Chapter Forty-Three
My mouth works as I glare at him, my mind struggling to reconcile what my eyes now see—Titus, clothed in the striking red garments of Captain Shade. A hero. My hero.
It was him. He was the one to save me from the Deathwail . He delivered me to my family. The pirate who so thoughtfully searched for my trinket after he slashed the rope meant to end my life—all this time, he was the prince I so despised. The boy I wished death upon more times than I can count.
I feel as if I already know you , he said to me that night in the garden. How could I have been so blind? The tattoos on his hands. The weapon he keeps hidden up his sleeve. His name. I should have known that the most successful pirate of my time would turn out to be a bloodletter.
Oh, Stars. He was Will’s informant. When I told Will about Captain Shade—how he offered to take me with him… Will knew this entire time that it was Titus behind the mask.
Without a word, I spin on my heels, shoving past Will.
“Aster,” Will calls after me, his voice soft, but I don’t turn around.
I burst through the double doors that lead onto the quarterdeck as a familiar ache in my shoulder ignites, sending a bolt of pain directly to my heart. I stumble a few steps, squinting in the bright light. The Starchaser bustles with activity—people shouting, people laughing. But their voices fade beneath the low hum of silence as I see it— really see it—for the first time in so many months. Spanning in all directions, the Western Sea borders the horizon, straight and true. My ocean. My home.
I breathe in the fresh, salty air, feeling as if I’m fully awake for the first time. I follow that feeling down the steps, toward the taffrail. My hands grip the rough wood as a splash of cool water kisses my face. For a moment, I could convince myself this is the Lightbringer , that I might turn around and find my family smiling back at me. Together. Happy. But the moment passes, leaving behind a hollow, unending grief as vast as the ocean itself.
“Hey!” someone shouts. “Get down from there!”
I didn’t make the decision to climb onto the taffrail, as if it was long decided—a delayed reaction set in motion the instant I was ripped from my beloved ocean. As I loosely hold myself to the rigging, the breeze billows through my hair, reminding me of the way the wind would glide over my skin as Caligo soared across the open fields. If I close my eyes, I could pretend I’m back there—back at Bludgrave, where Father waits for me in the kitchen. Where Dorothy and Henry steal secret glances at each other from across the dining room. Where Elsie and Annie paint little wooden cars, and Albert follows Jack to the stables every morning and evening, happy and safe and full of hope for the future.
My heart wrenches. Home.
My dagger slips from my fingers, plummeting to the water below.
“Hold my hat,” I hear Titus say as I let go of the rigging, allowing the wind to sweep me off my feet, and dive headfirst into the water.
I don’t hit the surface—the water softens for me, greeting me with a gentle embrace. I realize, now, that the ocean has always been kind to me—that it knew I was a bloodletter and treated me differently. Somehow, that doesn’t make me feel any better. Especially not when I look up, where through the haze of bubbles, Titus—another bloodletter, another being favored by the ocean—climbs onto the taffrail and without a breath of hesitation dives in after me.
I don’t swim away. I let the current continue to drag me under, my lungs burning. Only the ocean can take away this awful grief. Only the water can heal these wounds that gape and bleed deep inside, where the names of my father and brother have been carved into my heart, a ruthless reminder of all I lack. A reminder that I’m not fast enough. Not merciless enough. Not brave enough.
How could I have saved Father? Or Owen? When the crew of the Deathwail tied that rope around my neck, I couldn’t even save myself.
A sharp gasp of anger sends precious air bubbling past my face. I hate that I was lied to. By Will, who only wanted to use my curse. By my parents, who kept my past a secret from me. By Titus, who let me believe he was someone else entirely. But what I hate—what I truly, deeply hate—is that I believed every single lie.
Pressure builds between my ears, and my vision blurs. I consider letting go. Letting the water fill my lungs. Letting the ocean take me to its depths. But then he appears before me, his scarlet half cloak undulating like blood in the water.
He removed his gloves, his tattooed hand floating between us. His blue eyes never leave mine, apparently cataloguing the way my muscles tense as he reaches out. He frowns as his fingertips brush my skin, cradling my cheek in his calloused palm. His gaze drifts to my lips, his brow furrowed.
My lips part, releasing whatever breath I’d had left, in the same instant that Titus presses his mouth to mine, filling my lungs with air.
At the feel of his lips on mine, the ocean pulses. He draws away sharply. No —he’s pushed away, as if the water sent him barreling backward.
At once, the ocean becomes so dark not even the sun can penetrate its surface, and I think I may be the one doing this—that I was the one to push away Titus. But all around me, gold dust shimmers like the innumerable stars in the heavens, and I know I’m not capable of something like this. The water begins to swirl, spinning faster and faster, forming a whirlpool of sorts. It encases me in a pocket of air— air , this deep below the surface of the water—at the center of the vortex, and I fall to my knees on the sandy rock bottom of the ocean, gasping for breath. Alone.
“Titus!” I scream, my voice hoarse as I attempt to stick my hand through the cyclone of night-dark water surrounding me. I withdraw the instant my fingers skim the rushing current, afraid that if the water were to catch hold of me, it might never let me go again.
The gold dust glows in the air like thousands of pixies, and I stand, reaching out to take hold of it when—
“Daughter of the sea.”
At the sound of a woman’s disembodied voice, the roar of rushing water quiets, the gold dust glows even brighter than it did before. It casts its light upon the ocean floor, where my dagger blazes as if the hilt were fashioned from a beam of sunlight.
I pick it up, the metal warming my palm.
All around, the brilliant gold dust shimmers in the pocket of air that contains me, encapsulating me in its dazzling glow. A figure takes form, gilded dust in the shape of a woman, nearly too bright to look at. I shield my eyes, cowering slightly.
“The queen of this world has risen. She who lurks in shadows, devouring the light. Only blood can heal the land. Only truth can mend the past.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, my voice breaking. “What truth?”
“Choose your path, daughter of the sea. Bow your knee to darkness or conquer it.”
I fight back tears, my fists clenched at my sides. “But I’m cursed! How am I supposed to conquer anything? I can’t even conquer my own darkness!”
She presses her hand to my cheek, her touch like fire. “Who are you, Aster Oberon, that you should forget your light?”
Who am I?
I am Aster Oberon, the cursed captive of a cannibal’s ship. I am the sister of a murdered brother, the daughter of a martyred father. I am a kitchen maid, bound by indentured servitude in the home of my enemy. I am a rebel—a weapon to be wielded against the Crown. I am angry—with myself for wasting my time pining over Will when I could have been doing more to fight back against the Guild of Shadows, with the lies my mother allowed me to believe about my world and my place in it, with Owen for thinking he could manipulate me into joining the Underling forces.
“What if I don’t know?” I ask, my eyes narrowed, attempting to make out her features in the too-bright light. “What if I’m not who I thought I was?”
The dust almost forms a face—a face I don’t recognize, but that feels familiar to me, still. She wipes a tear from my cheek, the heat of the light against my skin like a caress from the sun itself. “You are who you choose to be.”
Something warm flares to life in my chest—something ancient.
When I was taken captive by the Nightweavers, and Captain Shade offered to take me with him—to keep me safe, to give me back my freedom—I chose to stay with my family, to face whatever fate awaited us. When the Underlings invaded Bludgrave, I chose to fight, even if it seemed as if we might not win. When the venom threatened to overcome me, I chose to live, despite it all—the pain, the grief, the lies.
I have faced darkness before, and I have conquered it. I can choose to do it again.
“Who are you ?” I ask, reaching out as if to touch her face—as if to feel what I cannot see.
“You know my name.” She withdraws her hand, and in the absence of her warmth, a chill sweeps through me. “ The True King sees ,” she whispers, her voice gentle and firm—a reminder, a solemn vow—before the dust dissipates, leaving me alone once more. The roar of the water intensifies again, almost deafening. I’m lifted toward the surface as the gold dust spirals around me like a cyclone of light. I tighten my grip on the dagger, unwilling to surrender it to the raging current.
“Palomi havella dinosh beyan.”
The woman’s voice booms over the sound of the water as it grows louder, swirling faster, propelling me up, up, up—
I gasp for air as my head breaks the surface. Instantly, two pairs of hands haul me into a rowboat. I cough up water, rolling onto my back, the dagger still secure within my grasp.
Will and Titus stare down at me, chests heaving, and beyond them, the sky mirrors the dark of the ocean depths far below. It was morning when I went into the water, but now the stars glitter overhead, almost dull in comparison to the gold dust that encapsulated me only moments ago.
“What happened?” I ask weakly.
Titus and Will share a serious look.
“You were under the water for twelve hours,” Will answers, his deep voice breaking as he smooths the hair from my face, his gaze ever searching. “Titus could see you—could see that you were alive—”
“I tried to get to you so many times, but…” Titus shakes his head. In the dim light of the lantern, his blue eyes appear glazed—haunted. Whatever happened in the past twelve hours, he was soaked to the bone, his slick blond hair stuck to his face. His gaze roves from my head to my toes, looking everywhere but my eyes, and the tips of my ears heat as I remember the feel of his lips pressed to mine. “I couldn’t reach you. There was nothing to do but wait.”
By the look on his face, I believe he would have waited in this rowboat much longer than he already had.
Twelve hours. But it feels as if only a minute passed. And the woman… could I have imagined her?
Palomi havella dinosh beyan. The judgment is coming. Words I’ve heard on the lips of humans, Underlings, Myths, and Nightweavers alike.
I glance at the dagger in my fist, still glowing, though no longer as brilliant as it looked below the water. My eyes meet Will’s. It hides beneath the immediate concern, but I see it—the glimmer of amusement in his green eyes. As if he knew what happened beneath the surface. As if he knew what it all meant.
For the first time, I think I understand the question he’s long been asking. And I finally know the answer.
Will must know that I will not leave Castle Grim until I’ve spilled blood. Until I’ve found Morana and defeated her, forcing her to give me the cure I need to save myself and Will. To save Owen. And when the Underlings have fallen, the king and queen will pay for what they’ve done to my people. To my family. To me. When I strike, the king and queen and all those that follow in their wicked acts will know me for who and what I truly am.
I am the one they fear. I am the monster in the dark.
I am the judgment.