Chapter Eighteen
The sun doesn’t sink below the horizon. It falls, tumbling out of the sky, plunging us into the dark. And in the darkness, it’s as if I see Will’s red eyes staring at me from every shadowy corner of the Starchaser, from the starless sky, from the depths of the ocean itself.
Panic blurs my vision, my heart hammering in my chest.
The warbled voices of my friends and family reach me as if I were somewhere beneath the waves that toss the Starchaser to and fro. I kick and kick, trying to break the surface, but fear grabs hold of me, stealing my control. My choice.
I can’t breathe.
Think, Aster. Say something.
Help.
Ask for help.
“Az?” My ears pop at the sound of my brother’s voice. Owen touches my arm, his brows drawn with concern. “Do you need a minute?”
I take a deep, shuddering breath, my cheeks heating at the realization that everyone is now staring at me. Waiting. Waiting for me to fall apart, I think.
And worse, Titus stands closer to me than he did a moment ago. He seems to notice this at the same moment I do, because he takes a deliberate step away, putting distance between us once more. I’m glad.
I’m breaking.
“I’m fine.” The lie tastes bitter, but I force myself to lift my chin, straighten my shoulders, and ask, even though my voice shakes, “How are we going to get the compass back? And how are we supposed to find the map?”
Owen’s lips curve then. Mischief sparkles in his eyes. “This compass?” He withdraws the small golden disc from his pocket, dangling from the chain wrapped around his fingers. “He stole it from you.…” He lifts his shoulder, flashes his teeth in a roguish smile. “I stole it back.”
Henry chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. “Rotten pirates.”
Owen winks at Henry, passing the compass to me. “Hang on to this, would you?”
The metal seems to heat at my touch, and it could be the warm flicker of the lantern light, but the compass seems to glow as I wrap my hand around it and hold it close to my chest.
Will had stolen so much from me. My time. My feelings. My choices. But this compass—he doesn’t get to take this. And just like Owen recovered the Instrument, I will keep taking back what Will stole from me, until there is nothing left to take. Until he is nothing.
My fist clenches around the compass.
“We have the Instrument,” I say. “But what about the map? You said it was passed down, too. Where is it now?”
Titus jolts, as if he had been struck by lightning, and I can’t help but look to him along with the others.
But he’s gazing at the sky, his mouth twitching, the makings of a smirk.
“I think I have an idea.” Without another word, he takes off, sprinting toward the captain’s quarters.
He throws open the doors and disappears inside.
Owen and I both look at Diana and Rook, who just shrug, appearing as clueless as I feel.
“Here!” Titus pants, bursting through the doors and out onto the deck. He holds up a roll of parchment, his face flushed. “It was—” He pauses, his throat bobbing as he casts a hesitant glance at Margaret. “This belonged to Captain Shade.”
I can see the memory of what Father told us on the Red Island sparking to life in Lewis’s and Charlie’s eyes, but I remember then that Margaret wasn’t present when Father revealed that he’d passed the mantle of Captain Shade on to Titus.
And from the confused expression pulling the lines of her mouth taut, it doesn’t seem like anyone ever filled her in—or Jack and Henry, by the looks of it—on that detail.
For all she knows, whomever Father had chosen for his successor had truly died the day we faked Shade’s death.
And despite the flair with which he revealed his identity to me, now Titus actually seems…
embarrassed. His mouth works, as if he were trying to sort out the proper way to pass the information along, but apparently coming up short.
I can’t help but wonder if his sudden reticence has anything to do with his knowledge of Margaret’s beliefs concerning Captain Shade’s fabled appearance.
Owen clears his throat, casting Titus a knowing glance. “Well? Are you going to show us what you’ve found or—”
“Yes,” Titus says quickly, spreading the parchment out on a barrel.
We all gather around as Jack takes a lantern from its hook and holds it over the barrel, illuminating the—
“The Elysian Map,” Owen breathes, his eyes wide, tone reverent. He looks up at Titus, smiling in disbelief. “All this time, it’s been aboard the Starchaser?”
I watch Margaret, follow her suspicious gaze from the map, to Titus, to the doors of the captain’s quarters.
Titus rubs the nape of his neck. “There were lots of maps that came with the… ship,” he says with a nervous glance at Margaret. “Captain Shade told me it was enchanted. I just didn’t know why—or for what purpose.”
I think about the night Titus showed me Hildegarde’s hidden cavern beneath Castle Grim.
He told me then not to tell anyone—even Will.
I questioned at the time why he would keep secrets from the person he trusted the most, but now I can’t help but wonder if it’s because deep down, Titus knew something was wrong.
And I’m grateful he did. Because if Will knew there was an enchanted map on board, he would have stolen it, too.
My stomach twists at the thought of him realizing we have the compass—how Morana warned him not to fail her again. Will he be punished for losing the one piece of the Navigator he managed to steal?
I shouldn’t care. I hate that I do.
It was all real for me, Aster.
I shake my head as if to clear it and take a closer look at the map.
My heart skips a beat.
Inked over the map of the Known World in silver script are the words:
Only blood can heal the land. Only truth can mend the past.
The same words spoken to me by the woman beneath the waves—the woman made of gold dust. I had only ever told Will and Titus what happened that day.
Only they know what was said. At the time, Will and Titus clung to every word.
Now I know why. Titus already had this map—and Will already planned to betray me.
I fight the urge to look at Titus, to no avail.
He’s already staring, his expression nettled. “Just like the message.”
Owen looks between us, brow furrowed. “What message?”
I expect my siblings to be angry with me for keeping another secret from them, but no one speaks.
They’ve gone still, waiting for me to explain.
“Before we went to Castle Grim,” I tell them, “I had a… vision of sorts. There was a woman—she gave me a message. ‘The queen of this world has risen. She who lurks in shadows, devouring the light. Only blood can heal the land. Only truth can mend the past.’”
Rook lets out a long, low whistle. “Ominous.”
I turn to Owen, pointing at the map once more. “What does it mean? It looks like every other map.”
Owen nods slowly, considering. His gaze slides to Diana. “You’re a Sorceress, hmm?”
Diana crosses her arms. “Why?”
“Can you sense any enchantments?”
Her eyes narrow. “Can’t you?”
Owen’s lips curve, a rueful smirk. “The magic used to enchant these artifacts would have been blessed. I may be free of Morana’s service, but I am still a Shifter—cursed magic still flows through my veins.”
“This is ancient magic.” Diana takes a step back, shaking her head. “I’m not sure I can—”
Owen places a hand on her arm, quietly commanding. Gently, he says, “Humor me.”
Diana cuts her eyes at his hand as he slowly withdraws it. She inhales. Nods. Cracks her knuckles. “I’ll try.” She approaches the map once more, stretching her hands out over the parchment. She closes her eyes.
Minutes pass. Nothing happens.
“So…?” Rook murmurs.
“Shh!” Diana says sharply, opening her eyes to glare at him.
Her gaze glows with silver light. Blood trickles from her nose in two solid streams, and Gabriel reaches out his hand to steady her. She sways but she gives a furious shake of her head. “No—there’s something here—I can feel it—”
She gasps, as if struck. Her eyes roll to the back of her head.
She stumbles backward—right into Charlie’s arms.
“The enchantment—was sealed by blood,” she says weakly. “That’s all I could sense. The rest was—It’s—”
“You did beautifully,” Owen says, jerking his chin at Charlie as if to signal him to help Diana over to a nearby stool.
As Charlie tends to her, Owen scratches his jaw, his lips pursed.
It’s strange to see him like this—so much like his old self.
Scheming, just like when we lived aboard the Lightbringer.
“Sealed by blood.” He looks hard at me, then down at the cracked glass of the compass. Something sparks in his eyes.
“I know that look,” Lewis says, grinning.
Owen pries off bits of the broken glass, carelessly pricking his fingers. He stuffs the bloody shards of glass into his pocket.
“I’m scared,” Rook whispers loudly.
A laugh twists Owen’s mouth as he wipes the blood on his shirt. But his expression turns serious when he removes the needle from the compass and extends his other hand to me, expectant.
Dread pools in my gut. “My blood?”
The laughter is gone from his face, now solemn as he dips his head. “The blood of Hildegarde’s heir.”
Only blood can heal the land.
“Just a drop,” he says. “If I’m wrong—”
I hold out my hand, a sad sort of smile tugging at my lips. “You’re hardly ever wrong.”
A sharp sting as he pricks my finger.
Slowly, carefully, he lowers the needle and presses a single drop of my blood to the page.
The effect is instant. The parchment absorbs the blood, veins of scarlet bursting from the center point, and as they carve pathways through the map, the black ink turns silver, glowing like liquid starlight.
The map comes alive. Lions roar. Sea serpents hiss. Phoenixes spread their wings and fly. And there, in Bale, the capital city of Hellion, the blood congregates, coming together to form a new image.
The Helm.
“Well.” Rook lets out a low whistle. “Looks like we’re going back to Hellion.”
Jack’s lantern is snuffed out, along with every other lantern on the Starchaser, plunging us into sudden darkness. But there’s no breeze. No gust of wind. The air is still, the night eerily quiet.
“Did you do that?” Margaret asks Owen.
As my eyes adjust to the dark, Owen shakes his head, bringing a finger to his lips to silence us all.
At some unspoken command from Owen, Titus rolls up the map and stuffs it inside his leather coat as I take the broken compass, dropping the needle back inside before snapping it shut and slipping the chain over my head.
Titus shifts slightly, angling his body toward mine, when I hear the voice. But this time, I’m not the only one, and this voice—the soft singing, floating over the water, as gentle as a lullaby and as blissful as a lover’s kiss—is a voice I’ve never heard. A voice every pirate fears.
The voice of the siren.