Page 37 of The Isles of the Gods
But he’s not just Leander.
He’s the prince of Alinor.
And we’ve got assassins on our tail.
LASKIA
TheMacean’s Fist
The Crescent Sea
Two sailors heave the body across to dump it in front of us, one holding the arms, one holding the legs.
It’s a boy about my age with dark hair, light brown skin that’s gone paler from blood loss, and a nightmarish wound taking up half his torso, his clothes ripped open to reveal…meat, beneath. He lolls lifelessly as the sailors let go, unseeing eyes staring straight up at the sky.
I swallow hard, then make sure my voice is even, though it sounds thin and reedy to my own ears. “Well, is that him?”
Jude has one hand clamped over his mouth—he’s already thrown up twice—and doesn’t remove it or speak. When I glance across at him, he shakes his head.
“What?”I grab his arm, yanking him with me over to the railing and out of earshot of the crew, a bolt of pure panic turning my stomach. “Well, tell me where to look for him.”
“I don’t know,” he whispers, wrapping his arms around himself miserably. He’s a world away from the tough guy who lives in the boxing ring at Handsome Jack’s now, and we both know it. “I didn’t see him. How was I supposed to see him among all of…that?”
I glance over my shoulder, and though Dasriel looms farther up the deck, there’s no sign of Sister Beris. “Look, it was his fleet,” I hiss.
“Yes.”
“So he was there.”
“I’m sure he was,” he replies, closing his eyes.
“And that’s what you’re going to tell Ruby?”
He holds still, the wind whipping his hair around his face, and bites his lip hard. But there’s only one answer, and he gives it to me: “Yes.”
He knows as well as I do how Ruby will take any news that isn’t the news she wants to hear.
“Go,” I snap, and he stumbles away.
Only once he’s gone do I grip the railing, gazing out at the wreckage floating around us, keeping my gaze unfocused so I don’t have to see.
The passengers on the prince’s fleet waved to us as we approached. The ships were a sight to behold, streamers strung up and down the rigging, the sails decorated with bright designs, ribbons fluttering in the breeze.
Spirit flags danced gaily in the rigging, the blue-and-white standard of Alinor flying at the top of their masts.
They couldn’t have made themselves more obvious.
No doubt their captains were wondering what we weredoing, flying no flag and steaming in so close—our ship,Macean’s Fist,is a sleek, hungry wolf in iron gray, cutting through the waves with her engines thumping in her belly.
I was standing here at the railing rather than up on the bridge, but I had a clear line of sight to our captain. He gazed down at me through the glass panes surrounding him, waiting for my order.
I looked again at the three ships full of partygoers, most of them no older than me, dressed in their best and brightest. A girl standing at their railing blew me a kiss.
She was beautiful.
“It’s time.”
The voice came from behind me, and I jumped, then cursed myself for showing that Sister Beris had startled me.
