Chapter Forty-Seven
We’re too late.
By the time we reach the Red Island, Morana’s naval forces—ships she acquired through her conquests of nations like Hellion and Kane, Nera and Tyton—line the shores of Ember, thick plumes of black smoke billowing into the pale gray sky of morning.
But the Red Island is not defenseless.
My heart swells with hope at the sight of fleets from across the Known World that have answered the call for aid—pirate clans, their flags waving, cannons blazing—all protecting the one place that is ours in a world where we have been forced to hide. Our haven. Our home.
Ours.
The Starchaser buzzes with activity as the others prepare to fight.
Titus stands by my side in the crow’s nest, a spyglass pressed to his left eye. “He’s there,” he says. “Standing in front of the Pearl.” His throat bobs. “What’s left of it.”
He passes the spyglass to me, and I peer through the eyepiece.
There, at Morana’s side, Will wears a suit of obsidian armor from the neck down, a black cloak draped over his shoulders.
I lower the spyglass. “This has to be part of his game,” I say, my voice quiet. “Right?”
Titus’s jaw ticks. “I don’t know,” he tells me. “He’s always been a secretive bastard. I never know what he’s thinking.”
“He used to say the same thing about you.”
I think Titus’s lips twitch, the ghost of a smile. “I’m sure he did.”
He turns to me, his gaze narrowing on the Helm. It’s surprisingly light—almost weightless. I thought when I put it on, I would feel some sort of power. But all I feel is this raw, twisted grief. We wouldn’t have this Helm if it weren’t for Elsie.
Now I can only hope that whatever waits for us on the other side of the gates will help us find a way to bring her back.
I check the Sword, fastened at my hip, and the Key, safe in the pocket of my coat. I can’t be sure what the gates look like, but Father suspects they’re somewhere near the volcano at the center of the Red Island, Samael.
“Together?” Titus asks.
“Together,” I say.
Emrys dips low, and I climb onto the railing of the crow’s nest. Titus’s hand darts out, fingers skimming my calf, ready to balance me if needed, and the brush of his fingertips leave a trail of electricity in their wake.
I climb up Emrys’s wing, onto his back, and Titus follows. He wraps his arms around my waist as I grab hold of Emrys’s spiked horns.
Something unspoken passes between Emrys and me, and a moment later, he surges forward, soaring higher, breaking through the clouds.
Up here, the sky is as blue as Titus’s eyes—as blue as my beloved ocean—and I can almost pretend we’re alone. That we might never have to return to the earth below. Titus’s arms are safe. The world is beautiful. I am free.
And I think I finally understand why Owen always wished to be a bird.
But a high-pitched shriek of laughter chills my blood, and I come crashing back down to reality.
Six Stalkers rise above the clouds, gaining on us with every heartbeat.
Titus draws a Howler strapped to his back. His other arm wraps around my waist like a band of steel.
Emrys roars, flames sparking out of his massive jaws, but the Stalkers aren’t deterred. We dip below the clouds, descending rapidly, aiming straight for Samael.
“Can you see it?” Titus shouts over the howl of the wind.
I squint at the shape of the volcano. The Helm should show me where the gates are, but—“No, I need to get closer!”
Emrys responds, diving toward the volcano. I look down at the Red Island below—at the jungle, ravaged by flames—and my heart sticks in my throat.
“Whatever you do, keep going,” Titus says, his breath warm on the back of my neck.
My stomach turns to water. “What?”
But he’s already letting go, withdrawing his arm from around my waist as he shifts in his seat, drawing a second Howler from his back. Each shot he fires at the Stalkers echoes in my chest. The Elysian bullets don’t seem to have any effect on them. They shriek—giggle. Swoop closer.
Tentacles brush my arm, coiling around my shoulder, before Titus drops one of his Howlers and draws a dagger, slicing through the Stalker’s limb.
“There’s too many!” Titus hisses through gritted teeth. “The gates—can you see them now?”
I set my jaw, struggling to sip at the air as Emrys picks up speed.
I scan the mountain below as Emrys begins to circle Samael, but I don’t even know what I’m looking for.
We must have been wrong. The gates must be somewhere else.
They could be near the Pearl, or somewhere in the jungles of Ember, or—
Emrys, I think, fly over Samael. I want to see what’s inside.
No sooner do I give the command than I hear the rough, gurgling growl of a wolfish creature, gaining on us.
“Don’t look back!” Titus shouts at me.
But I don’t need to see to know that Morana has given chase. She knew I would lead her to the gates—and I anticipated that she would follow.
“About that promise, my love?” Titus says. “I think you’re going to have to break it.”
I feel Titus shift, as if to stand. Emrys rises higher, nearing the lip of the volcano.
And I see it then—gold dust, shimmering near the opening—at the very moment the Stalker grabs hold of Titus.
Pop. Pop.
I scream, but the sound is lost to the wind as I look over my shoulder.
Titus didn’t fire at the Stalker. No. His shots landed in the wolfish creature’s flank. Morana roars as the creature screeches, its dark, webbed wings flapping wildly as it dives toward the canopy below.
The Stalker’s tentacles wrap around Titus’s throat, his wrists, squeezing tight. Titus drops the Howler, and the Stalker draws him close to its gaping jaws, toward the void of white light and teeth.
But then the Stalker drops him, and he falls.
Emrys dives into the mouth of the volcano, and I lose sight of Titus.
We plummet toward the bubbling, fiery pit. My vision shifts, and instead of molten liquid, I see a pool of glittering gold dust. But only for a second, and then all I see is lava.
The gates.
I plunge my hand into my pocket, grabbing hold of the Key.
I pray to the Stars I’m not wrong—that my possession of the Key is enough to grant me passage through the gates.
But there’s no time left to find out. Morana’s wolfish beast dives after us, its teeth bared, like shards of onyx gleaming in the firelight.
I can’t be sure she won’t be able to follow—that whatever happens, it won’t open the gates wide enough that Morana can slip through.
Fly high, Emrys!
I swing my leg over the dragon’s neck, and without a moment’s hesitation, I jump.
My stomach slams into my throat, and I brace myself for the heat as I fall, tumbling toward the lava below.