Page 45 of The Isles of the Gods
This boy would give himself up to save a crew he barely knows. To savemycrew.
“You can’t.” The words are out, barely a breath, before I know they’re coming. But I know I’m right. My captain gave me my orders.
“Search the ship,” the girl snaps, out on the deck. “The rest of you, who wants to save their life by telling me what I’m looking for?”
She’s standing in front of big, gentle Jonlon.
He says nothing, gazing steadily at her as she lifts her gun again.
Please, no.
Please…
BANG!
Conor screams, dropping to his knees by his brother’s body, curling over him with a high keening that drowns out everything else.
Beside me Leander’s breath is jagged, his whole body taut—it’s costing him everything to stay here and let them protect him. I hold him in place, and he wraps his arms around me in turn. He’s warm and solid, and I turn in to him as he squeezes me tight, letting me bury my face against his chest. I can feel the way it heaves, the way he’s fighting to steady himself—the way he’s clinging to me as hard as I’m clinging to him.
But I can’t hide my face, not now—I have to watch, be ready to move. I lift my head, forcing myself to take in the scene out on the deck.
And then time slows as Abri looks down at where Conor’s cradling his twin, and at Kyri’s body, and at Rensa’s.
And then she looks back at the girl standing on our deck. The girl who’s practically thrumming with tension, as charged as the air before a storm, ready to explode into thunder and lightning.
And I can see what comes next unfolding before it happens. Abri’s going to lift her hand and point at theLittle Lizabetta.She’s going to say,There, the prince is hiding, take him and spareme.
But the next movement comes from the scholar, who suddenly throws his arms up, blustering in outrage, a million miles from the quiet, awkward boy I’ve been watching for the past day and a half. Have I really only known him that long?
“You can’t do this!” he announces as every eye on deck turns toward him. “I’m Lord Wollesley’s son, how dare you threaten me!”
That gets the girl’s attention, and no mistake. She spins toward him. “You’re what?”
“I’m what you’re looking for,” he replies, all puffed-up self-importance. “Iam what was aboard this ship in place of cargo. I was undertaking an expedition on my way to the Bibliotek. I plan on making great contributions in the field of historical studies.”
“Do you, now?” she asks, adjusting her grip on the gun. “Well, do you have something to offer me, Lord Wollesley’sson?”
Keegan fumbles at his neck and draws a gold chain out frombeneath his shirt, yanking it over his head. “Here,” he says, practically bursting with indignation. “Take it—it’s yours. It’s an heirloom, you know.”
She steps forward, reaching out to take the necklace from him with two fingers, lifting it up to study it. Then she drapes it around her own neck, pulling it carefully past her curls. “That’ll do,” she agrees.
A hint of the tension leaves him, though mine is still singing through my veins. “You won’t shoot me, I assume,” he says, folding his arms across his chest. How can he be that gullible?
“No,” says the girl, and gazes at him in silence. As if she’s wrestling with something, or waiting for something. “No, I won’t shoot you,” she says eventually, softer.
She spins on her heel and nods to two of the sailors she brought with her. She doesn’t look back as they move forward together, grabbing Keegan by one arm each and marching him toward the side of the ship.
He begins to realize what’s going to happen halfway there, struggling wildly, feet kicking at the deck, body thrashing. They reach the rail, and with a quick heave, send him over.
I clap my own hands over my mouth this time, keeping myself silent. A detached part of me wonders if they know this is a crueler way to die. Most sailors deliberately never learn to swim—there’s no way back from overboard, and they don’t want the hours of waiting for what’s coming. But a noble boy can probably swim well enough. Too well. Will I live to regret that I know how, too?
Leander stays quiet, but there’s a trickle of sweat at his brow, and his jaw is clenched tighter than when he was conjuringthe storm, as if he’s conjuring spirits all over again. This time, though, it’s the pain of being held prisoner by his own importance. And I can tell that it’s killing him.
My whole body is taut with fear as I wait to see what the girl will do. If they search now, then Keegan sacrificed himself for nothing. There’s no place to hide—we’re crouched behind the shore boat, but it’s sitting on the deck upside down and offers no real shelter.
The girl fingers the gold chain around her neck, turning in a slow circle, studying the ship that’s been my home all my life. She moves slowly, cool and calm, but her gaze is shuttered, her movements just a little too controlled. She’s not unaffected by what’s just happened. The question is, what’s she going to do about it?
She tilts her head back and looks up at the sky, closes her eyes. Takes a slow breath.
