Chapter Thirty-Four
Lady Isabelle transforms the beach just beyond the grand entrance to the Pearl overnight.
All day, she orders us about—hang streamers, hold this, fetch that—and I don’t mind the distraction, though I find myself yawning as Lewis and I arrange chairs along the sandy shore.
My siblings and I had stayed up almost all night, telling one another stories, reminiscing over memories of our time aboard the Lightbringer, dreaming of our futures beyond the war.
Isabelle keeps Titus busy, too. She already sent him on an errand before I made my way to the dining room for breakfast, where Orella pulled me aside to discuss the logistics of our upcoming voyage to the Eerie.
She assured me the Starchaser would be ready to sail by tomorrow and that her fleets were rallying—hundreds of ships, flying under the banner of the Red Island, preparing to accompany us on our journey.
By late afternoon, Isabelle rushes about the grand foyer of the Pearl, ensuring we’re all properly dressed—she adjusts Rook’s bow tie, smooths Diana’s hair back, fusses with Gabriel’s untucked shirt.
There wasn’t time to tailor custom suits and gowns—much to Lewis’s chagrin—but Orella spent the morning pulling together a wardrobe of blush pink, dusky lavender, and robin’s-egg blue.
I adjust the flowing sleeves of my canary-yellow gown one last time before the double doors of the Pearl open and the musicians begin to play.
Henry loops his arm through mine. “Has anyone ever told you that you clean up well for a pirate?”
I elbow him in the ribs. “That’s not a compliment.”
A lazy grin. “I know.”
We make our way down the aisle, two at a time, toward where Jack stands beside Titus at the altar, wearing a suit made of the finest ivory linen.
Titus’s jaw tightens as his eyes meet mine.
Henry leans in, a smirk in his voice when he whispers, just loud enough for Titus to hear, “I told him I’d fight him for you, you know.”
I can’t smother the grin that tugs at my lips. “And?”
We split ways as Henry moves to stand to Jack’s left, and Titus says, low enough that only the four of us can hear, “And I said that’s a strange way to tell me he has a death wish.”
Jack barks a laugh, covering his mouth with his fist, as a blush sets my face on fire.
The others make their way down the aisle in pairs—Eliza and Lewis, Charlie and Diana.
Liv perches on Rook’s shoulder, kicking her feet, and Sylvie sits atop Gabriel’s head, tugging at strands of wavy dark hair.
Albert follows, carrying a pillow of cream-colored velvet, the pearls with which Jack had proposed nestled in the fabric.
Finally, Killian escorts Isabelle, who beams at Jack as if he were her own son, and behind them, Owen escorts Mother down the aisle.
When she takes her seat near Orella, I notice the empty chair beside her—the book of Myths already there, holding Elsie’s place.
My throat tightens as the musicians play a tender melody, and the guests—Order members I recognize, including the badger, Tollith, and citizens of Ember I’ve yet to meet—all stand, turning to face the doors to the Pearl.
Margaret’s ivory gown shimmers like moonlight on crystal waters as she glides down the aisle, holding on to Father’s arm as if it were the only thing that keeps her from racing toward her fiancé.
Jack comes undone at the sight of her, and it seems as if it were only Henry’s light, steadying touch on his elbow that keeps him from melting to the ground in a puddle of tears.
Henry casts his eyes skyward, his jaw clenched. I wonder if, when he looks at Margaret and Jack, all he sees is the life he could have had with Dorothy.
I look away, but when I do, I meet Titus’s eyes.
He’s already watching me, his gaze intense.
It seems as if he were fighting an internal battle, his hands clenched at his sides, shoulders turned, just slightly, to face me.
We’re only a few feet apart, but it’s suddenly too far.
His mouth works, as if he were about to say something, if only he could find the words.
It feels as if we’re standing on a precipice.
Ready to jump. Ready to fall.
And then Margaret is here, standing in front of Jack, and it looks as if it takes every last ounce of Titus’s self-control to tear his gaze from mine.
Titus welcomes the guests, and he must say something amusing, because there’s laughter as everyone takes their seats. But I can’t hear him over the blood drumming in my ears, can hardly catch my breath as my heart pounds against my rib cage.
You have to choose yourself, Titus said. But I’ve been too afraid. Too afraid to trust my feelings. Too afraid, because choosing myself means allowing myself to hope—to want.
But I can’t keep letting life move forward without me. If Titus can trust himself, after everything that’s happened—if he can be brave enough to want, to choose—then maybe it’s time I try to do the same.
“I vow to stand by your side in the valleys and on the mountains.” Margaret beams. “I vow to love you when the sun is shining and when the storms are raging. I vow to be your home and haven, your sword and shield, always and forever.”
Something prickles the back of my neck.
Jack brushes a tear from Margaret’s cheek, his smile so pure and joyful it lights up his whole face. He echoes Margaret’s vows, blinking back tears of his own. “I vow to be your home and haven, your sword and shield, always and—”
Jack coughs.
His eyes widen.
Blood splatters the front of Margaret’s gown.
He reaches for her. Looks down.
And suddenly nothing makes sense. Nothing makes sense because there’s something sharp sticking out of Jack’s chest. And there’s someone standing behind Jack who hadn’t been there a moment ago. Someone who had appeared, as if out of thin air, cloaked in shadows.
Time unravels, streaming past me in a blur as the guests scatter, fleeing the beach.
Jack drops to his knees, and Margaret throws herself to the ground to shield his body with hers.
Will stands over them both, his cursed dagger crackling with green light.
I lurch forward as Titus draws a blade from his hip.
But we’re too late.
Will thrusts his blade down, as if to strike Margaret.
I scream, drawing the pistol strapped to my thigh, but while Titus and I are too late to act—while we’re not fast enough to protect her—Henry is there, his spine flush with Margaret’s.
Will halts, his blade an inch from Henry’s throat.
Henry stares up at him, his chest heaving, teeth gritted.
But Will just cocks his head, amusement glittering in his eyes as he looks between Henry and Margaret. “Ah, I see,” he purrs, his voice deep and dark. “You’re welcome, then.”
He straightens, a cool grin tugging at his lips as he turns to me, ignoring Titus altogether.
“My invitation must have gotten lost in the post, hmm? I guess it’s a good thing I decided to drop in.
” He doesn’t remove the blade from where it lingers, a breath away from Henry’s flesh.
“Unfortunately, I can’t stay long.” He shrugs, even as Jack’s blood drips from his dagger.
“I’ve only come to retrieve something that belongs to me,” he adds with an impish smirk, cutting a glance at Titus before turning his golden eyes back to me.
“Tell me where you’re keeping the Elysian Navigator, and I will spare your friends and family. ”
“It won’t work for you,” I say.
“Right, yes, of course.” He snaps his fingers.
“Your blood is the key, is it not? Lucky I still have this,” he says, retrieving a small handkerchief from his pocket.
He holds it up, the linen stained black with dried blood—my blood, from that night when I pricked my finger in the conservatory all those months ago.
“Really, there’s no need to complicate things. Just tell me where I can find—”
I spit in his face.
He smiles, revealing teeth that gleam with otherworldly light. “Remember, Aster, I tried to be merciful.”
He vanishes in a plume of black smoke, and when I look up, I see the dark shape of a bat flying toward the Pearl.
Alarm bells ring out. My heart thuds painfully with every chime—six of them, meaning a ship has been spotted entering the Dire. It could be days before they reach the Red Island. It could be hours with the aid of windwalkers and bloodletters. It could be sooner.
The warning is a call to arms, and somewhere close by I hear Mother shouting.
Owen grabs hold of Rook and Diana before they can protest, and in a blink, the three of them vanish—transported to safety by Owen’s vortex.
And then he’s back, grabbing hold of Albert and Lewis.
Then Charlie. All the while, Margaret’s voice trembles as she presses her hands to Jack’s chest, attempting to stanch the flow of blood.
“Gabriel!” she cries. “Gabriel, help—”
But when Gabriel drops to his knees beside them, he just shakes his head. “Margaret,” he says softly.
“I can fix this,” she says, face pale, her expression fierce—determined. “I can fix this!”
Jack smiles up at her, even as blood dribbles past his lips.
“Just a scratch,” he hisses through gritted teeth.
He reaches up, cupping Margaret’s jaw in his bloody palm.
“I’m not going anywhere. We’re going to be old and gray together, right?
My wife,” he says, stroking her face. His fingers leave a streak of crimson across her cheek.
Margaret continues to pack the wound, her focus sharpening.
“Margaret,” Gabriel says again, his voice strained. “It was a cursed dagger. The wound—it can’t be healed.”
She glares at Gabriel, but only for a second, and then something shifts in her gaze at the very instant Owen reappears, sweat beading on his pale forehead. “Will it turn him?” she asks our brother.
Owen clenches his teeth. “It’s not that kind of curse,” he says, a frown crinkling his eyes.
“Is… Aster… here?” Jack wheezes.
I kneel beside Margaret, still trying to stop the bleeding. “Jack,” I say, my voice hoarse.
His smile widens. “I’ve been… thinking…” His chest rattles as he gasps for breath. “I’m worried about… the horses… I wish we could… show Margaret.…”
His face pinches, his body seizing.
“You can show me whatever you like,” Margaret insists, her voice frantic. “You’re not going anywhere, do you hear me? You’re not going anywhere!”
“I love you.” Jack coughs, blood splattering his chin. “Henry!” His expression turns urgent. “Henry!”
Henry still has his back to them both, hands raised as if he expected Will to appear at any moment. But he turns at the sound of his name, his eyes wide with panic.
Jack makes a choking noise, but it’s as if he uses every last bit of his strength to sit up, just a little—to look Henry in the eye. “You’ll… look out for Margaret?”
Margaret groans with frustration, her teeth clenched. In my whole life, Margaret has never lost her cool when treating the wounded. But her composure is slipping, revealing a side of my sister I’ve never seen. “No!” she seethes. “No. Don’t do this to me. Don’t do this to me, Jack!”
A sound escapes Jack’s lips, somewhere between a gasp and a sigh, his eyes dimming. “How did I get so… lucky?”
I brace myself for Margaret’s bloodcurdling wail, but she goes perfectly still, her hands pressed to Jack’s chest even as his body goes limp, his vacant eyes staring up at her face, a smile permanently fixed on his bloody lips.
It feels as if the sand will open up and swallow us whole, and for a breath, none of us move.
“We have to go, Marge,” Owen says gently, one eye on the horizon, the other on our sister and Jack.
“I’m not leaving him here!” Margaret hisses.
But there’s another shout, and that’s when I see it.
I make out the flag of the ship that appears out of the mists of the Dire. A ship I hoped to never see again, unless it was to watch it sink.
The Deathwail.