Page 40 of The Isles of the Gods
He flinches. “They died for me.”
“You haven’t killed anyone,” the first mate, Kyri, says, lifting a hand as if to comfort him, then halting the movement when she remembers he’s royalty. She continues, though, fierce: “They did this.They’reto blame.”
Leander’s gaze swings past her and lands on me. He wants to hear it from someone who doesn’t like him. Not from one of the crew, awed to have a prince in their presence, dazzled by his rank.
I stare back at him, my chest tight with the anger and resentment of every time I saw him skip past his responsibilities, leave behind a mess for someone else to pick up. Because the truth is more complicated than Kyri makes it, and the prince and I both know it—if he had not delayed this trip, there never would have been a decoy fleet tobeattacked.
He gazes at me as I struggle—and fail—to answer him, then turns to the captain. “Is the wheel secure?” he asks.
She lays a hand on one of the ropes. “Aye. Now help Kyri with the spirits, and you, boy”—she turns her gaze on me, and I straighten—“go and find those clothes.”
I pause, though, as Leander pulls a ring from his finger and studies it in his palm. I know it well—it bears the royal crest, and I’ve always assumed it was inherited from his father. He wore it all our years at school.
Then, in one sudden movement, he draws his arm back and throws it as hard as he can.
The gold of the ring catches the sun as it arcs out over the water, and then it’s gone, vanished into thin air, consumed by the spirits in the instant before it can be swallowed by a wave.
Wordlessly, he closes his eyes and spreads his arms as if inentreaty. He somehow stands steady on the deck, weight shifting and knees bending to keep him upright.
And the wind begins to build.
A wave picks up theLizabetta,and every inch of the ship hums and strains as she surges forward, her sails nearly splitting at the seams as the air and water spirits do his bidding.
The whole world has changed around us in the blink of an eye—it’s like a switch has been flicked, but that switch is just this boy I went to school with, who never seemed interested in using his magic for anything more than party tricks.
I’ve never seen a display of power like this in my life, and I can only stand and stare, my mouth open.
Kyri stares at him as well, then whirls away, dropping to her knees before the shrine by the mast, adding her efforts to his.
For a moment they’re all still—Captain Rensa at the wheel, Leander and Kyri locked in concentration as they charm the spirits into speeding our passage along—and everything goes quiet around me. As if I could live in this moment forever, never facing what’s coming for us on the horizon.
Then that breath goes rushing out of me, and I turn to hurry below, ricocheting off the walls of the passageway as the ship lurches and her timbers groan.
Stumbling into my cabin, I pull up the lid of my trunk, grabbing at the few clothes I brought with me, spare shirts and trousers in plain colors. Suitable for a scholar, and now a disguise for a prince.
The door flies open, and a burly sailor—one of the two I’ve assumed are brothers—pushes his way in. Without a word he shoulders past me, slamming the lid of my trunk and picking it up with a grunt of effort.
“What are you doing?” I protest. “I have the clothes—you don’t need the whole thing.”
“Anything not nailed down is going overboard. Captain’s orders. Lightening the ship.”
My whole body goes cold. “Wh-what?” I manage. “No, these are books—these are—you can’t—” My throat is closing, my chest tightening.
“Think you’re going to be reading them after they catch us?” he asks, hefting it in his arms.
I lunge for the chest, grabbing for the contents—my hands scrabble at the thin volumes inside. The Wilkinson fairy tales I read as a child, the worn leather covers as familiar as my own face. The Ameliad memoirs I couldn’t bear to leave behind, my constant companions and allies against the world.
“Please,” I say, as he yanks the trunk away and heads for the door. “Please—you don’t understand.”
The sailor doesn’t look back as he disappears into the hallway.
I stand in the middle of the cabin, my eyes hot and aching, my breath coming too fast. This can’t be happening. This can’t be real.
I drop to a crouch, planting my hands against the swaying floor. My mind is numb, and I try to make it understand reality—like poking at the place where a tooth was, searching for the soreness.
If they catch us, they’ll kill us.
If they catch us, the prince won’t make the sacrifice.
