Page 50 of The Isles of the Gods
“So we have to sailintothe wind to get home,” I say, my heart sinking. “There’s no chance it’s going to swing around and change direction?”
“No,” she says, rueful. “Not unless we see a really serious storm, in which case we’re done.”
Wollesley exhales slowly. “And if we sailwiththe wind, we go straight to Mellacea. I assume we can’t”—he reaches out to trace a path downward from that blank space in the middle, where we float—“say, sail down to the Isles?”
Selly shakes her head. “Sorry. We’ve got barely any food,definitely not enough water. If the wind gets much stronger than this, we’ll sink. I’ve also got no navigational instruments—the prince has a map in that journal of his, but without the right tools I can’t get an exact fix on where we are. We could shoot right past the Isles without even knowing, especially if they came up at night. And even if we overcame all that, we’d end up trapped on the Isles with no boat capable of sailing home again.”
The truth settles inside my chest, and I lay an arm along the edge of the boat, trying to stop myself from swaying with exhaustion. I’m suddenly aware all over again of how cold I am. “So we’re going to Mellacea.”
“That’s our only option,” Selly agrees. “Straight to Port Naranda. The coast everywhere else is cliffs—we can’t be sure of hitting a village, but we’ll see the city from a distance. We’ve got one thing on our side, at least: absolutely nobody in Mellacea is going to be expecting us.”
“Indeed not,” Wollesley agrees. “They will think the prince dead. Nobody will be looking for him.”
“I’m not sure the Mellacean government thinks I’m dead,” I say slowly. “The ship that caught us wasn’t navy, and the girl who ran it wasn’t in uniform.”
“Private operators?” Wollesley murmurs. “That’s…”
“A lot to unpack, politically speaking,” I agree. “But not the first problem we need to solve.”
“I think we could pull it off,” Selly says thoughtfully. “Sailing to Mellacea. You’re not going to look very princely when we arrive, so that’ll help. If we can get to the port there, we have options.”
“The ambassador,” I say. “I have code words that will establish my identity to any ambassador on the continent orbeyond. If we can get to Mellacea, and we can get to the Alinorish embassy, the ambassador will take over from there.”
“Even before she finds a ship to get you home, she can send a message,” Wollesley agrees. “The Mellaceans think they have succeeded in killing you, and whoever they are, there’s no reason for them to keep that news to themselves. But it’s worse than that: When word gets back to Alinor that the progress fleet is sunk, the queen will know you weren’t aboard. She will believe we’re still out here on theLizabetta,sneaking to the Isles to make the sacrifice. She might even movetowardwar, believing you will strengthen Barrica and give her an unexpected advantage.”
My stomach drops. He’s right—Augusta is nothing if not a tactician.
“So not only will she start a war,” Selly says slowly, “but it’ll be one she has no way to win.” She pinches the bridge of her nose, and I’m hit with a flash of sympathy. As foreign as prevailing winds and jury-rigging a sail are to Wollesley and me, this must be just as strange to her—and yet she can’t escape it, any more than we can escape theLittle Lizabetta.
Suddenly, whatever the three of us decide is liable to prevent a war or start one—and decide the winner.
“Mellacea, then,” I say softly. “We just need to reach the ambassador, and she’ll get word to my sister.”
In Port Naranda we can find someone in charge, someone with resources. We’ll escape from this nightmare, even if I’ll never escape from the list of deaths that lie at my doorstep.
I can’t believe that just a day ago I thought this was an adventure.
A shiver runs through me, and in the moonlight I see Selly grimace. “We don’t have any way to dry our clothes until thesun comes up,” she says. “We should start sailing now, though. At least the weather’s good enough that we don’t need your help with the spirits, Prince.”
“I don’t think I could raise a breeze if I tried right now,” I admit.
She nods. “I’ll sail the old-fashioned way, with what wind we’ve got, and the stars.” She points first at Wollesley, then me. “Both of you lie down together, snuggle up under that piece of sailcloth—share body heat and try not to freeze.”
“Your Highness,” Wollesley begins.
“Under the circumstances,” I say, “I think you’d both better start calling me Leander.”
Wollesley considers this. “Perhaps, then,” he ventures, “you might use my name as well. Wollesley is my father, or my older brother.”
“Keegan,” I say obediently.
“Bet you wish you hadn’t shaved your head now, Keegan,” Selly murmurs. “Think of all that lost warmth.”
Wolles—no,Keeganand I lie between two of the benches, and I haul a piece of sailcloth over us, settling in to try and stop shivering and get some rest.
I can see Selly from where I lie, a pale shape in the moonlight. I can just make out her freckles, mirroring the constellations above.
She looks back over her shoulder as we leave the burning wreck of theLizabettain our wake—but only once. Then she turns her gaze ahead into the darkness, resolute.
