Chapter 35
Will retreated to his cabin after dinner with the crew. His body and mind were leaden, gravity pulling him down until he felt like he should be sinking through the floorboards.
They were now moored in Whistleton, finishing repairs on the ship. They had the Skystone locked inside the relic vault, and Lockwood had returned a couple days ago with a colorful story about a relic auction gone wrong as the reason for his extended delay.
On the surface, everything was looking up.
But not a word from Amaya.
Will shouldn’t be bitter. His crew needed to heal, he needed time to heal, and Amaya probably did, too. As long as Graven hung tomorrow, they were no longer in a cutthroat race to the finish. They had time, and she knew where they’d be.
Graven had spent almost a week in the Coil without making a move. If there was an escape plan, surely he would have enacted it by now. Right?
So why couldn’t Will relax?
He wondered if Amaya planned to attend the execution with her fiancé, and the intrusive thought made him sick.
Imagining her going to Westbrook for comfort, not to mention becoming his wife, curdled Will’s blood.
Thinking of her in that wretched city, relegated to a life of domesticity that didn’t suit her with a man who only wanted her for her beauty and status disgusted him more than the gems in Barnabas Arbuckle’s rotting teeth.
It was a cruel fate for someone who so clearly belonged in the sky.
Knowing it was a bad idea, Will pulled Wayfinder out of his pocket and opened it, staring at the needle pointing east, toward Sorrento.
He had an urge to go to her—if not to steal her from Victor Westbrook and claim her for himself, then at least to personally ensure her safety in Graven’s final hours.
A knock on Will’s cabin door pulled his attention from the compass.
“Captain? May I come in?”
Edmund. Will resisted the urge to groan.
“Come in.”
Edmund pushed the door open, looking glum as he shuffled inside. Wincing, he settled down in an armchair.
He was healing well—Silverspoon combined with treatment from the Moon Raider’s medic had helped tremendously. His left ear would never heal, but Edmund was a surprisingly good sport about it. Made him look like a real pirate, he said.
“What’s the matter, Ed?” Will asked, not in any mood to dance around the reason for the artificer’s visit.
“Everything. Everything and nothing,” Edmund lamented, dropping his head into his hands.
While Edmund had a notorious penchant for melodrama, Will had to somewhat agree.
“Ed—”
“I really thought we might be able to restore Aether to the atmosphere—fix everything. It was right there. We had it. And now . . .”
Sighing, Will stood and pulled two glasses and a bottle of liquor from his cabinet. He poured both and slid one over to Edmund, who wrinkled his nose.
“No, I don’t drink.”
“You do tonight.”
Edmund lifted the glass apprehensively, studying the liquid before taking a small sip. He gagged, slamming the glass down.
“That’s disgusting. How do you drink that?”
“It’s not the flavor that’s appealing.”
Will held out his glass. It took Edmund a second to catch on, but when he did, he begrudgingly lifted his glass to clink it with Will’s.
Both men took a sip, though Edmund’s was minuscule while Will threw back the entire shot. He relished the burn as it slid down his throat, the alcohol instantly warming his fingers and toes.
“Our goal hasn’t changed,” Will reminded Edmund. “The attack was a setback—a big one. But we’re recovering, and we have the conductor now.”
“I know, I know. But we lost so many. And we need her.”
Will grimaced, nodding. “Aye. We do.”
He didn’t know what to do about that. If Amaya never showed, did he kidnap her? Lure her out of the city like Corsair had?
The very idea of doing something like that to her made him want to throw himself over the side of the ship.
He had to trust she’d find her way back. He did trust her. But the waiting, the wondering if something had changed on her end, was agony.
There was another knock on the door before Sebastian pushed it open. He didn’t step inside, one hand hanging on the top of the doorframe as he leaned in.
“Hey. Sorry to interrupt, but did we lose any windskiffs in the crash?” he asked.
Will frowned, trying to recall the inventory Malcolm had conducted that first day.
“Some of them were damaged, but no. We still have all twelve.”
“Okay, so, we actually don’t. Crowe noticed one of them is missing.”
“Missing?” Edmund raised his eyebrows. “Who took it?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out, genius. We didn’t send anyone on errands?”
“No. Serena said she was done sending people out for parts,” Will said, standing. “You have the—”
“Updated roster? Yup.”
Will looked at Wayfinder lying open on his desk, hesitating only briefly before shoving the compass back into his pocket and joining Sebastian.
Equipped with the ship’s roster, which was currently a couple pages long with far too many names crossed out, Will and Sebastian made their rounds. After about an hour, they’d gone down the entire list and found everyone—all except one.
Will’s stomach was sour. He knew who the thief was, and even thought he knew their motivation, but couldn’t bring himself to say it.
Sebastian skimmed the roster again, making sure they hadn’t skipped anyone. But they both knew who wasn’t accounted for.
“Why would he . . . ?” Sebastian asked, handing the document back to Will.
Will’s hands clenched into fists, crinkling the paper’s edges. Fury burned through him, simmering beneath his skin like a ticking time bomb. At the core of it all was the deep sting of broken trust only close friends had the power to inflict.
He met his first mate’s eyes.
“Because his associate told him your father is alive.”
The color drained from Sebastian’s face.
“How did he—”
“Hell if I know.”
Will should have anticipated this. He should have worked harder to make Arbuckle’s claims seem ludicrous. Shouldn’t have let him leave the Sorrento inn alone. Should have pressed for more details upon his late return.
“Do you think he went after Dad?” Sebastian asked, lowering his voice.
“I don’t know how he could. I never shared any intel.”
But he’d gone somewhere, and it wasn’t out on a joyride.
A sudden vibration shook his pocket, and the heat of Will’s anger iced over into something else. He reached into his pocket for Wayfinder and opened it, a telltale gold shimmer sliding across the surface.
Sebastian frowned, leaning over his shoulder. “What’s that mean?”
Will clenched the compass so tight it nearly cracked, the knife of betrayal sinking deeper into his core.
“I think he’s gone after Amaya.” A second thought wrenched Will’s gut. “Check the relic vault.”