Chapter Six #2
I think about the thread I felt pull taut between Titus and me back at Castle Grim.
I wonder if Diana could see something like that or if I just imagined that feeling—that connection between us, tying us together in ways I can’t begin to understand—if I can’t feel that same string between Will and me because my sight is foggy.
Before I can ask Diana more about the sight, and the strands, and the human curse, the music comes to an abrupt halt, and Rook calls down, “Nana!”
Diana rolls her eyes, but I notice a faint grin curling the edge of her mouth before she barks back, “What?”
Rook pretends to whisper as he shouts, “He’s awake!”
He points his bow at Charlie, who finally begins to stir, looking around at the others still twirling about the deck with a bleary look of confusion.
Diana’s lips rattle as she blows out an exasperated breath.
“Nana?” I can’t help but ask.
She smooths a few stray hairs behind her ears. “My little brother couldn’t say ‘Diana’ when he was a baby,” she says. “Titus never let me live it down. Now it’s all anyone calls me.”
Again, I think of Titus, down in the brig. I try to imagine what it would be like if he were here now—what it was like for him as captain of the Starchaser. This ship, his friends—another part of his life I know nothing about.
But I want to know. And that guilt Eliza mentioned lodges itself in my stomach, as heavy as a stone.
“So, your brother,” I say. “Is he…”
“He’s safe on the Red Island,” she answers with a grim smile.
“He insisted on coming on our last voyage, but he’s only fourteen.
I told him I’d be right back, but…” She sighs.
“Maybe everything happens for a reason,” she says, hopping to her feet.
“Maybe it doesn’t. Either way, all we can do is play our best hand with the cards we’ve been dealt.
” She rolls her shoulders, cracks her knuckles.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to ask your brother to dance. ”
A smile touches my lips as I watch her approach Charlie—watch him accept her invitation and sweep her into a much slower dance than the music calls for, his footing unsure, gaze mystified as he tilts his head, taking in Diana’s face with a look of pure wonder.
I lean back on the crate, my gaze drifting to the stars above.
A pang of grief pierces my chest when I think of all the nights Will and I spent together—how he would ask me to tell him the stories behind each constellation.
My time at Bludgrave Manor feels so distant now, the memories more difficult to grasp.
If I knew then what I know now… would it have changed anything?
Would I have run as far from Bludgrave—from Will—as I possibly could?
I think of his arms around me and the familiar, earthy scent of roses and damp earth—the freckles that dust the bridge of his nose and the dimple in his cheek whenever he smiles.
I think of his lips on mine, and his hands on my waist, and his breath caressing the shell of my ear.
I think of sprigs of blue salvia, and whispered promises, and his gaze on the side of my face when I told him the legend of Titus and the Twelve Keys—the constellation after which the prince of the Eerie had been named.
My mouth goes dry. He knew. When I told him that story—when I pointed at the sky and I said his name—Will already knew that Titus was Captain Shade.
He knew that he was the one to save me from the Deathwail.
Could he have already known about Titus’s association with my mother and father, or did Titus keep that a secret from Will as well?
Something dark flutters in the corner of my eye, drawing my attention to the crow’s nest, and my heart skips a beat.
There, perched on the railing, a raven watches over our assembly with beady, dark eyes.
“Care to dance?”
I tear my gaze away from the crow’s nest to find Henry standing beside me, his hand extended, a wicked grin playing on his lips. I hesitate, but when I look back to the crow’s nest, the raven is gone.
Was it ever really there?
I take Henry’s hand and allow him to sweep me into a dance. I almost expect to smell the sorrowsnap on his breath or note his bloodshot eyes from late nights spent hugging a bottle of liquor, but his gaze is clear, and I inhale only the warm, familiar scent of smoke and spices.
“Ah, dancing,” he says, squeezing my hand. “My favorite.”
“At least your stew was decent tonight,” I say. “I actually managed to get down a few bites.”
He pinches my waist, and I smack his shoulder.
He laughs, the sound soothing the tension at the nape of my neck. “I could use your help,” he says. “If you can spare some time away from your captainly duties.”
It’s only then that I realize he’s led me across the deck, toward the doors to the captain’s quarters. Of course he would have noticed I wanted to slip away—he was probably looking for the same opportunity.
I tilt my head, a grin tugging at my lips. “Captainly isn’t a word.”
“It should be.” He opens the door, leaning against the frame, and in the scant light of my cabin, I see the dark circles under his eyes—the pallor of his skin. Still, he smiles. “Sweet dreams, pirate.”
He shuts the door, and for a moment, I’m tempted to go after him.
But the instant I set foot in my quarters, exhaustion weighs on me, nearly dragging me toward my bed.
I shuffle past the heavy mahogany desk at the center of the room, when a mouse scurries beneath my feet, and I stumble backward, catching myself on the edge of the furniture.
A flash of brown fur and the tiny creature disappears through a crack in the wood-slatted wall.
I blink, starting toward my bed once more, when the flickering light of a lantern gives me pause. I hadn’t lit any lanterns when Margaret came to retrieve me earlier this evening, and no one has entered my quarters since.
I lean over the desk, lips pursed to blow out the flame, when a cold chill snakes down my spine.
There, lying on my desk, is a scrap of parchment—a scrap of parchment that wasn’t here when I left.
I reach for the note, my pulse hammering in my throat.
Thump. Thump.
I jump, drawing my dagger as the door swings open.
Gabriel sticks his head inside. “Sorry to disturb you,” he says, his voice dull. “I just wanted to ask—” He pauses, eyes narrowed on the note clutched in my fist and my dagger in the other. “Is everything all right?”
“Perfect,” I say, and I’m surprised when my voice doesn’t shake. “Ask me what?”
He studies my face, his brows pinched. “Just whether you wanted me to take first watch or—”
“I’ve got it,” I say, sheathing my dagger, my exhaustion swiftly forgotten in the wake of adrenaline coursing through my veins.
He frowns. “You’re sure? Because you really should be resting—”
“I’m sure.”
He nods once, his expression incredulous as he slowly backs out of the doorframe and closes the door behind him.
I wait, watching his silhouette depart through the linen curtains, before I smooth out the note crumpled in my grasp.
Two words, written in bloodred ink.
He’s here.