Page 109 of The Isles of the Gods
He didn’t know I was one of Ruby’s—probably didn’t even know Ruby existed. He had no reason to protect himself fromme.
I’m left with one conclusion: He really did come to our house, really did write. Really did search for me. And Mum,with her talk of how it’s better to make a clean break—to look forward, not back—she never gave me his letters.
I’ll ask her why when I get home.IfI get home. Not that it will change what happened.
For now, I’d pray, but I don’t know where to aim my prayers anymore. The temples of all seven gods and the Mother lie ahead of us, and if he makes it in time, it’s Leander’s prayer that will matter most.
For a long time I thought Alinor had done nothing for me, given me nothing but pain. But now I find myself closing my eyes against the wind and the salt spray and reaching silently for Barrica. Telling her to look for him, to wait for him.
Because if Laskia stops him from making this sacrifice, and Barrica’s strength declines—and if the green sisters have their way, pulling the people of Mellacea into church until Macean’s strength is so great that he can shake off his sleep—then I truly don’t know what will happen next.
It won’t just be a war between Alinor and Mellacea, or even just a war that drags in every other country and principality on the continent.
It will be something we haven’t seen in five hundred years.
It will be a war between the gods.
SELLY
TheEmma
The Crescent Sea
The whole world has narrowed to us and the ship on the horizon.
Sometimes they draw nearer, their sails growing large enough that I can make out more detail. Sometimes they seem to fall back, but distances are hard to judge at sea.
The roiling gray storm has nearly overtaken both our ships. The wind has whipped up into a frenzy, the rigging straining, and I’m not bothering to hide my worry from the boys anymore. They’re quiet and focused, taking orders without question as I teach them how to reef the sail—our pursuers might be piling on canvas behind, but we’ll never see the Isles if the storm rips us apart.
Leander is the quietest of us all. I know he blames himself, and though he tries to smile, there’s a sadness in it that’s like someone reaching into my chest and squeezing my heart.
Each time he hurries by, he rests a hand on top of mine,just for a moment. I’d like to turn my palm over and clasp his hand in return, but my wrists and knuckles are aching with the cold, and I don’t think I can release the claw grip I have on the wheel.
Some part of me knows that a couple of days ago, a lifetime ago, I’d have resisted that touch. I don’t remember why anymore. This connection is real, and it’s comforting, and I’m beyond pretending anything else.
And I wish I’d let him kiss me when I had the chance.
I know what will happen when they catch us—and they will, when we reach the Isles and drop anchor. I’ve tried picturing what our bodies will look like, sprawled as bonelessly as Rensa’s and Kyri’s were. But that only makes me start cataloging all the ways they might kill us, so each time my mind tries to set course for that particular port, I spin the wheel and change tack.
My only job is to stop it from happening for as long as possible. The world has narrowed to this one task: to get Leander to the temple.
I glance automatically to where the little figurine of Barrica would be, on the starboard side of the wheel, if this were theLizabetta.Countless times I’ve touched her when I had the helm, rubbed my fingers across her warm metal surface and asked her for luck, or guidance, or the patience to hold my tongue. She never really granted me that last. When we came aboard, there was a small statue of Macean there instead. I pried it free of its bolts and left it on the dock.
And though this is a Mellacean boat, and there’s no hint of Barrica aboard, for the first time in a long time I’m praying to her properly—not making the desperate offers or exchangesI’ve tried in the past, when things didn’t go my way. This time my prayers are soft and simple, offered up from my heart.
We’re doing all this for our goddess, and in her I need to place my trust.
Help me helm this ship. Help me get him where he needs to go.
I’m giving my life to this—and my future, and everything I might have done. Everything he and I might have been together.
I don’t know how much more faith and sacrifice she can ask for.
A freezing cold spray showers me as a wave breaks across the boat, and I shake my head to clear it from my eyes.
Onward is all there is.
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