Page 212 of Carousel

“It’s not.”

It will never be all right.

“Let’s try not to lose our heads,” Dezeeves says, in an odd, jumpy tone. “Now, Meg, help me get us on course for Rhavna. It will be difficult to know how long we have before the magic dissolves.”

There’s a spring in his step as he shuffles over to something tall, covered by a sheet further up the windowed wall. He pulls the sheet off – it’s a large helm – while Meg turns dials and flips levers.

And I’m furious. Because it’s clicked. Dezeeves is happy about all of this.

Elated.

And, why not? He has no love for Riss. Or anyone else, who isn’t the Queen.

As far as he’s concerned, his plan has worked perfectly. We can set sail with the magic in place. He has me and Drake. He has his FIs.

I clutch my arms to me like they might keep me together. Stop my ribs from shattering.

Riss.

Her death is my fault.

It’s his fault, most of all.

Dezeeves has so much to account for. There will be a special place in the hell of the Sisters for him. I hope they won’t let him ever live another lifetime. I hope they will force him to live among all of the ghosts he brought to them. Let them terrorise him for eternity.

I glare at him like I could wish him dead.

Because I can.

I want you to go down to the Osimidite Chamber, I say, in my mind.

But I stop.

Because I already know it won’t work. I can feel my magic being extinguished out of me at the rate I’m summoning it.

I find Drake behind me, looking at me exactly how I thought he would be. With those eyes that seem to say so much but never tell me anything.

It’s infuriating.

I speak to him like I have the power to order him. I will be his queen, soon, after all.

“Stop that.”

“No,” he says, coming closer.

“Let me.”

“No.”

“He deserves it,” I whisper, now that he’s in front of me.

“Like Ephraine?”

“You let me that time.”

“I won’t this time.”

“Great,” Meg says, slamming down another lever. “They’re going to break their magic before we’ve even left.”