39. Zayan

39

Zayan

L eaving the gateway doesn’t change a thing. The compass still doesn’t work.

Figures it wouldn’t be as easy as following some little trinket to the island the poem hinted at. And reaching it? Not exactly a stroll through paradise either.

None of us have slept in… who knows how long. Hell, if I hadn’t nearly died—and somehow managed a half-decent rest while clawing my way back to life with Gypsy right beside me—I wouldn’t have slept at all since obtaining the hourglass. That was my last taste of anything close to sleep.

But Vinicola, Ridley, and Rancour? They’re practically dead on their feet.

I give Vini a smack on the shoulder, hard enough to wake a corpse. “Don’t even think about dozing off. I’m shit at riddles, and we both know it.”

He groans, slumping a bit more, eyes barely open as he shoots me a look. “But I don’t knooow…”

I’ve never seen Vinicola this far gone. The Vini I met would have me believe he’s immune to exhaustion, all bright eyes and endless chatter. But here he is, his hair’s a greasy mess, sticking to his scalp in sad little strands. Bloodshot eyes, dark circles, and that miserable look that says he might just curse me if I say another word. For once, he’s more like Rancour than a bard, tossing me the kind of glare that says, Shut up and let me sleep, you bastard.

But sleep? None of us are getting that luxury tonight.

Gypsy’s at the wheel. She’s been steering us from the gateway for five hours straight in the dead of night. Ridley and Rancour are still buried in every map we’ve got, trying to locate the X-marked island. And Vini and I? We’re knee-deep in the goddess’s riddle, trying to make sure we don’t walk right into our doom the moment we hit land.

“So, we’re settled on ‘the breath of the ocean’ meaning the tide, right?” I prompt, hoping a recap will pull Vini back into the land of the living.

But his eyes only narrow, a real sour look on his face that says, Thanks for that flash of genius.

“Oh, really?” he mutters, rubbing his eyes. “Glad we’re circling back to that groundbreaking discovery. Again.”

I’m sorely tempted to smack him again—maybe even a bit harder than before. “There are too many damn words in this riddle for it to be that simple,” I insist. “There’s something else hiding in there, something we’re missing.”

“Besides the part where it basically promises death?” He groans, stretching out like he’s about to keel over. “Look, sometimes words are just… words, alright? Not every line’s laced with divine secrets.”

I bark a laugh. “Yeah? Tell that to the ancient goddess with a twisted sense of humor who apparently lives to see mortals squirm.”

Vini slouches, lids drooping, looking one word away from falling asleep right on the spot. “Whatever you say, Mr. Conspiracy,” he mutters.

“Focus, Vini. There’s something here we’re not seeing,” I snap, half-tempted to shake the sense back into him.

He lets out a sigh so dramatic, it could be his last breath. But he leans forward again, willing to give it one last shot. “Fine. One more round, see if anything new jumps out. But after that, I’m done.”

I repeat the lines of the poem:

“The sun and moon are lovers true, Both run from me, yet both pursue. One warms my soul, ignites my veins, The other breathes life, through night it reigns.

The first Trial calls, my champions four, Seek out the entrance, find the door. You have two days, and on the third, Be there when my first breath is heard.

On that breath, the door will yield, But fail in time, your fate is sealed. If you’re not there when moment’s due, Death’s cruel hand will come for you.”

When I finish, he just sits there, staring down at the floor with the same dead look he’s had for hours now. Part of me wonders why I even bother. Every time I think he might come up with something, he just… doesn’t. But then, just when I’m ready to write him off, he surprises me.

Slowly, he lifts his head and meets my gaze, a flicker of something behind those sleepy eyes.

“She says we have to find the entrance—not just get to it,” he murmurs. “So knowing where it is on the map and just sailing there isn’t enough. She also spends a whole verse on the sun and the moon, like she actually knows them. Like… they’re personal.”

I repeat, half to myself, “The sun and moon are lovers true…”

Alright, maybe he’s not entirely useless.

He rubs his temples, looking like he’s barely holding himself together. “If they mean something to her, then they might be tied to this place. Maybe the entrance only appears when the sun and moon align just right.”

“So… what, they both have to be in the sky?” I muse, my mind already racing through the possibilities.

He snorts, not meeting my gaze. “Hell if I know. Just a guess. Maybe it’s more like… opposite sides of the horizon.”

I nod, barely hiding a smirk. “So we’re left with dawn or dusk. Not exactly a bullseye, is it?”

“You got a better plan?” he snaps, his tone sharper than ever. If this weren’t a life-or-death situation, I’d almost laugh at the edge in his voice.

Before I can fire back, Ridley and Rancour stumble over, both looking like they’ve been dragged through hell. Ridley, in particular, is paler than a corpse, clutching the map like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.

No wonder. His hangover must be brutal.

“We’ve got it,” Ridley grunts, slapping the map on the table. He jabs his finger at a speck in the ocean. “This here. Island’s called Solis, and it’s got a twin—Lune, right next to it.”

He pauses, taking a moment to steady himself, still reeking of last night’s rum. “The islands are close enough that when the sun sets behind Solis, the moon rises over Lune. Creates this rare point between them—both rays meet there.”

I snort, leaning in. “Let me guess, there’s land there?”

He glances at the map with a grimace. “If there is, it’s not marked.”

“Did Gypsy hear?” I ask.

“First thing I did was tell her,” he mutters. “She says it’ll be a miracle if we make it there in time.” He shrugs. “But miracles seem to be our currency lately.”

I let out a low breath, my fingers dragging through my hair as the madness of this whole damn quest starts to sink in.

“Aye,” I mutter, glancing at the map again. “Guess we’re in for another one.”

I lean back against the wall, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle in. We’re all running on fumes and barely sober. But add to it the ache in my ears and lungs from the dive and the pounding tension across my temples. I feel like I’m one wrong step from collapsing. And Gypsy? She’s been pushing herself twice as hard.

“Someone needs to take over for her at the wheel,” I mutter. “She’s been running the helm too long.”

“I’ll do it,” Ridley volunteers. Admirable, but I worry for his heart at this point.

Still, Fabien doesn’t have any experience and Vinicola is as good as dead. I don’t know if any of us is sharp enough to do it right now. Might as well take our best bets.

“Come on, then,” I say, pushing off the wall. “Let’s go see if she’s still standing.” Ridley falls in beside me, and even Fabien and Vinicola shuffle along, though I’d wager a leg Vinicola’s loathing every damn second.

As we step onto the deck, the cool night air smacks us, fresh and biting. The stars are fading, and the horizon’s starting to lighten. Dawn’s on its way.

Gypsy’s at the wheel, knuckles white as bone on the wood, like she’s the only thing keeping this ship from splitting in two. Even from here, I can see how the night’s worn her down. Every line of her, rigid and tense, like she’s carrying this whole cursed crew on her shoulders.

“Gypsy,” I call out, low, not wanting to startle her. She glances back, just enough for me to catch the exhaustion in her eyes.

“You all look like hell warmed over,” she rasps, managing a faint grin.

“You’re not exactly glowing yourself, Miss Captain,” Vinicola grumbles, and I don’t even hesitate. My hand connects with the back of his head before I know it.

“Get a grip, Vini,” I mutter, ignoring his wounded glare.

“I’m just stating the obvious,” he mutters, rolling his eyes.

Gypsy chuckles.

“Well, I see you were having fun there, deciphering the clue,” she comments.

“Yeah, he’s a real delight,” I reply, flashing her a grin. She matches it, and for a moment, maybe things aren’t so bad.

But then she turns, her gaze snapping to the horizon. It’s only for a second—a flicker of something that wasn’t there before. Her face shifts from worn to razor-sharp in an instant, every muscle taut, her knuckles somehow turning even whiter around the wheel.

The change is so fast it sets my nerves on edge.

“What is it?” I ask, before turning my own gaze where hers has landed. And there it is.

A ship with bright red sails, moving fast across the water. Even from this distance, the sight of those sails sends a cold shiver up my spine.

“Well, hell,” I mutter, watching that bold crimson smear across the sky. “Marauders.”

For a moment, I just stand there, taking it in. How in all hells did they track us here, of all places? Right at dawn, when we’ve barely stepped out of the gateway to another realm. But then it hits me—if anything, that’s exactly how they found us.

I think it through, quick and dirty: we didn’t sail far enough from where Fabien’s little thug parade had a Marauder caught among their crew. The docks were crawling with mouths eager to wag, and Vinicola’s fancy little sail design was like a damn beacon for anyone watching. And let’s not forget, the Lady herself is out there, eyes on the waves. This is her playground. Wouldn’t put it past her to toss Roche in our path just to make things interesting.

I exhale, steadying myself. I glance at Gypsy, and she’s already staring back.

“Silver?” I ask, my jaw tightening. If the Serpents are in the mix, this goes from bad to deadly.

“Doesn’t look like it,” she replies, her voice tight. “But who knows how long we’ve got.”

Right. If Roche is sniffing around, Silverbeard’s not far behind.

“What now?” Vinicola pipes up, voice wobbling just enough to strip the edge from his whining. Poor bastard’s afraid—and hell, I’d almost pity him for it. The Red Queen on the horizon would put the fear of The Lady into anyone with half a brain. Even from here, that black hull eats up every scrap of dawn’s light, like it’s hungry for something bigger.

Not that I need to see it to know every damn detail.

In my mind’s eye, it’s all there: the prow with that snarling wolf, eyes sharp and hungry, tracking you no matter where you stand. Its jaws hang open like it’s ready to devour the sea, and beneath it, carved in rough, jagged letters, The Red Queen bleeds crimson, dripping down like it’s fresh off the kill.

Funny thing is, I painted that name myself. Used to be some dainty script a few years back. I thought it deserved something a bit… messier. Let our enemies get a good preview of what’s coming their way when the battle’s on. Never thought I’d be the one looking down that beast from the wrong side.

“There’s only one thing we can do,” I say, locking eyes with Gypsy. “We run like hell.”

“What?” she snaps, eyebrows pulled tight, looking like I just spat on her boots. “We’re supposed to sail at them!”

Well, that’s the last thing we need.

“Then make it a damn convincing detour,” I growl. “You know what’ll happen if they get close—they’ll tear us open with those cannons, no hesitation!”

Roche never hesitates. If violence might solve his problems, he’ll make sure it’s his first choice. Doesn’t always work, but he’s the type who’d rather regret what he’s done than what he hasn’t.

“We don’t have time for that!” she fires back, voice tight like she’s already fed up with whatever hell’s bearing down on us. But her hands are on the wheel, already twisting it, steering us into the escape route.

“We just have to… keep running till…” I force out, swallowing the edge in my voice as I grit my teeth.

“Until we reach the Trial?” Gypsy cuts in.

“Fuck... yes. Until we reach the Trial.”

But Roche won’t give up the chase. He’ll follow us until then and after.

Gypsy’s hands stay steady on the wheel, but the tension is plain in her clenched jaw. Her eyes flick from the horizon to the course she’s setting. And here we are, pushing Fabien’s ship to her breaking point, hoping it’s enough to keep The Red Queen at bay. Sure, it’s a damn fine vessel. But the real question is whether anyone here, even Gypsy, can match Roche’s skill. He steers his ship like it’s part of him, twisting through the waters with a finesse that’s near legendary.

Gypsy’s damn good—no argument there. But Roche? He’s been captaining longer than most men survive on these seas. Age and experience aren’t just numbers out here—they’re lifelines.

“Ready the crew,” she barks, her voice cutting through the tension. “Every hand on deck. If we’re going to outrun them, we need to push this ship to her limits.”

Ridley nods, taking off for the stairs to rally the others. Vinicola looks to me, swallowing his fear, trying to keep it buried as he trails after Ridley. Rancour’s silent, just grinding his jaw back and forth, the only sign he’s feeling anything at all.

The ship lurches as she yanks the wheel hard, veering us off course in a way that sends my stomach twisting. The Red Queen’s still nothing more than a black speck on the horizon, but I’d bet my life it’s getting closer with every second.

“We’ve been through worse,” she says, glancing at me with that iron look in her eye. “We’ll get through this too.”

I step away from the helm, the muffled curses of the crew stirring below deck meeting my ears, Ridley’s scratchy bark leading the charge. They’re groggy, half-dead with the same hangover that’s gnawing at the rest of us—hell of a way to face what’s coming. I pass each of them, throwing out a quick nod or slap on the shoulder, noting the exhaustion in their eyes. But there’s a fire underneath, banked but burning. These men have sailed long enough with Rancour to know that when there’s no way around, you go straight through.

And we’re damn well going through.