Chapter Two #2
“No,” I say quickly, my blood warming at his admission.
It’s taken me two days to work up the courage to ask him about what Titus said—that Will knew Titus had feelings for me before Will ever took my family and me captive.
“That’s not what I meant. I don’t blame you—I mean, your curse—” I take a deep breath, try again.
“It’s just that, Titus said something about… me—er, well, you—us.”
Will’s brows knit and he rises, leaning heavily on the barrel for support. “He’s not himself right now,” he says gently. “I’m sure whatever he said, he never would have done so if it weren’t for the compulsion.”
I stand, too, smoothing my hands over my coat.
I try to swallow around the knot that chokes my voice even as I force a smile and say, “You’re probably right.
” I clear my throat, attempting to change the subject.
“I’ve been thinking on what my mother said about the power of the Lightbringer—how the True King gave Hildegarde dominion over all creation. ”
He nods slowly. “The full power of the Lightbringer—both halves. You told me yourself that your father never accessed a single affinity, much less all four.”
“Right,” I say. “But what if it’s not just the full power of the Lightbringer? What if, because of my Nightweaver blood, I could tap into all four affinities? You could show me how to use bonewielding—”
“Aster,” he says softly, his eyes crinkling with a frown. “You’re still struggling to access your abilities as a bloodletter. It might not be wise to open those pathways if you’re still unable to control your”—his throat bobs—“ cravings.”
Something in my chest deflates. He’s right—I know he’s right.
But it doesn’t mean it’s any less disappointing to hear him give voice to the doubts that keep me awake all through the night—the fear that I’ll never master my abilities as a bloodletter, let alone a bonewielder, a firebreather, or a windwalker.
If I can’t control my affinity for water, how will I ever hope to control the power of the Lightbringer?
“Of course,” I say, my voice thick. “I don’t know what I was thinking.…”
I turn to leave, but Will lurches forward a step as the ship rocks, closing the distance between us. The chains pull taut as Will grabs my wrist. I feel Gabriel shift behind me, and metal scrapes metal as he withdraws his sword, if only slightly.
“Wait—don’t—” Will whispers, his voice rough, his eyes wide, pleading. “Don’t go. Please, I just…” He grinds his teeth, his grip tightening—desperate, painful. “I need…”
“What?” I whisper back, my heart racing as I subtly attempt to pull free from his grasp, but to no avail. “What do you need?”
A flash of red light as his gaze dips to my throat.
He licks his lips, voice dark and gritty and deeper than its usual timbre when he growls, “I need…”
Blood, I realize, a second too late. Out of the corner of my eye, Gabriel appears, his sword raised, prepared to break Will’s hold on me by whatever means necessary. But he never gets the chance.
One moment Will leans in, his teeth bared, and the next, I’m thrown onto my back, my ears ringing.
I scramble upright, blinking, attempting to control my breathing even as my pulse pounds in my eardrums. The serpent—has it returned?
Above, muffled shouts give me pause. Before I’ve even made it to my feet, another explosion sends me careening forward, and my head collides with the iron bars of Will’s cell.
Not a serpent.
Cannons.
Gabriel hauls me to my feet, giving my shoulders a shake. “We’re under attack!”
Instantly, I’m transported to the day the Nightweavers attacked our family’s ship. The day the Lightbringer sank.
I watch Gabriel charging up the steps, but all I see is Owen.
I wasn’t fast enough to save my brother. To save our home. To save my family from captivity.
I won’t make the same mistakes again.
I quickly check that Will, slumped against the wall of his cell, is still breathing.
It’s better that he’s unconscious. I know it’s only because of his curse that he tried to bite me, but if he were to break out of his cell in the state he’s in, we’d have more problems to deal with than whoever has launched an assault on our ship.
Satisfied that Will is safe—for now—I race after Gabriel.
When I emerge onto the deck, the tang of gunpowder coats my tongue.
Ten seconds. That’s all the time I get to survey my surroundings. To try to make some sense of the black flag, marked with the scarlet sun of the Eerie, illuminated by a crack of lightning cutting through the pitch-black fog.
Nine. The royal Nightweaver ship—the Mythslayer—packed with Bloodknights and human prisoners, the latter chained to the deck, soaked by the downpour of rain.
Eight. Cannons blast, tearing two holes in the starboard side of our ship.
Seven. Bloodknights storming over the gangplank and onto the Starchaser.
Six. My siblings, their weapons drawn, shouting at one another over the sound of the third cannon blast.
Five. Shards of wood slice my hands, tiny splinters needling into my palms, but I plant my feet.
Four. Henry steels himself at my side, flames engulfing his outstretched hands.
Three. I draw a cutlass from a sheath at either hip, the warm metal buzzing at my touch.
Two. Twenty feet from me, a tall, menacing figure stands before the prisoners on the main deck of the Mythslayer, his eyes glowing gold, his blond hair shaved close to his scalp.
A king without his crown, he looks every bit the wicked villain of legend—his black cloak, trimmed with scarlet thread, his bare, tattooed hand outstretched, as the first human’s face shrivels and they collapse, their blood pulled from their body in a gruesome cloud of crimson.
One. Titus smirks, his gaze meeting mine as he forms a bloodred blade and points it at the throat of his youngest prisoner, the sight of her braided blond pigtails and tear-streaked face nearly knocking me off my feet.
My youngest sister.
Elsie.