Chapter 4
My shoes click over the marble steps. Shedding my damp cloak, I throw it over one arm and keep to the edge of the staircase, half-hidden behind a group of women.
Bodies pack the castle, far busier than it was this afternoon, and my shoulders loosen. If I’m lucky, Caelus hasn’t noticed my absence.
I push my damp hair out of my face and branch off at the landing, heading down the hallway to the living quarters I share with Thea. The door swings open beneath my touch, and I slide in, pressing it shut behind me.
A fire crackles in the hearth, drying the rain gathered at my hairline and the soaked hem of my gown.
“What took you so long?”
In the vanity mirror, Thea raises a brow and twists a tube of lipstick before dabbing crimson along her lips. I undo my braid and comb my fingers through my hair. It’s damp, a mix of rainwater and ocean spray, but it’ll do.
I shrug. “The usual heckling from Cassio, but you know how it goes.”
Her gaze meets mine in the reflection, and she nods, giving a disapproving tilt of her lips. “I do, unfortunately.”
I ignore the judgement in her tone and slip off my wet shoes, trading them out for a dry pair. “Was Caelus looking for me?”
“Not at all. He got caught up with a general, discussing the warfront.”
My throat constricts. “Did they mention anything about Marina?”
I choose my words carefully, balancing them on the tip of the tongue, parsing out the word queen. My mother, the last one fighting. And, because of the curse, convinced I’m dead.
Thea shakes her head. “If they did, I wasn’t close enough to hear.” Her brow furrows. “Why?”
I school my face, wiping away the guilt that’s eaten at my marrow for the last decade. “Curious, that’s all.”
Bypassing the two four-poster beds, I drape my cloak over the hearth and sink into the chair beside it, facing the sweeping view of the ocean out the window.
Thea’s gaze follows me. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit reckless? You carry a weapon and lift jewels off anyone who gets close enough. Aren’t you worried what Caelus will do if he finds out?”
I prop my chin on my hand. “He’s not going to find out.”
She scoffs. “What makes you so sure of yourself?”
A knot forms in my chest. I inhale a long breath and rest my feet on the low coffee table. “Thea?”
Her hands pause on the tube of lipstick, eyes meeting mine. “Yes?”
Here goes nothing.
“I am Briar, Princess of the Sea, Captain of The Twelfth Night. And you, Thea, are my first mate.”
Her eyes glaze over.
“When I refused to marry Barren and killed him, Terra cursed me. And you, too. I cannot touch the ocean or use my power, and you can’t remember who we are. No one can.”
She tilts her head, and a deep vertical line forms between her brows.
“The only way to break the curse is to captain a ship. Impossible, considering I can’t board one, and Caelus forbids women from captaining.”
She presses her eyes shut, and when they open, they’re clear. Familiar. Angry. They widen, then narrow. Her nostrils flare, a muscle feathering in her jaw.
The countdown begins.
Five.
She stands from the stool and drops her tube of lipstick. It rolls under the bed, out of sight. “Briar, we have to get out of here. Where’s the ship?”
Four.
“What if I become a captain somehow, then give the ship to you? We could make that work, right?”
Without waiting for an answer, she paces in front of the fireplace, nodding to herself. I can’t do anything but watch. After doing this every day for nearly ten years, I know exactly how it plays out, but the repetition doesn’t ease my guilt. If anything, it worsens the blame.
Three.
“I’m going to kill Caelus. He took advantage of your absence and started a war.
He wants to take the sea. The sea. It doesn’t belong to anyone, not even us.
” She glances down at her dress and fists the material with her hands.
“What the fuck am I wearing?” Her gaze darts to me, and she grimaces.
“Briar, why are we dressed like courtesans?”
A long pause, then her shoulders fall. “Where’s the rest of the crew?”
Two.
I bite my lip as a tear rolls down my cheek.
She stiffens and covers her mouth with a hand. Her eyes pierce me, widening. “They took her. They—they took Celia.”
A sob escapes her throat, guttural, and like I do every time, I look away. A coward, unable to face my own consequences.
One.
Her back stiffens, and the sob halts as if severed by a knife. She drops her hands to her sides and brushes the wrinkles out of her dress. Our gazes meet, and she smiles that familiar smile. But the light behind her eyes is gone, extinguished—any hint of our conversation wiped from her mind.
She’s still in there, somewhere. Thea, the fearless woman I’ve spent my life beside, my trust tied to her in knots. But this Thea doesn’t remember Celia—the love of her life, other half of herself.
The wrench in my chest turns another notch.
She glides back to the vanity and sinks onto the stool, searching through the drawers. “Have you seen my lipstick?”
“Here,” I say, handing her mine.
Her fingers brush mine as she takes the tube. “I can always count on you.”
I press my tongue into my cheek and nod, fighting the tears climbing up the back of my throat.
The storm outside clears. One moment, rain pelts the window. The next, stars twinkle in the cloudless sky. Our cue dinner is about to begin.
We leave our quarters and follow the crowd to the grand hall, skimming the edges of the room until we find out our assigned table with the rest of the royal courtesans. Guests take their seats while waiters sweep through the room, passing out glasses of wine.
Thea leans over. “Any idea what he’s going to announce?”
I take a sip of wine and shrug. “He didn’t tell me anything.”
The crowd hushes as two armed guards flank the wooden doors and pull them open, the hinges groaning under the weight.
“Please rise for His Majesty, King Caelus of the Sky Court.”
Draining my glass, I rise to my feet and press my lips into a thin line. Treating him as a superior never fails to make my skin crawl.
He enters, his suit so powder blue it’s nearly white, with a series of metal chains hanging from his lapels. Isolde follows in his wake, her crown of ice catching the light from the chandeliers, curls pinned away from her face.
I scan her for marks, bruises—any indication Caelus punished her for wandering the castle earlier this afternoon. But I know better. He ensures his beatings are lower than her collar, higher than her sleeves.
She lifts her attention from the runner, and our gazes meet. Her eyes soften, imperceptible to everyone else in the room, and my chest squeezes.
She’s only ever whispered about her regret in the small hours of the morning—that if she could turn back time, she wouldn’t surrender or allow Caelus to siphon her power. But it’s too late, and the invisible chains linked to her wrists are clamped tight.
“Isolde,” Caelus hisses under his breath.
She stiffens, and her gaze snaps back to the space at her feet. I splay open my palm, as though I’m reaching for something at the edge of the table. As Isolde passes, she swings her arm at the right moment.
Our hands brush.
The air thickens between us for a fraction of a heartbeat, and the tension in her shoulders eases, ironed out. I swallow, watching as they climb the steps to the dais. There’s a slight limp to Isolde’s right side, and my hands ball into fists.
She takes her spot on the throne beside his, her hands clasped in her lap. Lifting her gaze to mine and barely moving her lips, she mouths, “I’m okay.”
I bite the inside of my cheek.
Caelus turns to the crowd. “You may sit.”
Chairs scrape against the floor, drowning out the murmurs that circulate through the room.
I perch on the edge of my seat, my hands pressed against my knees as I scan the generals faces for any hint of what’s happening at the warfront.
But they’re all staring at Caelus, waiting for his announcement.
Caelus clears his throat, adjusting his collar, and the room silences.
“Today marks a decade of my rule, and during this time, we have seized dozens of territories in the name of the Sky Court. Across the continent, we have built an empire stronger than ever before.” Low applause fills the room, and Caelus smiles.
“To celebrate, I am holding a competition.”
I hold my breath.
“The Gales will be no ordinary trials, but a series of three deadly tests. Most who sign up will lose their lives, but those who make it to the end will be judged by Terra herself. And whoever earns her blessing, will have a single wish granted.”
I jerk forward in my seat, air rushing from my lungs as voices fill the ballroom. My gaze darts to Thea. “I should sign up.”
She blinks. Once. Twice. Then bursts into laughter, the sound like bells. “That’s ridiculous.”
Gnawing on my lip, I study the way she so delicately holds the stem of her wineglass—the same hands that once gripped a rope as she swung between masts and hoisted sails. A memory she doesn’t have.
I can win. For her, my court, and the crew I wronged.
A gust of wind shoots over our heads, hushing the voices, and Caelus lifts his chin. “If you choose to enter, enrollment will be held outside the castle gates until midnight.”
Out the balcony, a flock of massive falcons soar over the city, dropping leaflets over the rooftops. They flutter down like snowflakes, and, even from here, I spot crowds gathering in the streets.
“Good luck to all those who enter.”
Caelus lowers into his seat, and a servant sets a plate of steaming food in front of him. A flurry of waiters enters, each balancing trays on their palms.
This could be my only chance.
I lean closer to Thea. “Listen very carefully.”
She stiffens, raising a brow. “Okay?”
“I need you to cover for me until I get back.”
“Where are you going?”
I hesitate. If I tell her the truth, she’ll try to stop me. “The restroom. I’m feeling unwell.”
Her mouth pinches, and she glances at my stomach, unconvinced. “Maybe it was the wine you drank on an empty stomach.”
“Yeah, maybe it was.”
I slide out of my seat and slip through the front doors, nodding to the guards as I pass. I keep my footsteps calm and controlled, as any courtesan would when stepping out.
Gathering the skirt of my dress, I stride out of the grand hall and sprint toward the castle gates.