Chapter Thirty-Two
Margaret’s bloodcurdling scream is a knife to my gut. She drops, and Jack sinks to the ground beside her, holding her close as she falls apart.
I watch as Titus tells the others what happened. It feels as if I were standing outside my own body—as if I were living in someone else’s nightmare.
But there’s no waking up from this.
Charlie punches a hole in the wall of the captain’s quarters, weeping violently as he curses the Stars, and the Underlings, and the True King himself.
Gabriel’s reliably stoic expression crumples, and he lurches, as if to make for the jolly boat, row himself back to the Tidesinger, and pry Elsie from whatever force stole her away.
Eliza wipes tears from her face as she checks Rook and Diana’s injuries, but the two of them send her away, and she doesn’t waste another second before pulling Lewis into her arms. Henry sits on a crate, unnervingly still, his eyes vacant as he stares straight ahead—trapped inside his own mind, his own memories.
Titus takes the Helm from Lewis, who looks as if he were caught between succumbing to despair and declaring war on the Known World—which appears to be what Owen is already planning as he spreads the Elysian Map over a barrel.
I see the moment Titus takes his first real look at the Helm—see his mouth part on a shocked breath when he sees the moth in the center of its forehead. See the tears glaze his eyes as he mutters a curse under his breath.
Owen doesn’t have to ask for my hand. When he retrieves the compass from his pocket, takes the needle from inside, my finger is already outstretched.
He doesn’t hesitate to draw blood.
Crimson splashes the parchment, but I stare at the Helm as Titus holds it at arm’s length. One of three legendary Relics of Night. A treasure many have spent lifetimes searching for—including my father. And we’re the first to find it.
Elsie found it.
Owen points at the map. “There.”
I tear my eyes away from the Helm to where the glowing silver ink forms the image of a sword.
“Castle Grim?” Gabriel asks, peering over my shoulder.
Titus sways, staggering backward a step. He shakes his head, just slightly, the movement almost imperceivable, but there’s no mistaking the fear in his eyes. The anguish.
He doesn’t want to go back there. I can’t make him go back there.
But I’m going. I don’t have a choice.
Owen watches me, biting his bottom lip, as if he were resisting the urge to give the order himself.
I can’t tell him I’m terrified of finding the next Relic—that I’m afraid what kind of sacrifice we’ll be forced to make to obtain the Sword. But if finding all three Relics is the only way to get Elsie back…
“Set a course for the Eerie,” I say.
Owen looses a tight breath. “Aye, set a course—”
“Wait!” Gabriel grinds his jaw. “We’ll need reinforcements. We should return to the Red Island for—”
“We’re going now,” I say, already moving toward the helm.
It’s Titus who catches my wrist. “He’s right, love,” he says, imploring me to meet his gaze.
I jerk my arm out of his grasp. “I’m not giving up! Elsie—”
“No one is giving up,” he says gently, taking a tentative step toward me. “But we must be strategic about this. If Calantha”—his throat bobs—“discovers you’ve set foot in the Eerie, she will stop at nothing to find you.”
I shake my head, take a step back. “What will I tell Mother and Father?” My voice breaks, and I struggle to swallow the knot in my throat. “I can’t face them.”
“You won’t face them alone.” Owen’s voice. He moves to stand beside Titus. “As much as I hate to admit it, they’re right. If we try to storm Castle Grim alone, more of us could end up—” He grinds his teeth.
Dead.
But Elsie isn’t dead.
“You wanted to go! Just five seconds ago, you were ready—”
“I still am!” Owen shouts, his lip curling.
“If I were alone, I wouldn’t stop until I’d razed that entire bloody continent to the ground!
” His face flushes with something akin to shame.
“But I can’t put everyone else at risk because I lost my cool.
And you—you’re the captain of this voyage.
You of all people should be thinking about the good of the entire crew. ”
His words are like a slap to the face, and I see the regret flicker in his eyes when I flinch.
“Then maybe I shouldn’t be captain anymore.”
Owen sighs. “I didn’t mean—”
“I never asked for this!” I take the medallion from around my neck and hold it out to Titus. The pendant dangles from the chain, swinging back and forth like a pendulum. “The Starchaser is yours.”
Titus frowns. He reaches out, covering my hand with both of his as he curls my fist over the medallion.
“You have every right to be angry,” he says, his voice soft—words meant only for me.
He gestures at my family and friends, all gathering around us, awaiting their orders.
“Everyone here knows you’re not perfect,” he adds, the ghost of a wry grin tugging at his lips, “but they chose you anyway.” He uncurls my fingers—takes the medallion from my palm. “That’s why they chose you.”
He slips the chain over my head. “Now you have to choose yourself.”
Tears burn my cheeks. But as Titus steps back, Owen moves to stand in his place. He places a hand on my shoulder, and I feel the weight of our Father’s steady, comforting touch.
“We go together?” he asks, offering me his hand.
My fingers curl into a fist at my side. I don’t want to go home. Not when Elsie isn’t there. Not when my family is falling apart again, and there’s nothing I can do to hold them all together—nothing except push my own feelings aside.
They don’t need a sister, I think. They need a leader. A captain.
So I take Owen’s hand. Bury my grief. Nod. “We go together.”
There is no more music. No more dancing. No more laughter.
The Starchaser is quiet.
I spend my days at the helm, watching the horizon, Liv perched atop my shoulder. But in the evenings, when the others gather for supper on the main deck, I retreat to the captain’s quarters—alone.
I do exactly as Owen said and decide to put the good of the crew first—above my own feelings, above my own fears. If I am going to lead them, they cannot see me break again.
Every night, Titus comes to my room. And every night, he sits in the chair by my bedside, his hand outstretched, close enough to touch.
Not yet, I tell myself. Soon, when we’ve found the Relics, I can choose myself. I can let myself want.
But I let myself hope—hope we could find the Relics and make everything right—and I lost Elsie. I can’t afford to hope that Titus and I could ever be happy together, only to lose him, too.
I don’t take his hand. Even when the nightmares keep me awake. Even when I want nothing more than to feel his fingers twine with mine.
One day, I tell myself.
But not yet.
Not yet.