Chapter Twenty
I decide to keep the scars.
Gabriel stands in front of where I perch on the edge of the desk in the captain’s quarters.
He doesn’t say a word as he heals the claw marks left by the siren’s talons, all but for the occasional “Is this all right?” as he touches my face with gentle, calloused hands.
And when I cry, he wipes away my tears with a washcloth—no judgment, no questions.
I feel horrible about leaving him and the others behind the night that Will convinced me Gabriel was the Shifter. Especially when Gabriel has done nothing but prove his loyalty, time and time again.
How much of what I thought—what I felt—was because of Will’s influence?
I try to piece together every moment I spent in his company.
I think of how, in my early days at Bludgrave Manor, there were times that I questioned my feelings for Will—how when I was away from him, I could think clearly, but whenever he was near…
it was as if I couldn’t bring myself to question him or his motives.
All I wanted to do was lie beside him in the conservatory, surrounded by the flowers and the pixies, and tell him the stories of the Stars.
Was that me? Or was it Will?
It’s as if the harder I try to sort through it all, the harder it is to remember. So many of those memories seem blurry now. Many feel like I’m looking back on someone else’s life, hearing a story told from someone else’s perspective rather than my own. But some…
Some feel real.
Every time I kissed him—that feels real. But would I have wanted to kiss him if he’d never compelled me—never influenced my feelings for him?
The room is spinning again. The siren said Will had placed a bounty on me.
She said there were spies everywhere. If a Shifter could pretend to be Sybil for who knows how many months, if Owen could transform into something as inconspicuous as a bird, then how am I to know when an Underling is nearby?
They could be anywhere—as tiny as a firefly or as ordinary as an ant. They could be watching us right now.
I clench my teeth so hard I think I hear a crack.
A crease forms between Gabriel’s brows. “I’m almost done,” he says. “I can stop for a moment if—”
“No, it’s not you,” I say, blinking away tears. “I was just thinking—”
“I thought I saw smoke.”
I flick his forehead. He gives me another rare smile.
“We have to go back to the Red Island,” I say quietly. “We have to take Annie home before we go after the Helm. She’s been through enough.”
He wipes the blood from his hands on a damp washcloth. “I agree. We’re in need of provisions, anyway. We’re running low on food as it is, and—”
A quiet knock on the door causes me to flinch.
“Aster?” comes Titus’s lilting voice—soft and hesitant.
Gabriel’s expression is neutral, save the quirk of his brow. “Do you want me to send him away?”
Yes.
No.
I blow out a tight breath. “Just… give us a minute.”
He dips his head, concern flickering in his eyes. But as he opens the door and slips past Titus, he places a hand on his shoulder—a warning or an encouragement, I can’t be sure.
Gabriel’s silhouette remains on the other side of the door, keeping watch.
“How’s your face?” Titus asks, striding lazily toward the strange wooden box on the far side of the room—I recognize it from one of Elsie’s books—his expression a cool mask of indifference.
“How’s your head?”
The ghost of a grin touches his lips. “Rook is stronger than he looks.”
“He looks pretty strong to me.”
Titus rolls his eyes. “Don’t let him hear you say that.”
He fiddles with the contraption—a gramophone, I think—his back turned to me, until music, gentle and sweet, fills the room. When he finally looks at me, however reluctantly, I realize my mouth has fallen open.
I snap my jaw shut, but it’s his cheeks that turn rosy.
I look away at the contents of the desk beside me, feeling as if I’ve seen something I shouldn’t have. I’m worried that if I were to glance at him again, I would find him scowling at me, or glaring at me, or worse—he won’t be looking at me at all.
But I do. And he is.
Only, he looks terrified.
“You’re bleeding.” His voice is taut.
I follow his gaze to my arm, where the siren’s talon scraped my skin, a single, thin streak of dark red where the blood has since dried.
He closes the distance between us with slow, cautious steps, dragging his gaze from the wound to my neck, my lips, and, finally, my eyes. His brows knit as he reaches over me, and the scent of salt air clinging to his hair, his clothes, makes me dizzy. “Here,” he says, passing me the roll of gauze.
As I take the bundle from him, our fingers brush, and a jolt of electricity shoots up my arm, straight to my heart.
I gasp, and Titus’s eyes go wide, but instead of jerking away, he presses closer.
“Let me,” he whispers. The words are a desperate plea. He wears no mask now—his expression is open, fraught with fear.
I should say no. I think, for a moment, he might want me to. It was he who thought he couldn’t be trusted to fight his bloodlust. And yet, here he is, asking to tend my wounds. Alone.
“I meant what I said.” I hold his gaze as I pass the bandage back to him. His fingers close around the bundle, covering my own. My skin buzzes where our hands meet.
He blinks, clearing his throat as he withdraws. As he takes a washcloth from the basin, wringing it out over the bowl, I unbutton my shirt.
“You don’t have to—”
“Calm down,” I say, wincing at the ache in my arms as I slip off the linen shirt to reveal a silk camisole underneath. “Nothing you haven’t seen before, right?”
His throat bobs. Pink blooms on the tips of his ears. “Right.”
Even from where I sit atop the desk, he has to crouch slightly, his thigh brushing mine.
His movements are slow and controlled as he begins gently clearing the blood from my arm.
I brace myself, waiting for the moment his eyes begin to glow—wondering if I’ll be fast enough to grab my dagger before his restraint fails him and he rips into my throat.
But his eyes, narrowed with intense focus, are as blue as my beloved ocean.
As blue as the velvet box I discovered was missing when Gabriel and I first entered my quarters earlier tonight. It was there before Titus had retrieved the map. I suspect he took it. Whatever it holds, it must be precious to him. Too precious to risk parting with.
“You were right,” I say. “This is your ship. If you want me to move to the bunkhouse—”
His gaze snaps to mine. “I don’t,” he says, his voice raw. “You’re the captain.” He adds, his brows nettled, “I no longer deserve that title.”
It could be the bone-deep exhaustion or the way the lantern light illuminates the red rimming his eyes, but for once, I don’t want to argue with him.
“You called my name.” I watch him carefully—note the way his posture goes rigid and the ghost of a frown touches his lips. Regret twists my stomach. “You probably don’t remember. Forget I said anything.”
Titus stills, cutting a glance at me, his expression unreadable.
He shifts, placing a hand on either side of me as he bends slightly, studying my face with wide, honest eyes that trace the jagged scars across my cheek, and lower still.
“I remember everything when it comes to you,” he whispers as his gaze drops to my mouth, his lips a breath away from mine.
No mask. No compulsion.
Just Titus. Just me.
His hand finds my jaw, his touch featherlight as his thumb brushes my cheek. The air is thick, charged with heat and electricity. Our hearts beat in tandem, faster as his lips part. His eyes find mine once more, brimming with something between fear and hope.
When the warning bell rings out, I almost think I’ve imagined it. But Titus’s teeth clench as he withdraws, cursing under his breath.
I barely make out the words “You’ve got to be kidding me” as he turns, unsheathing his cutlass.
I’m on my feet in seconds, a dagger in my hand, my heart in my throat.
Titus steps aside, tilting his head as if to say, After you.
I grab my coat from the hook near the door, slip it over my shoulders. His jaw tightens as his gaze rakes down the front of the sapphire-blue fabric, eyes glittering like the gilded stars embroidered there. I haven’t worn it since the day he was rescued, but tonight…
Tonight I want him to see that there are things I haven’t forgotten, either.
As we burst through the double doors onto the deck, I hear Gabriel already shouting orders, preparing the others for battle.
“A ship’s been spotted,” he tells us.
“Friend or foe?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Can’t be sure.”
“Better to be safe than sorry,” Titus says with a tight nod.
It’s difficult to see much of anything in the heavy mist as it curls around the Starchaser. The crew moves in a blur about the ship, illuminated by the thrash of a flame, streaks of dark leather and glinting steel.
I meet Lewis near the bow of the ship, a spyglass pressed to his left eye.
“What can you see?” I ask.
“Not much,” he grumbles, clearly frustrated. “It’s too dark, and the fog is so thick I don’t even know what I’m looking at.”
Lewis has always had the best eyesight in our family.
Father used to tease him that he could see so well in the dark because he stayed in Mother’s womb a few days too long.
It worries me that he can’t determine if we’re facing an enemy clan or approaching one of Orella’s fleet.
If we strike and it’s our people on that ship…
“It’s too late to change course,” Margaret says from close by. I didn’t hear her approach.
“What should we do?” Charlie calls out from where he stands at the helm.
My hands buzz, blood hammering in my ears. You don’t know what it takes to lead. If I order the attack, we risk alerting the ship to our presence—and there’s still a chance they haven’t spotted us yet. If we wait and they attack first…
An image of the Lightbringer, engulfed in flames, sears my mind.
I think of the bounty the siren warned of—how Will has offered something valuable in exchange for my capture. My capture—not my siblings. Not anyone else’s.
“Ready the cannons,” I say.
A heavy silence passes between my siblings, and then—
“Ready the cannons!” Margaret shouts.
“Ready the cannons!” comes Gabriel’s voice from out of the mist.
As the others move into position, I find myself looking for Owen. I might not know what it takes to lead, but he’s only been free from Morana a few days, and already, he’s better with the crew than I am. Will he think I’ve made the right decision?
A bitter taste coats my mouth. Here I am, asking my crew to trust me, and I don’t even trust myself.
“Cannons at the ready, Captain!” Gabriel stands at the bottom of the steps. Calm. Collected.
I avoid his gaze. What if he sees the panic in my eyes? What if he knows I’m making a mistake? I’ve already failed them all before. What if this time, it costs them their lives?
“They’re getting closer,” Lewis calls out.
“Hold!” I say, my legs shaking.
“I see someone.…” Lewis adjusts the spyglass.
“The flag?” My voice is sharp. “Can you see the flag?”
“Captain?” Gabriel calls up.
“Hold!” My stomach twists. I squint at the dark shape as it approaches, the silhouette of a ship emerging from the fog. “Hold…”
“I can’t—” Lewis curses. “It’s hard to tell.…”
“Captain?” Fear leaks into Gabriel’s voice.
“Ready,” I say, my throat tight. “Aim…”
Gabriel echoes my commands. It’s as if I feel the crew take a collective breath—hold it. I send a prayer to the Stars.
“Fi—”
“Wait!” Lewis shouts. “I see the flag!”
My heart slams against my rib cage.
“It’s ours!” Lewis sounds as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “The flag—it’s ours. And—” He laughs, passing me the spyglass. “You’re not going to believe who’s with them!”
I almost drop the spyglass, my hands trembling as I lift it to my eye and peer through the smudged glass.
Standing at the starboard railing is Killian, dressed in a three-piece suit, waving a white handkerchief. And there, at the helm, her yellow brocade coat flapping in the wind…
Grace Oberon, the fiercest captain the Western Sea has ever known.
My mother.