Page 41 of The Isles of the Gods
If they catch us and kill the prince, there’ll be a war. A war we might well lose, without Barrica strengthened by sacrifice—but not until tens of thousands of people have died first. Not until whole countries have been scorched.
…And none of that will matter to me, because I will be dead.
But though I can say it to myself, I can’t make myself believe it.
Moving mechanically, I hurry over to my bedding before he can come back to claim it, and I reach underneath the pillow. I pull out the gold chains I hid there and slip both of them around my neck, inside my clothes. Some detached part of me understands I won’t ever sell them, I won’t need them to fund my first year at the Bibliotek, but after everything I did to get them…
There’s a sliver in me that still hopes. That sliver lives in all of us—it’s why we’re fighting.
I wanted so badly to see the Bibliotek.
I’ve dreamed of it all my life.
I pick up the handfuls of clothes and leave the cabin behind, hurrying back up on deck. I collide with the girl from the galley, her cheerful face white with fear, and we push off each other and keep running.
I burst up onto the deck, unable to make myself turn my head to look for our pursuer. Then, steeling myself, I twist and scan the horizon. I see only the smoke, no sign of a boat.
I run for the back of the boat, where the captain still wrestles the wheel, barking orders up the deck to the crew. Selly has joined her, and they’re working together without the need for speech.
“Are we gaining ground?” I call. “I can’t see a steamship.”
The captain shakes her head and my heart drops. “It’s still too far to see. The world curves. While it’s that far off, we’ll only see it from the top of the mast.”
A sailor rumbles past, the slighter of the two brothers onthe crew. He’s rolling a barrel, which he heaves over the side of the boat—is that our water?
“What can I do?” I ask, making myself turn away fromhim.
It’s Selly who answers me. She’s leaning in on the wheel, holding it steady against a surging wave Leander’s conjured. “We’re barely armed,” she says. “Does that big brain of yours have anything in it about makeshift weaponry?”
I consider the question, trying to slow my thoughts enough to scan my memory. “Yes,” I say eventually. “If we have cooking oil aboard.”
“Better go make sure the twins don’t throw it overboard, then.”
—
Time passes in a blur after that. It’s easier to just do the next thing than grapple with what’s happening. There’s a strange, grim practicality to it all—you can’t be terrified every moment. After a while your body just gets on with things, even if your mind is still screaming.
Leander stands like a statue as the hours go by, locked in communion with the spirits. He must be exhausted, but he shows no sign of wavering.
What I don’t know anymore is what he’s sacrificing to keep them on his side. He’s the most powerful magician in Alinor, but what we’re witnessing should be the work of dozens of magicians, not one boy. The spirits will demand more of him than his father’s ring, however dear to him it was.
I have a horrible feeling what they’re demanding ishim,his very essence. I’ve never seen a magician overextend themselves, but the stories of their fates are brutal.
All around us, the sailors wrestle with the boat, barely managing to keep her together. I hear them praying to Barrica—presumably hoping our goddess won’t notice we’ve got the boy who dragged his feet on her sacrifice aboard—and a couple of them go over her head, appealing straight to the Mother.
It’s clear that in a wind this strong we should barely be carrying any sail, but instead we’ve hoisted everything we can find short of our undergarments. TheLizabettasings and shudders but surges onward. Selly is up the mast once more as our lookout, and I dread the news she’ll bring when she descends.
Descend she does, though, grabbing at ropes and spars to stop herself from being flung out into the sea. Her feet hit the deck, and she turns to meet the captain’s eyes, her face a grim mask; she simply shakes her head and lifts her hands up until they face each other, palms inward. Then she slowly brings them closer together. They’re gaining.
The bottom drops out of my stomach. This can’t be happening.
Thiscan’tbe happening.
But there’s no more hiding from the truth: they’re going to catch up with us.
“We have to fight,” I say, hardly believing I’m saying the words out loud. I’m not supposed to be here. This can’t be real. “We have to fight, no matter how slim the chance.”
“I know,” the captain answers, her eyes straight ahead. “Spirits save us. Nothing else will.”
