Chapter Five
Bleak gray light prods at my eyelids, sharp and insistent. I jolt upright, clutching the bronze medallion around my neck, only to find I’m not alone.
“It’s me,” Henry whispers, his hand on my arm to steady me, his touch light. He sits on the edge of my bed in the captain’s quarters of the Starchaser. “Just me.”
I blink at him, my heart pounding against my sternum. “Is—” I try to speak, but it feels as if I’ve swallowed a handful of rusty nails. “Is everyone—” The dull amber glow of the lamp stings my eyes, my temples throbbing. “The Starchaser—how long—”
“Everyone’s fine,” he says softly. “Gabriel healed your wounds, then spent the rest of the night repairing the ship, which seemed to really put Charlie out. Before I came to see you, your brother was pacing the deck, swinging a hammer, looking very much like he wished to use it on a certain bonewielder.”
Bonewielder.
“Where’s Will?”
Henry’s gaze darts to my throat, his mouth pressed in a hard line. “He’s chained up in the brig. Says he doesn’t remember how he got free of his binds.” His jaw tightens. “He keeps asking for you.”
I attempt to swallow, but my tongue feels like sandpaper. “Take me to him.”
Henry shakes his head, his expression severe. “Absolutely not.”
“Henry,” I ask hoarsely. “Please.”
He squeezes my arm, his grip firm. “If he hurts you again…” His voice is low and menacing, and I think of the young noble I met when I first arrived at Bludgrave Manor—the boy who threatened to kill me with a single look. Only, his anger isn’t directed at me.
“He won’t.”
“He almost killed you,” he argues, shaking me slightly, his probing stare searching my eyes, my face, my throat. “He would have killed you.”
I open my mouth to say, No, he wouldn’t have, but I can still feel his weight pinning me to the deck—still feel his teeth tearing at my neck.
Instead I say, “But he didn’t.” It’s a weak excuse, and I don’t know why I defend him, but…
I know what it’s like to lose control, to act on impulses I would otherwise ignore.
And after what happened during the battle—the voice that urged me to kill, to spill blood—it could have been me that attacked someone, just like Will.
Henry frowns. “Not this time.” And then, as if he’s sensed where my thoughts have gone, he adds, “Aster, if you’re having difficulties controlling your own bloodlust—”
“I’m not,” I say quickly, but shame burns my throat, flushing my cheeks.
He hesitates. “If you were,” he clarifies, “I wouldn’t judge you. You’re a Nightweaver—it’s to be expected.”
I almost laugh. “To be expected?” I scoff. “I don’t think any of this is to be expected.”
His eyes crinkle with something akin to sympathy. “If you had been raised in a Nightweaver household, you might think differently. All Nightweavers are brought up knowing that on their eighteenth birthday, there must be certain precautions.”
My stomach sours. “Precautions?”
He nods. “All Nightweavers receive a surge of Manan on their eighteenth birthday. Some believe it’s a blessing from the True King.
But it’s also the one day in every Nightweaver’s life that the bloodlust is most difficult to control, and for that, some think it’s a curse.
” His eyes darken with a memory. “Will’s birthday was…
especially difficult. He’s always had trouble managing his bloodlust, even before—” His throat bobs. “Before he was cursed.”
I was in the throes of my fever, fighting off my own transformation, when the others learned about Will’s affliction, after he awoke in the brig the night we escaped Castle Grim, steeped in the blood of his victims. I wasn’t there when Henry and Lady Isabelle learned of Lord Bludgrave’s death, and Annie’s capture, and Will’s curse, but I see it in Henry’s gaze as he studies my face—the grief, the vigilance.
“I can’t lose you, too,” he whispers as a tear slips onto his cheek, following the groove of the cruel, jagged scar that carves down his face, disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt.
I throw my arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight embrace. “You’re not going to lose me.”
He hugs me impossibly close, his tears streaming down the back of my neck. Quiet sobs rack his body, and for a while, we just hold each other, unspoken words passed between us—assurances, apologies, promises. Finally, he draws back, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.
“You’re only saying what you think I want to hear so I’ll take you to the brig.”
I use the hem of my sleeve to gently wipe the tears from his face, and wink. “Pirate, remember?”
The activity aboard the Starchaser lulls as Charlie cleans the blood from the main deck, and when I emerge from the captain’s quarters and spot Lewis at the helm, his gaze fixed on the horizon, my heart nearly leaps out of my chest.
He meets my gaze from across the way. Salutes me.
I point at Charlie, frown. Lewis shrugs, shaking his head.
Aboard the Lightbringer, Charlie always insisted on clearing the deck after a battle.
Now as he kneels, scrubbing, he doesn’t even look up when we pass, his brow furrowed—focused.
It doesn’t look like he’s slept, and if I know my brother, he probably won’t rest until the Starchaser is spotless.
But Will showed no discretion when he slaughtered the Bloodknights, and I notice splatters of crimson in difficult-to-reach places, bits of flesh that will have to be scraped from the wood—a task that could take days, especially if he insists on working alone.
I almost turn back and order Charlie to take a break, but I know he won’t listen, so I force myself to keep going, one step after another, as Henry escorts me to the brig.
“No,” is all Gabriel says when he sees us descending the steps.
He blocks our path, his massive frame obscuring my view of the cells below.
“She’s still pale from the loss of blood,” he says, gesturing at me before crossing his arms, fixing Henry with a disapproving look. “She should be in bed.”
Henry sets his jaw, glaring at Gabriel, and I’m reminded of the last time they squared their shoulders at each other—reminded of how much Henry detests being told no. “Don’t you think I—”
“Oh, come on, boys,” drawls a familiar, lilting voice.
A shock of relief floods my veins, and I almost lose my footing.
“I promise I won’t bite,” Titus croons. “Not unless she asks nicely.” I can almost hear the smirk when he adds, “Although, I can’t speak for him.…”
I shove past Gabriel, stumbling down the last few steps. Behind me, Henry lets out an exasperated sigh, but the quiet bickering between him and Gabriel fades beneath the steady pulse of a heartbeat as I come to a halt in the aisle between the cells.
The cell to my left holds Titus, propped casually against a barrel, eyes closed as if he were asleep.
My chest swells at the sight of him. I knew that once we obtained Morana’s blood, we would have to capture Titus so we could force him to take the cure to free him of her compulsion, and until then, he would continue to act on Morana’s orders, killing the very people he’s sworn to protect.
But now he’s here, and there’s a lump in my throat I can’t seem to swallow.
Henry coughs, and my attention snaps to the cell to my right.
My gaze meets Will’s, and suddenly the room is too small, and there’s too much space between us.
I want to run to him. I want to run away from him.
I don’t move at all.
Will keeps his back pressed against the boarded-up wall, his jaw clenched as he searches me for injury. Both he and Titus are bound in chains of Elysian Iron, hindering their ability to control Manan, but after what happened aboard the Mythslayer, when Will lifts his hand…
I stagger backward a step, toward Titus’s cell.
Will’s face twists in a tormented expression. Tears cut through the thick layer of blood that masks his freckles. He opens his mouth—closes it.
He keeps asking for you. So why doesn’t he say anything?
“I’m getting the feeling you didn’t come here just to see me.”
The low, rich voice comes from the third cell at the end of the row.
I force myself to look away from Will to where Diana sits atop a barrel, kicking her prosthetic leg, and locate the source of the voice standing beside her, draped casually against the iron bars.
The man’s dark brown skin and warm ochre eyes reflect the amber glow of the lanterns as he stretches his arms, looking almost as bored as Titus when he flashes a familiar, languid grin.
“Lovely to see you again, princess,” he says smoothly, slipping his hand through the iron bars as if to shake mine.
I recognize him—the tall, lean human Lewis rescued from the Mythslayer.
When I reach for my dagger, the man brings a hand to his chest in exaggerated offense.
His eyes glitter with mischief. “You mean, you don’t remember me?”
“Give it a rest, Rook,” Gabriel huffs. “You’re hardly worth remembering.”
Rook. The member of the Starchaser’s crew whom Titus saved from the gallows the day Will first brought my family ashore—the same pirate who pretended to be Captain Shade the night Will ran a blade through his chest.
“A lifetime of friendship, and this is how he treats me,” Rook says, lips pursed in a mock pout.
“Oh well, I suppose I can’t fault you, darling.
I don’t believe you’ve ever laid eyes on my true form.
What do you think?” He winks, and it’s as if a veil lifts, revealing the tapered points of his ears. “Worth the wait?”
I glance over my shoulder at Gabriel, who merely rolls his eyes. “Is he…?”
“The most charming elf in the Known World?” Rook offers.
Gabriel lifts a brow. “Insufferable? Yes.”
Diana laughs, cracking her knuckles. “Insufferable doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
I tap my fingers on the hilt of my dagger, but Rook raises his hands, as if to surrender.
“Relax, princess,” Rook coos, offering his hand once more. “I’m only flirting with you.”