Chapter Eight
I clutch the handles of the Starchaser’s helm, my knuckles white as the fog begins to clear.
The cool air shifts, and a warm breeze tosses my hair over my shoulders, signaling our approach to the edge of the Dire.
Moments from now, our ship will enter Hellion’s naval territory, and there will be no turning back.
“This will work,” Lewis whispers, squeezing my arm.
I take a deep breath. “It has to.”
I follow Lewis’s gaze to where Eliza stands at the bow of the ship, her eyes closed, hands outstretched. Beside her, Gabriel is perfectly still, a bloodred sword in either fist. Scattered about the deck, my siblings and friends all hold their breath, their weapons drawn. Waiting.
Tick. Tick. Tick. The compass weighs heavily in the pocket of my coat.
The only way to cure Will of the Shifter curse and free Titus from Morana’s compulsion is to find the Underling queen and obtain a drop of her blood. But the only way to Morana’s domain, to the Burning Lands, is by crossing Hellion without capture—or worse.
I set my jaw. “Steady now.”
The air seems to shimmer as Eliza bends the light, shielding the Starchaser from view.
We emerge from the fog like breaking the surface of the ocean. One moment, we’re shrouded by the mist, and the next, we’re surrounded by Hellion’s naval fleet.
“Hold,” I whisper, my grip tight on the helm as I brace for the alarm to sound.
Hundreds of orange flags billow in the wind. I squint to make out the heraldry of the stag in the bright light of the sun, glittering on the sapphire waves of the Western Sea. The humid, salt-laden air carries with it the scent of baked wood and lime, fresh and earthy and… rotten.
My stomach roils.
The findings provided to the Order while we were still on the Red Island mentioned Hellion’s increased naval presence in the wake of the Eerie’s unholy pact with the Underlings.
But they didn’t forewarn the show of force positioned along the edge of the Dire—a display meant to deter pirates who stray too close to the coast of Hellion.
Dozens of pirate vessels are scattered throughout Hellion’s fleet, and I note the familiar flags of pirate clans we’d encountered during my years at sea, all painted over with a red x. Bile rushes into my throat.
Bodies swing from the masts. A message. A warning.
A consequence.
My forearms tense as I guide the Starchaser through the narrow path between Hellion’s ships, and as we pass one of the pirate vessels, out of the corner of my eye, I see Jack remove his cap and clutch it to his chest.
But a strange mixture of relief and dread churns in my gut. If Hellion has yet to fall to the Underlings, there’s still hope—the front lines can continue to hold off Morana’s conquest. But for how long?
Leo—no, Morana—had forewarned me of what would happen if the Eerie sided with the Underlings.
Hellion provides the Eerie with Elysian Iron, iron that the Eerie uses to craft weapons for the League of Seven—the global army tasked with keeping the Underlings at bay.
In exchange for the iron, the Eerie supplies Hellion with Manan.
But if the Eerie aligned themselves with the Underlings and halted their production of weapons, and worse, withheld their stores of Manan from the other kingdoms…
the Nightweavers would have no means to protect themselves from the Underlings.
And if the Eerie withheld Manan, Nightweavers across the realm would be forced to consume human blood.
Few would survive, and it would be only a matter of time—days, perhaps—before Morana and her Underling regime seized control of both continents.
Now that Calantha has assumed the throne in the Eerie, servant to Morana’s bidding, I can’t be sure that she hasn’t already cut off the supply of Manan to Hellion and the other kingdoms. When we met in the war room on the Red Island, my mother and the Order of Hildegarde were aware of this possibility.
Yet they still chose to wait instead of act—instead of finding Morana and defeating her before more lives are lost.
I tighten my fists around the helm, feeling as if the wood might splinter in my grasp. They left me with no choice but to pursue Morana myself.
Minutes pass, and there’s no sound other than the low groan of wood and the disjointed chatter of soldiers, but the possibility that we might be discovered at any moment sets my teeth on edge.
Eliza bends the light, shielding us from view, but I worry how long she’ll be able to maintain our current state of invisibility.
Her arms tremble; sweat drips from her brow.
Soon, she’ll have depleted her Manan. If we’re not clear of Hellion’s fleet before that happens, we’ll be exposed—and vastly outnumbered.
And I’m not the only one running the odds. I take stock of my siblings—note the tension in their shoulders, the perspiration above their lips, the slight adjustment of their stances.
Because in the distance, Hellion’s coast rises out of the water like chipped copper teeth, but there’s no solace to be had in nearing land. Because just before we can break free of Hellion’s fleet, the gap between ships narrows further still—an impossible opening to breach.
Nothing is impossible, Father used to say. And, You only fail when you stop trying.
I eye the thin sliver of open water, my heart in my throat, and send a silent prayer to the Stars.
My grip slides on the helm as I readjust my hold, my palms slick, but I set my feet. Roll my shoulders. Take another deep breath.
I think of Mother, standing at the helm.
As a child, I’d stand on a wooden stool, grab hold of the spokes, and Mother would place her hands over mine.
When you hold this helm, she would say to me, you hold your family’s lives in your hands.
They trust you to lead them. To guide them safely through all manner of trials and storms.
Today, it’s as if I feel Mother place her hands over mine.
I will guide us safely through, or I will die trying.
We approach the final two ships, positioned like unholy guardians on either side of the path, and there’s a soft shlink of metal as Gabriel sheaths his swords. He pivots slightly, holding Eliza’s quivering arms high.
Beside me, Lewis appears perfectly still, but he stares at Eliza with rapt focus, and I know, with absolute certainty, that if her magic fails, and the fleet launches an attack, Lewis will be at her side in less time than it takes to blink.
It’s clear he restrains himself only because he doesn’t want to distract her.
But it doesn’t matter.
By the time we reach the narrow gap, and I realize our ship is too wide to squeeze through, it’s too late to change course. All I can do is squeeze the helm as the Starchaser bumps the starboard side of the vessel to our right.
A few soldiers glance in our direction, and my blood pounds in my eardrums. But they appear to look right through us, squinting and fanning themselves with their caps.
Thankfully, they seem to think the heat has something to do with the phantom thud, and the soldiers quickly lose interest, returning to their duties.
Except one.
He lumbers over to the taffrail, his rifle perched carelessly on his shoulder, and peers at the water below.
His gaze lifts slowly, narrowed at the space where Charlie stands aboard the Starchaser, eye level with the soldier.
He’s close enough to reach out and touch the man, his pistol aimed directly at the soldier’s forehead.
Seconds stretch into eternities.
The soldier purses his lips. Charlie’s brow furrows.
I hold my breath.
Wood scrapes wood as I manage to keep steady, pulling off their hull and guiding us forward, through the sliver between vessels. The man looks down again, studying the water as he begins to lower his rifle, pointing it in Charlie’s direction.…
“Oy, Jim, would you look at that!” another soldier calls to him from near the helm. “That’s lucky, isn’t it?”
Jim—the soldier who stands nearest Charlie—cups his hand over his brow and peers at the sky, in the direction his comrade now points.
“It’s one for sorrow, you idiot,” Jim shouts, rolling his eyes. “And that’s a bloody raven, not a crow.”
His comrade cocks his head. “What’s the difference?”
Jim groans. “Well, to start, ravens tend to be a bit bigger than crows,” he says, turning his back to Charlie, his voice trailing off as he lumbers toward the steps to the helm.
I exhale, the pressure in my head deflating as we emerge from between the two ships, free at last from the confines of the fleet. But not free of their watchful eyes.
“How long do you think she can keep this up?” Lewis asks me, his jaw wound tight.
I wince, noting the way Eliza’s entire body shakes. “Not long.”
I glance over my shoulder as we continue to put more distance between us and the fleet, but we’re at least a few miles out from the shore. If the soldiers were to see our ship suddenly appear, even this far from the fleet—even with the speed of the Starchaser—we can’t evade their cannons.
Lewis nods. “My blood,” he whispers half to himself. “It could make her stronger, right?”
“Lewis—” I start, but he’s already crossing the deck with long, purposeful strides.
I can’t hear their hushed conversation, but Eliza shakes her head as Lewis pleads with her, drawing a dagger from his belt and pointing at his wrist.
Gabriel stares at me over his shoulder with a look that begs, Do all Oberons have a death wish?
I shrug, as if to say, We’re born with it.
“No!” Eliza shouts through gritted teeth. And softer she says, her voice strained, “I can do this.”
Lewis’s mouth presses into a tight line. Then he nods, sheathing his dagger and motioning for Gabriel to move aside so that he can take his place, holding Eliza’s arms high.
As Gabriel steps back, he glances at me, and I can see it in his face, too—he knows we have little time before Eliza’s magic fails her. We’ll have made it through the fleet, only to be caught before we can truly escape.
I can order Eliza to feed from my brother—putting his life in jeopardy, if Eliza were to lose herself to bloodlust—or risk being spotted by Hellion’s naval forces.
Sweat slicks my brow. I don’t like the idea of taking Eliza’s choice from her. If she doesn’t want to feed on Lewis’s blood, I shouldn’t force her.
But Eliza wails, her teeth gnashing, her knees buckling, and I know we’re out of time.
I open my mouth, but before I can give the order, there’s a strong gust of wind that catches the Starchaser’s sails, and as if out of thin air, a cloud of fog appears, enshrouding our ship as we hurtle toward the coast at an unnatural speed.
Just then, Eliza collapses, and Lewis catches her in his arms.
“Goodness, Mr. Oberon,” Eliza pants, her voice hoarse. “It appears you’ve swept me off my feet.”
“Any excuse to hold you in my arms,” Lewis croons, pushing damp strands of dark hair out of Eliza’s face.
Gabriel scowls, and before I know it, I’m laughing.
Concealed by weather-defying fog, hastened by a preternatural wind.
It reminds me of the stories I used to hear of sorcery used by pirates to evade capture and outrun their enemies—pirates I now know were actually Nightweavers.
But this should be impossible—there are no windwalkers on our ship.
And yet, as we near the shore, and I steer us south, in the direction of the abandoned estate where Gabriel claims we’ll be safe to disembark, I thank the Stars for this gift—no matter how mysterious.
“Someone must be looking out for us,” Jack says from behind me, lifting his gaze skyward.
I laugh even as tears stream down my cheeks. “I suppose so.”
Jack pats me gently on the shoulder. “You got us through the worst of it. Why don’t you let someone else take it from here?”
My hands are numb as I unclench my fists, prying my sticky fingers from the helm one at a time. Still, I hesitate. “Maybe in a minute,” I say.
Jack looks as though he wants to argue, but he just nods. “Aye, Captain.”
He stands by my side, watching through the fog as we begin to follow the shoreline south, and after a few minutes, I track his gaze above the cloud of mist where a small, dark form circles the mainmast of our ship.
I squint, and my stomach plummets when I make out the shape of the raven’s black wings.
Owen.