Chapter Twenty-Nine
I wake in Titus’s arms, my heart thudding against my rib cage loud enough that I fear it will wake him. Slowly, I ease out of his grasp. The bed creaks as I slip from under the covers and onto my feet, but Titus doesn’t stir.
I allow myself one long look at his face. I’ve never seen him this peaceful. This human.
My chest aches as I step out onto the deck and into the foggy gray morning.
The Republic of Ruin is a dark, barbed mass in the distance, like a jagged crown of obsidian.
I don’t know much about the kingdom—few do—and from what Owen tells me, they’ve spent centuries ensuring it stays that way.
Even the soldiers they send to fight in the League of Seven are mysterious and withdrawn, rarely speaking to anyone outside their faction.
During my time at Castle Grim, I overheard a group of courtiers discussing Ruin’s strange fashions, and a nobleman once claimed there was an inventor who lived in the Republic who had created something the scientists in the Eerie considered an abomination, but even he didn’t know what that was.
I join Owen and the others near the center of the deck. They gather around my brother, hunched over a map of Ruin. Margaret glances up at me, assessing.
Her eyes go wide a moment later, but I don’t know why until I hear his voice.
“This side of the island hasn’t been inhabited for decades.” He approaches behind, stretching his arms over his head, his voice still rough from sleep.
I glare daggers at Charlie and Lewis, smothering laughs with their fists.
Eliza hides her grin by coughing, covering her face with her hands.
Henry glances at the sky, as if sending up a prayer of thanks.
The others go perfectly still, blinking at us both as if they’re trying to piece it all together.
Titus just smiles coolly, leaning in to whisper, “I know you were watching me sleep, but it felt quite a bit like you were planning my murder.”
Rook nearly spits out a mouthful of water.
My face feels as if it were on fire. I clear my throat. “Owen?” I ask, shooting him a pleading look, my voice pitched. “You said you figured out where we should be looking.”
He hasn’t looked up, but he grins at his map, mischief sparking in his gaze.
I can tell he’s thinking of a dozen jabs he could make at Titus or me or both, but his grin falls as he points at the jagged border of the island.
“Batya’s poem was clear,” he says, and at the mention of the Sorceress, the air shifts, the faces of our crew now solemn—focused.
“‘Where mermaids call’—these parts are known for mermaid sightings. Pirates come from all throughout the Western Sea to hunt them. ‘Born by night…’ I’m still working on that.
But I don’t think it matters because,” he adds, pointing at the sky, “come nightfall, you’ll see the constellation of Ugo the Dragon soars directly overhead, and there—those cliffs in the distance, you see them?
They mirror the shape of Ugo’s wings almost perfectly. ”
I can’t help but smile, pride swelling in my chest. Owen—the navigator and his map. Of course he would have solved the riddle of the shield. He found the Red Island, too, I think. When no one else could, he knew where it was. With Owen on our side, finding the Relics… it might actually be possible.
Owen continues. “Now the last part, ‘Where spirits of the sea remain…’”
“The wreck of the Tidesinger,” Titus says, his brows drawn. “In four hundred years, no one’s been able to find it.”
Owen flashes a smile, slipping his hands into his pockets. “They didn’t have the power of the Lightbringer, either.”
Titus’s jaw tightens.
“You think I’ll be able to find it because I’m Hildegarde’s heir?” I move closer to the map, stepping between Owen and Titus. “How?”
Owen’s smile falters. “It’s just a theory, but… I believe an offering of your blood, given to the ocean—much like with the Elysian Navigator—might enlighten our path.”
Titus goes rigid at the mention of my blood. “And if that doesn’t work?”
Owen shrugs, scratching his chin. “I could be missing something,” he says, brushing a speck of lint from his coat. “The line, ‘Where what is given must be gained…’ That could be a key to understanding where to look. I’ll keep trying to interpret the riddle, but—”
“We’ll do it tonight.”
Owen glances at me, nodding with grim approval. But Titus scowls, crossing his arms over his chest.
“There’s a storm coming in,” Titus says, his voice strained. “We could give it another day. Try to come up with another plan—”
“I’m not waiting,” I say. “Morana’s kingdom advances with every passing day, and we still don’t have a single Relic.” I shake my head. “We go tonight.”
Titus gives a curt nod, but when our eyes meet, his gaze softens. “We go tonight.”
Owen claps his hands together. “Then it’s settled,” he says. He doesn’t waste time, ordering the crew to prepare for our expedition. But as the others disperse, Titus lingers at my side.
He’s right—there’s a storm coming. A dark shelf of clouds hangs over the sky like a towering black wave. Veins of lightning illuminate the darkness, and in the distance, the low rumble of thunder quakes the weathered boards beneath our feet.
Titus watches the sky, his teeth clenched. I want to reach for him, to take his hand, but the hair stands up on the nape of my neck as a presence brushes against my spine, like a gaze raking over me from head to toe.
I whirl, expecting to find someone watching me, but there’s no one there.
Still, I feel it—that presence. Those eyes.
Titus takes my hand, inclining his head. “Everything all right?”
I twine my fingers with his, my gut twisting. “What if it’s just another clue?”
Another flash of lightning. Another roll of thunder.
“Then we keep searching,” Titus says, his expression hard. His thumb strokes the back of my hand, slow, purposeful—as if he were memorizing the feel of my skin. “As long as it takes.”
The wind howls, pelting us with thick sheets of rain as Charlie and Gabriel lower our jolly boat.
We’re blown sideways, but Owen uses his affinity to keep us from smashing into the Starchaser.
Titus focuses on holding the waves at bay the best he can as we meet the surface of the water.
Diana holds down the tarp that covers our supplies—rope, tools, weapons, and a few days of provisions, just in case the search for the Tidesinger takes longer than we hope.
Rook and Lewis grab hold of the oars, awaiting Owen’s command.
“This is it,” Owen shouts over a boom of thunder. “Aster?”
He draws a dagger from a sheath at his hip, a crack of lightning illuminating his silhouette—his hair, plastered to his forehead, the subtle red glow of his eyes.
I present my hand, palm up.
Titus, seated beside me, turns away, his hands raised, teeth gritted as he fights against the choppy waves that threaten to capsize our jolly boat.
“Here goes nothing,” Owen says.
He slices my palm.
Drip.
The pain stings, but I set my jaw, holding my hand over the side of the boat to let my blood trickle to the water below.
I glance at Titus. His eyes are shut tight, his nostrils flaring. A cord in his neck bulges.
I hold my breath. Owen leans over the side of the boat, his expression nettled. He curses. Scowls.
“I’m sorry, Aster,” he says with a sigh. “I really thought—”
“What’s that?” Lewis peers over the edge, his keen eyes narrowing. “There’s… light?”
I let out a shaky exhale.
The night at Castle Grim, when I rescued Titus from the dungeons, the water appeared to glow a bright, phosphorescent blue. Now a sapphire light shimmers on the surface of the waves, almost sentient.
It twirls, as if trying to get our attention.
“That’s… new,” Rook says.
This way, comes the familiar voice of the sea.
My heart leaps. “Follow it!” I shout over the roar of the storm.
Rook and Lewis don’t hesitate, grabbing hold of the oars once more and rowing us in the direction of the blue glow—toward the cliffs in the distance.
My stomach churns as we’re battered by the waves, but Titus and Owen work in tandem, carrying us swiftly toward the island, maneuvering through a deadly maze of rocks.
The blue glow moves at our pace, never straying too far ahead, and it isn’t long before we break over a wave, past a cluster of jagged stone, and—
“There!” I point at where the blue glow disappears through a sliver in the cliff face.
They guide the jolly boat to the narrow cave opening. The instant we enter the tunnel, Titus and Owen slump against the sides of the boat, panting for breath.
“That wasn’t so bad!” Owen laughs, dragging his hands over his face.
Titus cracks a smile—barely. “Speak for yourself.”
“Personally,” Rook says, “I never want to do that ever again.”
The sapphire light illuminates Titus’s face as he turns to me and flicks a glance at my hand, clutched to my chest. His gaze narrows on the blood that drips down my wrist, my arm.
“Here,” he says softly, tearing a strip of fabric from the bottom of his shirt. He takes my hand, his touch gentle as he bandages the cut. And then, slowly, he lifts my hand to his mouth, his gaze never leaving mine as his lips brush my knuckles.
Rook lets out a low whistle and Diana smacks him over the back of his head.
“I seriously regret coming on this excursion,” Lewis mutters under his breath.
Titus smirks as he drops my hand. His tongue swipes over his bottom lip, stained red from my blood, his golden eyes glowing.…
Owen shifts, his dagger in hand.
But while the gold subsides, Titus’s blue eyes seem to reflect the sapphire glow, still radiating light from within. The storm outside quiets, and for a moment, it feels as if we were the only two people in this boat.
“I thought you didn’t trust yourself,” I whisper, breathless. “What changed?”
He reaches out, pushing wet strands of hair from my face, his gaze fixed on mine. “I realized the thing I’m most afraid of isn’t losing control,” he says. “It’s losing you.”
Rook pretends to wipe tears from his eyes, Diana lets out a quiet, wistful sigh, and Lewis makes a gagging noise.
“Sorry to interrupt this lovely… interaction,” Owen drawls, his feet propped on the side of the boat. He points ahead, taking inventory of his nails as he extends his fingers. “But I’d like to take this opportunity to say, I told you so.”
My breath catches.
“Maker of All,” Diana murmurs.
“Is that—” Lewis starts.
“The legendary lost Tidesinger?” Rook says, shaking his head. “No, it’s probably just another legendary lost ship, hidden away in this enormous cave, where no one has ever been able to find it.”
Diana flicks Rook on the ear as we emerge from the tunnel into a spacious cavern.
There, beached on a rocky bank, the ancient shipwreck looks as if it had run ashore here only yesterday.
Silver moonlight streams in from the gaping ceiling—no storm obscures the stars above, the wing of Ugo the Dragon pointing down, toward the mainmast of the ship, and the flag, perfectly preserved, still fluttering in the gentle breeze.
“Do you think it stopped raining?” Rook asks.
Diana shakes her head. “It’s some sort of illusion.”
“I feel it, too,” Owen says, rolling his shoulders. “It’s like a ward but… thicker.”
Rook gives a curt nod. “Perfect.”
The jolly boat scrapes the bank, and Lewis hops out, pulling us ashore. We’ve only just set foot on solid ground when a low, eerie whistling comes from the direction of the tunnel.
“Well, well,” comes a voice that chills my blood. “Look what we have here.”
Diana whirls, blades already in hand, and Lewis’s eyes narrow on the tunnel, cold and calculating.
Calmly, Owen retrieves a pouch from inside his coat, emptying shards of broken glass into his palm. “We were followed.”
Rook squints at the glass, his brow quirked as he realizes what I’ve already figured out; Owen means to use his windwalker affinity to launch the shattered pieces as projectiles. “Ah, I think I get it now.”
“Owen,” I ask, my hands resting on the hilts of the cutlasses strapped to either hip. “This ward… can you form a vortex?”
He shakes his head. “Only way is through that tunnel,” he says. A small, mischievous smirk curls his lips. “Unfortunately, we’re going to have to fight our way out.”
Titus steps up to stand by Owen’s side, his sword drawn. “Go,” he says to Lewis and me. “Find the Helm. We’ll hold them off.”
I twirl my cutlasses. “And let you have all the fun?”
Titus’s grin is sharper than any blade. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”
“This won’t take long,” Rook drawls as the jolly boat comes into view, revealing twelve pirates, limbs thin from starvation, faces gaunt. But as they draw near, illuminated by a beam of silver radiance, my heart drops into my stomach.
Red eyes. Shadows seeping from their flesh.
“We weren’t followed,” I say, my mouth dry. “They were already here.”