Chapter Thirty-Five
Owen grabs hold of Margaret, still holding on to Jack, and in a blink, the three of them vanish.
The Red Island’s fleet has surrounded the Deathwail, but it’s as if our cannons are redirected at the island with every blast, and I know the Deathwail must have Nightweavers aboard—Nightweavers sworn into service by the Guild of Shadows.
One ship against hundreds, and no one can manage to get close enough to board the Deathwail to take them out.
Rage builds inside me with every thunderous boom of the Deathwail’s cannons, and I lift my hand, focusing on the buzz of the water lapping at the shore, on the call of the sea, tainted red with blood—
Pop.
I brace myself for the sensation of falling as I’m pulled into Owen’s vortex and deposited on the deck of the Starchaser.
I want to throw myself on Margaret, to hold her and offer her comfort, but there’s blood on my boots. Jack’s blood is everywhere—on Margaret’s hands, on Henry’s face, on Gabriel’s shirt.
So much blood.
“My—my pearls!” Margaret cries, her voice raw. “Where—”
“I’ve got them,” Henry assures her. I don’t know when he retrieved them, but the relief that washes over Margaret is instant. “I’ve got them,” he tells her, over and over again, and I know what he really means to say—can see it in his eyes now, more clearly than I ever could before.
I’ve got you.
The Starchaser bustles with activity as they prepare to sail.
I take inventory of all the people I love, dispersed among the other survivors who had managed to flee the wedding.
I breathe a sigh of relief when I see that my family and my crew are safe, and so are the three remaining Castors, Boris, and even Clemson and Davina. But someone’s missing.
“Titus?” I shout, scrambling to my feet. “Where’s Titus?”
Owen shakes his head, steadying me. “He wasn’t on the beach.” His eyes flare with panic, and his voice warbles in my ears as he calls out, “Has anyone seen Titus?”
There’s a commotion near the jolly boat, and Owen and I both turn to watch as Killian draws his flintlock pistol, pointing it at Father.
“She’s still on the island!” Killian shouts. “I’m not leaving without her!”
“Orella will not leave her people to die,” Father says, his voice choked. “You know that.”
“Then I will die by her side!” Killian takes another step back. “I left her behind once. I will not spend another moment of my life without her.”
Father’s face falls, but he dips his head. “Aye,” he says, a tear spilling onto his cheek. “Tell her I love her, will you?”
Killian lowers the gun. Nods. “Stay out of trouble, old friend.”
Father retreats, gesturing for the crew to assist Killian with the jolly boat. They’ve just begun to lower it when Owen calls out for them to wait.
“I’m going back,” he says. “I can help evacuate—”
“Let’s not waste time, then!” Killian says, scrambling out of the jolly boat to grab hold of Owen’s arm.
But at the last second, before they disappear, I grab hold of Owen’s hand, and Henry grabs hold of mine.
One moment, the four of us are standing aboard the Starchaser, and the next, we’re back on the beach in front of the Pearl.
The screams from the townspeople as they flee down the beaches on either side, attempting to find safety from the cannons as fire catches, send a fresh wave of panic through me.
Only minutes ago, we gathered on this beach for a wedding.
Now I watch, dazed with horror, as Underlings chase innocent families from their homes, tearing them limb from limb, feasting on their blood, their bones, the unmistakable trill of Gore laughter filling me with dread.
Killian breaks away the moment we arrive, racing toward the village, where he must suspect Orella has gone. Owen starts after him, but he gives me one last look over his shoulder, and in an instant, we communicate everything we need to say with our eyes alone.
He nods, his lips pressed in a thin, tight line. Be careful.
I tilt my head, my brows lifted. Take your own advice.
Laughter dances on his face before he turns, disappearing into the thick undergrowth of the jungle.
I look down at Henry’s hand, still gripping my wrist. “What are you doing? You should be with the others—”
“He’s not gone,” he says, releasing me. “I saw him. My brother is still in there, somewhere.”
“Henry—” I start.
But Henry holds up his hand. “He could have killed me, but he didn’t,” he says quickly. “He’s a Changeling, right? That means he has my brother’s memories. He—he is my brother.”
I try to tell him it’s more complicated than that—that Will is more than just a Changeling, he’s an ancient being not of this world—but he cuts me off.
“No, listen to me!” He clenches his jaw, tears streaming down his scarred face. “Just think what we could accomplish with him on our side.”
My mouth works, my hands vibrating, and I’m trying to think about what he’s saying—really think about it—but there’s no time to argue.
“Fine!” I say, already moving. “Just keep up!”
I take off toward the Pearl—toward where I know Will must have gone in search of the Elysian Navigator, and where Titus must have followed.
I shove open the doors of the palace, Henry close on my heels as I race up the staircase that leads to the east wing—to my chambers.
Henry shouts, “Where are we—”
“He’s after the Elysian Navigator!” I call over my shoulder, my own voice distant and muffled, crackling in my ears like static electricity. “It’s in my chambers!”
Without the Relics of Night—without a means to break the curse that has plagued our world for six hundred years—Jack’s death will have been in vain.
I can’t let him win. I can’t let Will get away.
I burst through the door to my chambers, but Henry remains in the hall, watching my back as I step over the bedrolls where my siblings slept peacefully just last night and search the chest of drawers where Owen left the Elysian Navigator, but—
“It’s not here!” I take a deep, shuddering breath. Maybe Titus got here first. Maybe he already has the Elysian Navigator, and he’s waiting for us somewhere.
Maybe I’m too late, and Will is long gone.
I try to stay calm as I grab my coat, draped across the chair, and shrug it over my shoulders. “It’s not here!” I say, panting for breath as I hurry back out into the hall.
But the moment I set foot over the threshold, I’m knocked sideways.
I land on top of Henry, my ears ringing.
“Henry?” I don’t hear my own scream.
The vibration of his groan, rumbling deep in his chest, is my only answer.
I try to move, but I can’t feel the lower half of my body, my legs pinned beneath the debris.
Panic sharpens my senses as smoke fills the hallway. I know I need to move. We need to get out of here—need to find Owen and get back to the Starchaser. But when I try to pull myself free, a jagged piece of wood slices my calf, and I nearly black out from the pain. I set my jaw and try again.
The scream that bursts from my lips leaves my throat raw.
I will not die like this, buried beneath debris, consumed by fire.
I grit my teeth, determined to free myself.
I dig my fingers into the wooden floorboards beside Henry and me, bracing for the inevitable agony that will follow my final attempt.
Already, I can feel the air thinning. Every breath I take fills my lungs with smoke, my head light.
“Just breathe,” a voice whispers, brushing against my ear like a phantom caress. “You have the power to stop the fire.”
Heat distorts my vision, and for a moment, I think I see someone standing over me, his dark cloak billowing. But when I blink, there’s no one there.
Smoke stings my eyes as I shut them tight, attempting to draw on the Manan from the ocean, but surrounded by fire, the water feels as if it were a world away.
“Get up, Aster,” comes that deep rasping voice. “No one is coming to save you.”
A jolt of anger rips through me like an electric pulse. I don’t need to be saved.
I never have.
All this time, I’ve struggled to control my power as a bloodletter—I haven’t even tried to access the other affinities.
Because of him—because of Will. He doubted me.
And now I realize it’s because he knew: If the power of the Lightbringer gives me access to more than just one affinity, I am more than just a bloodletter.
For so long I’ve denied my magic. But it was there all along. It was just waiting for me to use it.
There is Manan in the wood that pins me to the spot—Manan in the fire that rages all around me. The dust of creation is woven into the very fabric of the air. I need only grab hold of it and make it mine.
Something awakens within me—something ancient. Something primal.
And with only a thought, the pressure lifts.
I scramble to my knees, biting my bottom lip to keep from crying out as the pain from my leg nearly blinds me.
“Henry!” I shake him. “Henry!”
I can’t carry him—not like this. Even now, my vision fades as thick black smoke chokes my every breath. Before I can think of a better idea, I swipe my hand through the blood that streams from the wound in my leg and smear it across his lips.
His eyes go wide, the bright golden glow cutting through the gloom.
He shoots upright, his hands clutching my shoulders. “Aster? What—” His gaze lands on my leg, and his nostrils flare. He curses.
I wonder if I’ve made a mistake. I’ve never seen Henry feed on human blood, and as a halfling, my blood will be even harder to resist.
But his throat bobs on a swallow, and the glow of his irises fades as he gets to his feet, hauling me upright. He winces at the sound that escapes me, but he doesn’t wait to see if I’m able to stand on my own before dragging me down the hallway in the direction of the east staircase.
The Manan from my blood seems to give him the energy he needs to stand, but it’s not enough to bolster his firebreather affinity.
And though I was able to use the power of the Lightbringer to escape from the debris, when I try to grab hold of the Manan in the air once more, it’s like trying to spark a fire in the pouring rain.
We race through the Pearl, dodging fiery debris.
It’s as if I were back in the Burning Lands with Will, choking on smoke as we wind our way through the maze of fire.
My coat protects me from the worst of the blaze, and I’m thankful for the extra layer as I duck under a flaming beam that blocks our path.
We’ve almost made it to the staircase when another blast rattles the palace, and the planks give way beneath me.
We stumble back just as the staircase crumbles into the raging inferno that devours the main foyer.
“We’ll have to jump!” Henry says, turning around.
It’s difficult to see, but I know we stand at the edge of the platform where a bridge, now reduced to ash, once connected this landing to the parlor beyond.
It’s at least a twenty-foot drop to the jungle below.
Enough to make me hesitate even if I had full use of both legs.
But it’s either stay here and burn alive waiting for a rescue that may never come or jump and pray that we’re able to make our way to the beach.
I take Henry’s hand and give it a squeeze. He squeezes back.
We jump.