Chapter 17
C harlie cocks her pistol—that’s what she calls the contraption she made, a miniature cannon that shoots tiny cannonballs from its small barrel.
Her finger curls around the trigger, and when she pulls it, aiming toward the blue sky from the deck of the Iaso , there’s a loud blast, powder smoking as the shot rings in the air.
A bird squawks, then falls, landing at my feet.
I can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt for the little bird, but I have to admit, the invention itself is pretty impressive.
“This device is remarkable,” I tell her, unable to conceal the trepidation in my voice.
Charlie blows the powder smoke away from the barrel, then tucks the weapon into a leather holster at her side. “It’s taken years,” she says, “but I’m finally pleased with the product.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Product?”
She works her lip thoughtfully, staring at the lone cloud drifting lazily in the sky before glancing down at the waves beneath the deck.
We’re on our way to the land where Mount Serba dwells, the place where the Youngest Sister is rumored to reside, according to the book I swiped from the library.
The journey is supposed to take five weeks, but so far, the sea and weather have been kind to us.
I think we’re all hoping it’s a good omen, though I can’t say the Fates are on our side.
Charlie hesitates. “I can’t decide,” she says finally. “The captain thinks I could make a fortune off of it, but I don’t know what I’d do with a fortune.”
I shrug. “Settle down. Buy a mansion. Not have to sail across the world your whole life.”
Charlie shrugs. “Sailing’s not so bad.”
I examine her soft face, the far-off look in her usually sharp eyes.
“What’s the real reason you don’t want to sell it?” I ask.
She glances down at the pistol in the holster, then at the dead bird on the deck. “People won’t just be using these to shoot birds, now, will they?”
“You’re not exactly one to shy away from violence,” I point out.
“Not when it’s necessary,” she says. “But how many people would use it that way?”
“You could choose who you sold it to,” I suggest.
She shakes her head. “Someone would break down the design, recreate it for themselves.”
“So you’re worried you’ve created something that will cause more destruction in the world?” I ask.
Charlie nods, thinking it over. “Maybe.”
I pause. “You’re a genius. You know that, right?”
Charlie puts her hands on her hips, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Of course I know that.”
“Well, good. So don’t take this the wrong way,” I add, “but you’re not the only genius in the world. Someone else will figure it out eventually.”
Charlie shoots me a look, though I can tell the thought has been plaguing her.
“Do you remember what you told me when you first showed me you were working on it?” I ask.
Charlie shakes her head.
“We were talking about being human, about being women in a world dominated by men,” I say. “How our bodies can’t defend us the way we wish they could. So we have to come up with other means. Other avenues of power.”
Charlie doesn’t say anything, but there’s no scenario in which she doesn’t remember the conversation.
“What if you could give women that power?” I ask. “What if you could give it to the helpless—those whose bodies can’t defend themselves?”
She glances down at the pistol, then back at me. “There’s no way to make sure that power stays in the right hands.”
“No,” I agree, “but you can control who gets a chance at that power to begin with.”
Charlie pulls the pistol from its holster, stroking the barrel. The sleek black metal gleams in the sunlight, casting a glare that’s almost blinding.
She doesn’t say she’ll think about it, but Charlie and I don’t always need words to communicate.
Just then, a rustle on the deck behind us catches my attention.
We both glance over our shoulders, only to find Maddox, barking orders to the crew.
His golden hair gleams as brightly as the barrel of Charlie’s pistol, and she quickly looks away, tucking the weapon back into her holster.
“Are you going to forgive him?” I ask.
“No,” she says flatly. “Should I?” she adds, her tone defensive.
“Are you asking for my permission?” I laugh.
She shakes her head, though her lip twitches in the slightest smile. Behind her, on the other side of the deck, Maddox hoists a barrel onto his shoulders. Charlie isn’t looking at him, but he keeps glancing over at her.
“I have a feeling he’ll give you a good reason to forgive him,” I say.
“Yeah, well, he might just be taking too long,” she mutters.
“You’d be surprised how long it takes some of us to come around,” says a rumbling voice from behind me. I feel Nolan’s arms wrap around me as he rests his chin on the top of my head, my whole body warming with his touch.
Charlie scoffs. “Some of us aren’t as patient as Wendy here.”
“Do you think she’ll ever forgive him?” Nolan asks as Charlie struts away, his jaw gently brushing my forehead as he speaks.
I turn slightly, hitting my head against his chin. “Do you think he’ll ever apologize? That’s the real question.”
We both grunt in unison, a sound neither of us finds particularly comforting.
Beyond, the waves glisten, blurring as they advance toward the empty horizon. “Do you think she’s out there?” I whisper.
Nolan glances out at the calm sea and the endless blue skies above us.
“Fair weather,” he says, and, for a moment, I wonder if he didn’t hear my question.
“But I’m having a lovely day on deck, holding my wife in my arms, with the sun shining down.
Heading in the direction that gives her hope?
That’s exactly where I want to go. I think it’s an honor that she’d travel across the world to give me a chance to have more days like this.
And I’ll do anything to make sure I can gift her more of them. Anything within my power.”
He pauses for a moment, his voice softening. “So yes, yes, I believe she’s out there. And even if I didn’t, my actions would speak otherwise.”
In the end, it takes us the full five weeks, and each day feels as if it’s one of the last of a few granules of sand stuck in the neck of an hourglass. Like all it would take is an accidental jostle, and the sand would lose its traction and fall.
Everything about the village at the base of Mount Serba is themed around the Youngest Sister.
At the entrance of the city is a massive archway.
Carved into it is the likeness of a woman assisting mortals through a variety of misfortunes—a man who has been torn away from his wife by a jealous woman who’d made a bargain with one of the Fates (the Eldest or the Middle—I can’t tell), a woman who bargained away her eyesight so her family wouldn’t starve, and lastly, a girl whose parents made a treacherous deal with a Fate to save their child from a deathly illness.
Cold sweeps over me at the sight of the last image.
“What is it, Darling?” asks my husband, placing a hand on my shoulder from behind.
“It’s just, if she were real, I can’t shake the feeling she would have helped me by now,” I say.
Once we enter the gates and reach the main thoroughfare, I can’t help but notice the fabric women have carefully crafted into intricate tapestries hanging from poles throughout the town.
The effect is mesmerizing, as the tapestries cast shadows that shift and dance across the streets, perfectly designed to reflect the place’s essence.
Some of the tapestries are sewn into the shapes of animals—dragons, bears, birds—and even trees, so that the shadows play out stories along the main street.
It’s strange, though. One would think the shadows would cast an eeriness over the town. But that is not at all the case. The shadows, instead of hiding things, seem to offer respite from the overbearing sun. There’s a levity about the town as it bustles with life.
Part of that, I have to believe, is due to the tourism.
The streets are crowded with people of all nationalities, chatting eagerly in at least five different languages that I can tell, though I can already hear more the further we walk.
Everyone wears long, flowing coats with hoods drawn low over their faces.
There’s nothing sinister about the attire, just an air of excitement for a legend—a legend these people so desperately want to believe.
It’s not as though I can blame them for that.
The vendors are just as enthusiastic as the visitors, though it’s obviously in their financial interest to be so.
“Do you think they actually believe in the Youngest Sister?” Maddox asks from beside me.
“I think there’s a great deal of coin wrapped up in it,” says Charlie, not even looking at him. Maddox nearly freezes in his tracks, shocked that she actually answered him.
I shoot him a knowing look, and he blushes, unable to conceal the grin spreading across his face. When Charlie walks on ahead without turning back, I know exactly what game she’s playing. Maddox speeds up behind her to catch up.
Nolan and I linger behind, holding hands, as Charlie explores the market and Maddox goes off to do whatever it is he plans on doing—hopefully buying Charlie whatever her heart desires.
“It’s really quite beautiful here,” I say, glancing up at the mountain that looms at the far edge of the town. The mountain is gray, capped with snow at its peaks. The sun behind it is bright, though as it sets, the blue sky begins to streak with the faintest oranges and pinks.
Music fills the street, and I catch Nolan humming along.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you hum before,” I tease, nudging him in the side.
I immediately regret it, worried I might’ve hurt him, but he winces dramatically, grasping his side and making an exaggerated face. Then he smirks at me, pulling me in closer with his arm.
“This is a rather pleasant accidental honeymoon, isn’t it?” I say.
Nolan smirks. “Is this the kind of place that normal people pick for honeymoons?” Suddenly, he adjusts his collar and clears his throat, his smirk remaining but less certain.
“I wouldn’t know,” I reply. “With all my training to be a bride, my mother never really got as far as the honeymoon. She was more concerned about the vows.”
As we wander through the streets, we stumble upon an inn, creatively named The Three Sisters.
I roll my eyes at the name, but since it’s close by and cozy enough, Nolan and I enter.
Inside, a fire glows in the hearth, with a few patrons gathering around it.
Some are playing lutes, and one or two visitors have broken into song, though each demonstrates varying levels of talent.
“This isn’t what I expected,” I say to Nolan as we wait in line to purchase a room.
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“Well, for a town that’s dedicated to one of the Fates, I expected something more?—”
“Dreary? Sinister? Dark? Gloomy?” Nolan interrupts, a knowing grin on his face.
I nod. “Exactly. Prison-like.”
“The legends of the Youngest Sister are kind to her, aren’t they?” he asks with a shrug.
“Supposedly, she’s the one who cares most about mortals,” I answer. “At least, she doesn’t like meddling in our affairs and doesn’t like when her Sisters do, either.”
“Seems like she feels a sort of responsibility for them,” Nolan muses.
“I can’t say I disagree with her assessment. It would’ve been nice to have been left alone,” I say under my breath.
Nolan looks pensive, his gaze landing lightly on the Mating Mark on my cheek. “I don’t know if I entirely agree with that.”
Before he can explain, we’re summoned to the innkeeper’s desk. As we’re about to check in and purchase a room, I hear a strange but familiar voice call out.
“Winds?”