Page 36 of The Isles of the Gods
The sick horror of it sits heavy in my gut, pushing up through my throat in a wave of nausea as I reach the third ship and finally,finally,I realize what I’m seeing.
This is the prince’s decoy fleet. This wreckage is all that remains of the happy-go-lucky ships we left behind in Kirkpool, wreathed in lights and flowers, playing trumpet music on their gramophones as the young nobles danced on deck late at night.
Whoever did this wanted to kill Prince Leander.
The law of the sea is clear and unbreakable—you don’t turn away from a ship in mortal peril. Not for profit, not out of fear. You turn toward them, and you render aid. But I know without a doubt there’s nobody on those ships left to save.
“Barrica grant them rest,” Jonlon murmurs behind me as I lower my eyeglass.
Kyri’s shaking her head slowly, already pressing Jonlon’s eyeglass back into the man’s hand. “Pray later,” is all she says, every ounce of her usual laughter gone. Mouth flattened to a grim line, our ship’s magician points to the horizon.
At first I can’t think what she’s showing me that I haven’t seen. Then I trace the line downward, and the breath goes out of me like a punch.
Between the dying decoy fleet and theLizabettais a huge ship. It has no mast, no sails—it’s a steamship, the same gray as a stormy ocean. A hulking box of metal and rivets, spewing streams of smoke.
No merchant, this one.
It’s a shark, and it’s not done hunting.
I yank my gloves on, and without a word Kyri and I throw ourselves over the edge of the crow’s nest. We half clamber, half fall to the deck below together. I stumble as I land and she catches me, shoving me toward the stern—she’s only a step behind me as I race for the captain.
I can see it in Rensa’s and the prince’s faces before I speak—they know the black smear on the horizon is the progress fleet. Is the death of every soul aboard.
“They’re sunk,” I manage. “All of them. Not a one left alive.”
Leander’s brown skin has paled—he looks sallow and sick. “We have to go back,” he says tightly. “We have to look for survivors. Those are my people.”
“Your Highness,” Kyri begins beside me, “they—”
“No!” he snaps. “Those are myfriends!”
“They’re coming for us next!” I break in, urgent. “We have to go!” I don’t bother speaking to the prince. On theLizabetta,he’s not the one who gives the orders. Instead, I meet Rensa’s eyes. “Captain,” I say quietly, “there’s a steamship coming straight for us. They’re mopping up the witnesses.”
Rensa’s whisper is barely audible in the silence that follows, nearly drowned out by the slap of waves in our wake. “Gods preserve us all.” She grips the wheel. “We’re not killing ourselves to save those already gone. We pile on sail and we run from whoever did this.”
Conor and Abri have come up from below now, crowding around us, and Jonlon lands on the deck with a thump, hurrying over to sling an arm around his twin, who’s a full head shorter than him. The scholar hovers behind them, anxious. All eyes are on Rensa, and her gaze sweeps around, taking us in as if she’s committing us to memory.
Then she snaps into action. “Go! More sail!” As the others scatter to their places—even the scholar runs to help—she casts me a wordless look, and I pull an already-protesting Leander out of her way as she braces at the wheel.
“We can’t do this,” he shouts, grabbing at my hand where I’m gripping his arm, trying to rip free of my grasp. “We can’t just leave them to die in the water.”
I saw a fire on a ship at dock in Escium once. The cargo was flammable, and there was nothing anyone could do but get their own boats clear of the explosions and wait for her to burn down to the waterline.
Then a man came running past us—so close he shouldered me out of his way—and he jumped from the dock straight ontothe ship, straight into the flames. One of his crewmates was still aboard, someone said later. He was so out of his mind, he was willing to die trying to save him.
Leander’s in that same place right now. It’s all over his face—if he thought he could, he’d dive over the side and swim back. If he can find a way, he’ll have Rensa turn us back.
“You didn’t see what I saw,” I say, gripping both his arms, lowering my voice. “They’ve already made sure there’s nobody left in the water. I’m sorry, truly I am, but it’s done. And your duty now isn’t to your fleet, or to the dead. It’s to your country.”
“Selly, you have to understand—”
“I understand they’ll kill you if they can.” I cut him off, squeezing his arms again. “You don’t think that was Mellacea back there, trying to start a war? How much worse do you think it gets if they kill the Alinorish prince?”
His brown eyes meet mine, laid bare. There’s a depth in his gaze that he usually hides behind his smile. “You’re saying I’m too precious for us to risk me.” He speaks as if the words choke him.
It must be unbearable, to be held prisoner by his own rank when others are dead in our wake.
“I’m sorry, Leander,” I whisper. It’s the first time I’ve called him by his name to his face.
