Chapter Sixteen
I dream of rose gardens and stolen kisses and bloody teeth. I dream of falling and of fire. I dream of red eyes and cursed blades and shadows that wrap themselves around my throat, squeezing tighter and tighter and—
I wake, gasping for air.
“Shh.” Margaret sits on the edge of my bed in the captain’s quarters, dabbing my face with a cool, damp cloth. Gauzy light filters in from the open windows, glittering on the surface of the sapphire-blue waters of the Western Sea.
“Careful,” Margaret murmurs, swiping the cloth over my forehead. Her soft smile doesn’t reach her swollen, bloodshot eyes.
My head pounds, my mouth painfully dry. “Marge—” I start, but emotion clogs my throat, and the word ends on a whimper.
A tear falls from Margaret’s jaw as she sets the cloth aside and retrieves a glass of water from my bedside. She brings it to my lips, gently propping my head with her other hand.
I gulp down water, but it feels as if I’m swallowing glass.
“Where—” I cough, my voice raw. “Where’s Owen?”
Margaret sniffs, nodding slowly as she lifts the glass again, urging me to take another drink.
“He’s unconscious. Eliza thinks the toll of what he did to get the three of you back here overwhelmed him, but…
” She half-laughs, half-cries. “She says he’s going to be all right.
Charlie and Lewis have been taking turns keeping an eye on him in the bunkhouse. ”
“Annie?”
Margaret frowns, lowering the glass. “She hasn’t spoken a word. Eliza’s with her now.”
My heart aches. “Where are we?”
“South, near Tyton,” she says, reaching for the cloth once more, but before she grabs hold of it, her sleeve bunches, revealing a blistering wound on her forearm.
I sit up, nearly knocking the glass out of her hands, and she quickly pulls her sleeve down, her expression pinched, eyes glassy with something akin to shame as she cradles her arm close to her chest.
“What happened?” I ask as she gets to her feet, turning her back to me to face the open window. “How did you make it back to the Starchaser?”
Margaret bows her head, shakes it. “When Gabriel woke up, bound by those chains… Henry stood over him, flames kindling in his palms. He looked as if he were about to—to light Gabriel on fire. I screamed at Henry to stop, and when he turned to look at me, his eyes were… glazed.” She glances at me over her shoulder, her gaze suddenly hard.
“He was on top of me so fast, I didn’t have time to reach for my sword.
He was compelled, I know, but I knew it was either him or me, so I…
I hit him over the head with a rock. I thought he was dead, at first.” Another tear slips onto her cheek.
“Gabriel healed his wounds, but he couldn’t heal me.
He doesn’t know why, he just… couldn’t. We waited, to see if you would come back. But after a day—”
“A day?” My stomach turns to water. “How long was I gone?”
Margaret’s frown deepens. “Gabriel says he might have manipulated your sense of time.” I don’t miss the way she doesn’t say his name, the quiver of her chin, or the way she clenches her fists. She moves toward me again, perching near the foot of my bed. Hesitates. “You were gone for three days.”
I reach for the pot beside my bed, feeling like I’m going to be sick, but Margaret is already there, holding it close to my face. My heaves turn to sobs, and then Margaret’s arms are around me, clutching me tight.
After a little while, Margaret pulls back, searching my gaze. “He’s really gone, then?” she asks, her voice quiet, reluctant.
It’s as if I’d been spinning and spinning and I can’t seem to stop. “It was him all along. It was Will,” I tell her. “It was always Will.”
She brushes a tear from my face, tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
“When I saw what he’d done to Gabriel—when I saw that you were gone…
” Her face crumples, and she casts her eyes skyward, blinking away tears.
“Henry was in and out of consciousness on the train back to the Starchaser, but he kept saying things like… like ‘Please, don’t make me.’” Her throat bobs with a swallow, and she looks away, her mouth pressed in a tight line.
“He finally woke a few hours after we reached the Starchaser, with no memory of what had happened, only that Will had compelled him to burn us all. That Will had revealed to him who he was—what he planned to do with you. We didn’t want to listen at first, but when you appeared and Will wasn’t with you… I just can’t believe it. No one can.”
I don’t know what to say. “Is Henry…”
“Gabriel gave him a drop of Morana’s blood,” she says, “just to be sure he was free of any compulsion. He’s in the galley now, if you want to see him. I think… I think it might be good for him if the two of you talked.”
I nod, forcing a small, pitiful smile. “You’re probably right,” I say. I know everyone will want to hear my side of the story. I know I should talk to Henry about what happened with Will. But… I can barely wrap my own head around his betrayal. I don’t know if I’m ready to talk to anyone.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.
“Knock knock,” comes Jack’s whisper from the doorway as it creaks open, a sliver of light widening over the weathered floorboards. “Is she decent?”
“Depends on who you ask,” I say, swinging my legs over the side of the bed.
Margaret must have washed the blood and soot from my body, changing my clothes from the torn, charred ensemble in which I returned to a pair of loose, flowing trousers and a linen shirt.
Before I can get to my feet, she kneels, helping me into a pair of sturdy boots.
“Wait,” she says, lacing them up. “Wait…”
The moment the second loop is secured, Jack lifts me into the air, squeezing me tight.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice breaking. “All this time, I never—”
“I know,” I say, hugging him close. “I know.”
He draws back, gripping my shoulders. “You did it, Aster.” A slight grin tugs at his lips, his eyes lit with awe. “You’re the first person in six hundred years to draw blood from Morana—well, Owen was, but… don’t let Will take that from you. We should be… we should be celebrating.”
I did it. I found the cure.
But I lost Will.
And I’m not the only one.
“How is Titus?” I ask carefully, bracing myself for whatever causes Jack’s expression to turn fearful.
“It worked,” he says, wincing. “He’s no longer compelled. But he doesn’t want to be let out of his cell. Diana, Rook, and Gabriel are with him. They’re trying to persuade him to rejoin the rest of the crew, but—” Jack cringes. “It might be best, for now, if he stays where he is.”
Numbness spreads across my chest. “Why? Did he hurt someone?”
Margaret snorts.
Jack’s brows pinch. “Other than you?”
I look between the two of them, my pulse hammering. “That wasn’t—he didn’t—” I shrug out of Jack’s hold, clear my throat. “I need to talk to him.”
“Az,” Margaret says, her tone softening. “Maybe you should give it a few days.”
I start for the door, my head light. “I need to talk to him,” I repeat.
Jack seizes my wrist, his grip gentle. “Titus—” He sighs, refusing to look me in the eye as he lets go, rubs his palms over his face.
Margaret takes my hand in both of hers, her expression pitying in a way that makes me feel as if the floor had given way beneath me. “He asked that you not be allowed in the brig. He said he doesn’t want to see you.”
“Are we really going to do this again?” I rest my hands on the hilts of my daggers, squaring my shoulders at Gabriel, who stands blocking the entrance to the brig.
Voices carry from below.
Gabriel grinds his jaw. “Now’s not a good time,” he says gently.
I don’t budge, holding his stare. It’s not long before he sighs, stepping aside, and I descend into the brig.
Rook leans against the bars of the cell opposite Titus’s, his arms crossed over his chest, and Diana sits atop a barrel, sharpening a blade. When I enter the brig, followed by Gabriel, Diana’s back straightens, her eyes widening, and Rook takes a hesitant step toward me, his expression solemn.
Titus’s feet are all I see, sticking out from where he sits, slumped against a barrel in his cell.
Diana frowns as she follows my gaze to Titus, and the irritation that pinches Rook’s mouth slackens, giving way to a look of… pity?
My skin itches, my cheeks warm.
“I thought I said I didn’t want her here,” Titus says flatly.
I laugh in disbelief, my resolve sharpening. “I’m the captain of this voyage,” I snap. “You don’t tell me where I can and can’t go on my ship.”
“Your ship?” he scoffs. “The Starchaser is my ship.”
Rook clears his throat. “What do you say we give these two a minute to talk?” he asks with a panicked look at Gabriel and Diana. “Before they start comparing the lengths of their swords.”
“I prefer a dagger,” I say at the very moment Titus says, “She prefers a dagger.”
Rook lets out a low whistle, and Diana and Gabriel exchange an exasperated glance before ascending the stairs with Rook close at their heels.
Titus doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.
Until I jingle the keys I stole from Gabriel’s belt, and his shoulders tense. Before I can wedge the key into the lock, Titus moves at a speed my eyes can’t detect, reaching through the bars to knock the keys out of my hands.
I stare at him in open-mouthed shock. “Really?”
He grips the bars, his knuckles white. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
“I think the words you’re looking for are Thank you.”
A muscle in his jaw feathers as he flashes a biting smile. “Thank you.” His expression darkens, his eyes narrowing. “Now leave me alone.”
I bend, retrieving the keys from the pile of straw where they fell.
“Don’t,” he begs as I rise, starting for the lock once more.
The desperation in his voice—the fear in his eyes—stops me cold.
“Why?” I ask. “And why won’t you talk to anyone? No one is making you stay here. You could just—”
“Just what?” He barks a laugh as he pushes off from the bars of his cage, running his hands over his buzzed hair.
“I’ve tasted your blood, Aster.” His voice cracks as he presses his fists to his eyes, shaking his head.
“And I… I don’t know if I can stay away,” he adds, sounding small, broken.
“I don’t want to hurt you or anyone else. ”
My anger fades with every tear that streaks his face.
“You were compelled. You won’t hurt me,” I say quietly, steadily, taking a step closer to his cell. “I trust you.”
“And look where that’s gotten us!” He half-snorts, half-sobs, refusing to meet my gaze. “You’re clearly a poor judge of character.”
His words are like a knife to the gut. Regret flickers in his eyes as he turns to me, his hand flexing at his side, but I speak before he can.
“Like you’re any better!” I say, hoping he thinks rage is what causes my voice to tremble. “This is what he wants, you know. He wants us to blame each other—blame ourselves. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction.”
“You don’t understand. I can’t trust myself.”
“I don’t understand?” I tighten my grip on the keys to keep my hand from shaking. “Will took my choices away—he compelled me so that I couldn’t think clearly. So that I would want to be with him.”
His gaze snaps to mine like a whip. A dark, murderous mask settles over his features. I note the familiar, lethal calm he’s mastered, but because I’ve heard it before, it’s easy to detect the tremor in his voice when he asks, “He what?”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “From the moment Will took my family and me captive, he’s influenced my thoughts, my feelings. I—” My voice turns squeaky, raw. Tears burn my cheeks. I squeeze my eyes shut. Everything is spinning again. Spinning and spinning and—
“Love.” Titus’s voice is soft, tender. Closer than before.
I take a step back, and when I open my eyes, I look down at the keys in my hands—at the indention they leave in my palm.
I can’t believe I ever thought that what he’d said in the dungeons could be true.
After everything that’s happened, he didn’t even want to see me.
He used me to find the cure for Will—to discover if his fiancée was possessed by Morana.
Now he’s lost both Will and Leo—the two people he truly cared about. Not me.
Never me.
I wipe the tears from my face. Take a shaky breath.
I’m finally free of Will’s influence—finally free to think for myself. To feel the things he tried to suppress. Feelings that had taken root in my chest from a time before I can even remember. Feelings that have wrapped themselves so tightly around my heart I feel like I can’t breathe.
By coming here, I’ve humiliated myself. Because clearly, Titus doesn’t feel the same way.
“I almost died for the cure,” I say, praying there’s an edge to my voice that’s sharper than I feel. “If you want to stay here and wallow in self-pity, that’s your choice. But I’m free of my curse, and I intend to live like it.”
He doesn’t say anything as I shove the key into the lock.
“Remember, you have to live,” I murmur, meeting his gaze to find he’s already staring at me, his expression taciturn. “Isn’t that what you told me?”
He flinches, his jaw tight.
“You’ve got your life back,” I say. “Now you get to choose what you’re going to do with it.
If it’s sitting in this cell, feeling sorry for yourself, fine.
But if you want to do something about all this—if you want to get back at the people who stole our choices from us, then you know where to find me. ”
I turn the key. The lock clicks, loud and solid and final.
The cell door creaks open as I turn on my heel and march up the companionway. I bite the insides of my cheeks, fighting back tears, as I burst onto the deck and collide with something that sends me reeling backward.
My foot slips on the top tread, my stomach lurching, but someone grabs my wrists as I fall, pulling me forward.
I squint against the glare of the sun to make out his dirty-blond hair, shining like liquid gold.
“I see stairs are still your greatest foe,” he says, steadying me.
Kind eyes. Carefree grin.
Owen.