at his feet.
She had seen him once before, briefly. It was hard to forget the face of someone so esteemed across the nation.
There were two apprentices that Chancellor Iprix Hagan had trained—Haru Tyril and Afton Darkwood. Many spoke highly of Haru; some tolerated Afton.
Both were nothing more than an extension of King Mycelar’s powerful reach.
