Chapter 55
“Wake up.”
A boot kicks my leg, and I blink my eyes open—groaning against the ache in my neck. I lift a hand, but the shackles jerk against my wrist, and my arm slumps back to the deck.
A silver ring of light hugs the horizon. The first dregs of dawn, although by the curve of the earth, still a few hours off.
Gemma fills my vision, and she crouches, forcing the edge of a glass to my lips.
Water coats my tongue, and I drink hungrily—greedily, my throat parched and rasped. My vision focuses, and my senses slam into me. I’m a prisoner, on my own ship, being readied for a ceremony that could end in my death.
I slow my drinking and lift my gaze to Gemma, her face hovering only an inch away from mine.
On a swallow, I pull my mouth from the glass and slam my forehead into her nose.
A crunch echoes across the space, and she shouts, stumbling backward. Her feet trip over themselves, and she slams onto the deck, grabbing at the bridge of her nose. Her watering, piercing eyes find mine.
“Marianne would be ashamed of you,” I spit.
Her midnight hair hangs in a curtain over her face, but I catch the swelling of her nose disappear as she glamours it. She presses her palms against the deck and shoves to her feet, closing the distance between us.
“When she’s back, we’ll see exactly what she thinks of what you’ve done. Especially to the Earth Court and Kressa.”
My stomach clenches, and I flick my gaze away. The ship rocks, and waves churn in the distance—whitecaps catching the light of the full moon.
“If she does come back, she won’t be the same.” I shift my attention back to Gemma. “You know that, right?”
“Don’t you dare.”
A breeze wafts over the deck, and our gazes hold for a handful of heartbeats. Long enough to know it’s a possibility she’s considered, yet doesn’t care to acknowledge.
Hinges squeal, and a shiver skates down the nape of my neck. The sound of that door opening is one I’d know in my sleep. My captain’s quarters.
“Did you give her liquids?” Isolde says, coming to a stop beside Gemma.
Gemma glares at me. “I think she’s had enough.”
“Good.” Isolde tilts her head to the sky—her skin nearly the same tone as the moon itself. “We only have an hour or so while the veil between us and the gods is at its thinnest.”
She flips open the book in her hand, and I narrow my eyes at the words splayed across the front. But I can’t make out the faded, worn words. Or they’re only legible for her.
My blood pumps faster, and I press my heels against the deck. There’s only enough room for me to shift an inch to the left and right—not nearly a big enough gap to squeeze out of. And even if I did, I can’t swim or wield the sea with my rhodium cuffs.
Isolde and Gemma whisper amongst each other, and I scan the waves, searching for a glimpse of a siren or a selkie—any creature who would happen to stumble upon my ship. But for all I know, Gemma could be glamouring the entire vessel.
No other bodies linger above deck at this hour, and a steady breeze billows the sails—pushing us northeast, toward the lingering sunrise.
For the first time in my existence, it’s not my power driving the ship forward, but Isolde’s.
Isolde glances at the full moon overhead, then snaps the book shut. A leather pouch hangs from her waist, and she unties it, pulling out a thin blade no longer than the length of a finger.
The air distorts around it, but not from heat. There’s an unnatural aura radiating from the blade, as if Isolde has imbued it with pure, raw power. She shifts the dagger, but instead of reflecting the moonlight, it swallows it whole.
“Caelus began working on this blade, but with the power he siphoned from me, it never worked quite right.” Her gaze leaves the blade and settles on me as she steps closer. “I spilled a lot of my own blood for this.”
A breeze shifts the fabric of her skirt, revealing dozens of hairline scars along her ankles.
“A sacrifice,” she says. “A power that only grows once more blood is added.”
She wraps her hand around my wrist and yanks my arm toward her—the moon casting a dull blue over my veins. I pull back, but her fingers dig into my skin, and my heart races as she drags the blade over the space below the crook in my elbow.
I scream and thrash my legs, but it’s no use. A vibration emanates from the dagger, and as it sinks into muscle, my vision flashes white. Pain lances through my bones, and I grind my teeth together, biting back the pain.
Isolde levels me with a glare, holding my eyes as she digs the blade deeper into flesh. “Painful, isn’t it? But not in a mortal wound kind of way. This is one that digs straight into your being—tears your soul from your body.”
I curl my upper lip, but any words die on my tongue. Another burst of pain sears across my arms and legs, as if the skin is being peeled from bone.
“Aren’t you curious as to how I know what it feels like?” Isolde purrs. Leaning closer, she hovers her face directly in front of mine. “This is almost exactly what Caelus did to me. But instead of siphoning your power, I’m going to drain it completely.”
She twists the blade, and tears stream down my face. Blood spills from the wound and pools across the deck. Pain climbs up my spine, spiderwebs over my chest, and spears like an arrow straight into my core.
A cerulean glow unfurls from my chest—my power. My lungs seize up. The air buzzes between Isolde and me, and a smile pulls at the corners of her mouth.
She lets out a low hum. “Feels as if you’re being gutted, doesn’t it? Like your core is being carved out?”
As the words leave her mouth, a hollowness takes root in my sternum. It tugs away from the bone, as if lifting something vital from my marrow.
My heart grows heavy, sluggish. The searing pain doesn’t subside, yet my arms and legs grow heavy, and a weightlessness takes over my head.
“Nearly there, my Briar,” Isolde says, but her voice is distant, as if I’m underwater. “And once you’re empty of your power, I’ll fill you with my own.”
Fog clouds the edges of my vision, and my head falls back against the mast. Each inhale brings a stabbing ache into my lungs, and blood soaks the fabric of my pants.
I let my eyes fall shut, and visions of my crew manifest on the undersides of my lids. But it’s not the carefree way we once sailed this ship across the sea. It’s them, lined up with their arms bound behind their back—standing before a guillotine.
My heart splinters, and a sour taste washes over my mouth. I’ve done everything I could possibly do, and yet, it’s not enough. All I’ve done is lost everyone I care about.
A cord tugs at my sternum, and I crumple in on myself. I’ll never taste Kressa’s lips again, or catch the way her eyes dance over me.
I’ve lost this lifetime with her.
And this lifetime could very well be my last.
Another stab of pain jolts through my body, and my spine goes rigid.
Then it’s gone. The wound in my arm throbs, but my power flows back into me—weak, but there. A shout rings out across the deck, and I force my eyes open.
My breath lodges in my throat. A stream of blood flows from a gash along Isolde’s cheekbone, and I follow her line of sight toward the railing, where a woman stands.
Kressa.