Chapter Twenty-One
My siblings linger near the gangplank as it’s deployed, bridging the gap between the Starchaser and the Moondancer. Except for Owen and me. We hang back, near the helm, watching as the others prepare to be boarded.
Owen’s pulse jumps at his throat. He wipes his palms on his shirt. “I’m not ready,” he says, his voice strained. “I can’t—not like this—”
I take his hand, giving it a squeeze. “They’ll be happy to see you.”
He shakes his head, his nose scrunched. For so long, I looked up to Owen—the oldest. The bravest. The most fearless.
I think I forgot how young he is. And still, I don’t know the extent of what he endured in service to Morana.
What he’s seen. The things he’s been forced to do. Who he’s been forced to become.
But he’s still my brother. And I forgive him. We all do.
I let go of his hand and start down the companionway. “Coming?” I turn to look at him over my shoulder, but he’s no longer standing there. Instead, in his place, is a tiny brown mouse.
I can’t help but grin as the mouse scurries toward me, tugging on the hem of my pant leg.
“You little sneak,” I say, scooping him up in my palms and letting him crawl into my coat pocket.
All this time—the mouse I saw that night in my room at Bludgrave Manor, the mouse that distracted Calantha’s atroxis back at Castle Grim—it was Owen.
Watching over me. Protecting me, even if I didn’t know it at the time.
I don’t blame him for being afraid to face Mother. As I make my way down the steps, she’s already crossing the gangplank. Our eyes meet, and my heart drops like a stone in my stomach.
But where I expect Mother’s wrath—for leaving, for failing, for letting myself fall victim to Will’s betrayal—her face is warm, her smile sad.
She opens her arms as Margaret, Lewis, and Charlie pile into an embrace.
She waves at me, just as Owen did this morning, and I don’t hesitate.
Instantly, I’m cocooned in my family’s embrace, and the moment Mother’s arms are around me, it’s as if the past few weeks—months, years—melt away.
I’m a child, held by the safest arms I’ve ever known.
I understand now—every sacrifice, the hardships she’s endured, the choices she’s had to make.
I thought I wanted this. I thought I wanted control.
I always figured Mother was born with a cutlass in her hand—that the ocean was her cradle.
But she had a life before all this. Before she was captain.
I can’t imagine what cruelty carved her into the woman she is today.
But I know that through it all, she’s chosen to remain kind.
She still grins as if she has no care in the world.
She still believes in goodness—she still has hope that we can win this war.
“Did you forget about me?”
The aroma of freshly baked bread and warm spices overwhelms me as Father hops down from the gangplank and wraps his arms around Margaret and Lewis, entwining himself in our embrace.
I can’t help but think that Owen is here, even if they don’t know it, and I only wish Elsie and Albert were here, too.
Our family—whole again.
Over Mother’s shoulder, I watch as Henry nearly tackles his uncle, and Killian scoops Annie into his arms as she cries on his shoulder. And as my siblings and I disentangle from Mother and Father, I spot him.
Titus stands a few feet away, his hands flexing at his sides. He moves toward my parents—hesitates.
I hold my breath. What if they turn him away? Surely, they won’t blame him for the things he did while he was compelled… will they? And if they do, what does that mean for Owen?
They don’t wait for him to take another step. Mother and Father both reach out, pulling Titus into their embrace. He goes rigid, but only for a moment, and then I note the way his shoulders slump as he melts into their arms, his body racked with quiet, barely contained sobs.
It’s only then that I understand the full weight of what they’ve kept from me all these years.
During the darkest days of Titus’s life, it was my parents who cared for him.
They tried to save him. Tried to give him a home.
And even when he ran, they never stopped trying to protect him.
They’re his family just as much as they are mine.
My siblings, however, can’t seem to understand what’s happening.
Margaret’s brows shoot up in surprise. “Are they… hugging?”
I half-laugh, half-cry. “Marge,” I say, gesturing at Titus. “I’d like for you to officially meet Captain Malachi Shade.”
Titus turns then, and in the guttering lantern light, he appears warm and golden, a gilded statue of himself. He flashes Margaret a mocking smile, bowing deeply.
Margaret’s cheeks flush bright pink, her mouth gaping. “I—but you’re—” She stumbles over her words before finally managing to say, “I thought you’d be taller.”
Father’s expression is nettled as he stands over the Elysian Map, spread out on the desk in the captain’s quarters.
It took longer than I expected to get through the entire story of everything that’s happened, with each of my siblings—and occasionally the others—chiming in with their version of the past few weeks.
The sea serpent. Hellion’s naval fleet. Sneaking onto the train in Hellion.
Will’s betrayal. Owen’s daring escape. Morana’s blood. The sirens. The bounty.
“Will knows how to find the Red Island now,” I say, pointing at the Dire, my hand lingering on the surface of the map. “No one is safe.”
As much as I’m able, I avoid looking at Killian, who stands with his back to us all, staring out the window as the first pink rays of sunlight streak the horizon, but now I can’t help but watch him—waiting for him to say something. Anything.
Mother places a hand on his arm, and he breaks, his shoulders heaving with a sob.
“How am I going to tell her?” he chokes out. “Isabelle—she’s—”
Across the room, Henry sits hunched over on a stool, glaring at the floor. His jaw tightens, and he swipes a tear from his face before he thinks anyone has noticed. Quickly, I look away, at the map in front of me, pretending not to have seen.
Killian’s sobs quiet as Mother holds him close, whispering something in a low, soothing tone.
“We won’t abandon our home,” Father says, his voice firm, the dark circles around his eyes more pronounced in the early-morning sunlight.
“If the Underlings come for us, we’ll be ready.
” He looks at Titus and me, his knowing gaze assessing the distance between us—or lack of it.
But whatever it is he’s noticed, he gives nothing away with his expression, carefully neutral.
“Our crew will have replenished your stores by now. If you choose to search for the Relics”—he covers my hand with his—“we won’t stand in your way. ”
My eyes narrow. “You already knew?”
Father smiles, then, but it’s a sad sort of smile that doesn’t reach his tired eyes. “Word came by water sprite a few days after you set sail for the Burning Lands,” he tells me as the others draw closer, hanging on his every word—just like Owen, I think.
The tiny brown mouse in my coat pocket stirs.
“The information came from a spy, deep within Morana’s ranks,” Mother says, now massaging small circles in Killian’s back as he slumps against her, rubbing his eyes with his forefinger and thumb.
“We were told we should be waiting for you with supplies, along with mention of the Relics.” She flicks an astute glance at my pocket, her expression somewhere between amusement and grief.
“The message ended with ‘An Oberon is never defeated.’”
The mouse in my pocket goes still.
“Whenever Owen is ready to see us,” Father says softly, squeezing my hand, “we’ll be waiting.”
A tear slips onto my cheek as my siblings all avoid looking at my parents, as if determined to let Owen reveal himself if he chooses—when he chooses.
Rook lets out a low whistle. “So that settles it,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “We’re off to hunt some treasure?”
“Rook Valier,” Father says with an exasperated smile. “You were just a child when we met. Are you staying out of trouble?”
Diana snorts. “Hardly.”
Father turns to Diana. “And little Nana Barrow,” he says, and at his acknowledgment she performs a mock curtsy. Father grins, his eyes softening. “Your little brother misses you.”
Diana’s throat bobs. She manages a small nod.
“You should go with them,” I say to Rook and Diana, who look at me as if I had just given them an order to jump overboard. Before they can argue, I turn to Jack and Margaret, sitting beside each other at the foot of my bed, their hands clasped. “You too. Both of you.”
I can feel Mother’s eyes on me, but I refuse to look at her and see if it’s respect or disappointment in her gaze.
Lewis scrubs a hand over his face. “Not this again.”
“We’re all going,” Eliza says fiercely, stepping forward.
“This is our fight, too,” Charlie adds, crossing his arms.
“I don’t want anyone else to get hurt,” I say, my throat tight. “I have to do this—it’s my power Morana’s after, my blood that unlocks the map. But the rest of you—” I swallow hard. “The rest of you have a choice.”
“And we choose to go with you,” Henry says, standing. He pierces me with his steely gray eyes, like flint ready to strike—to spark. “Just because you can do this alone, doesn’t mean you have to.”
“We’re with you, Aster.” Jack gets to his feet, his expression sincere. “To the bitter end.”
Gratitude swells in my chest, making it hard to breathe. I take in each of their determined faces—my siblings and my friends—and hope sparks anew, setting me aflame.
I look at Mother, finally. There’s a faraway glint in her eyes, as if she were looking at me and seeing someone else.
She dips her head. Just once. Enough to say, Go on, then. Lead.
I clear my throat. “What can you tell us?” I ask Father. “About the Elysian Navigator—about the Relics?”
Mother and Father share a loaded glance. Something clicks, like a key tumbling a lock.