41. Gypsy

41

Gypsy

“ B elow deck, Now!” My shout fights against the roaring wind, barely carrying above the chaos. The day’s barely broken, skies are clear, not a single cloud overhead—and yet, it feels like the world’s coming undone.

The beast’s pulling us so damn hard, I can feel it thrumming through the wood beneath my feet, rattling every plank, every nail. Men stagger across the deck, grabbing onto anything they can reach, just to stay upright. We’re moving so fast that the sails are pressing backward, straining against the wind instead of catching it, flapping and snapping like they’re trying to tear free.

“Move it!” I bark again, forcing my voice to cut through the madness. They need to get below, out of the way, before someone loses their footing and goes overboard or gets slammed into the mast.

I glance back, squinting against the wind to see where the Red Ones are. Their sails are barely a red smear on the horizon now. We’re losing them fast—only silver lining in this otherwise mad situation.

“Ridley!” I shout, squinting my eyes against the wind. “Drop the wheel! We can’t control this beast even if we tried!”

Ridley’s knuckles are bone-white, his arms taut as he clings to the wheel with all he’s got. He throws a desperate look my way. “How the hell are we supposed to steer, then?!”

A good fucking question.

Around me, the crew scrambles, slipping and stumbling in the spray. I do what I can to help, but then I hear it—the unmistakable scream of someone hitting the water, their cry swallowed by the current.

“Get the fuck below deck!” I bellow, teeth gritted against the salt spray cutting across my face. “Every last one of you, now!”

My grip tightens on the railing as the ship bucks hard, the creature beneath us yanking with a strength that could smash any one of us to pieces in a heartbeat. It’s pure madness to stay above deck, and every fool clinging on is gambling their life for no reason. Especially Ridley.

The old man’s got his hands locked around the wheel, knuckles white and trembling, his face twisted in a stubborn, weathered defiance that makes me want to shake him. He should be below, not here bracing against something that’ll take him down without a second thought.

Damn it, Ridley.

I stagger my way toward him, steadying myself with each shudder of the ship. Step after brutal step, I make it to his side and shout over the chaos, “Let go, old man! We ride wherever it takes us!”

His eyes flick between me and the wheel, his grip faltering as if he’s holding on to some last scrap of dignity. I see the moment he breaks, a weary nod, and his hands finally release, fingers shaking as he stumbles back, leaving the wheel to spin wild and aimless.

Not that it matters—the creature’s too strong to try and control.

Footsteps pound below deck, and the last of the crew scrambles to brace. I shout one last time, my voice hoarse. “Hold tight to anything you can find!”

That’s when my eyes catch Zayan standing near the mainmast. He’s not gripping onto anything, not bracing against the mad heaving of the ship—he’s just… standing there, trying to balance the tilts of the ship on his loose knees alone.

“Zayan!” I yell, throat burning. “You reckless bastard! Grab onto something before you’re tossed overboard!”

He glances my way, and damn him, there’s that infuriating smirk on his face, like he’s savoring every second of this madness. His mouth moves, and I could swear he says, “Aye, Captain.” Then, finally, he wraps a hand around a rope just as the ship bucks hard to the side, nearly tearing us all apart.

Zayan doesn’t stumble. No, he glides along the mast, clinging to the rope just enough to keep upright, that damned fool’s grin plastered on his face as he weaves through the madness toward me and Ridley.

“What’s the plan?” he shouts over the din, his eyes blazing with that reckless thrill. Hell, I’ve had my fill of it; he should’ve too by now.

“Get Ridley below deck!” I snap, knowing full well he wants more than orders—he wants answers. But I don’t have any for him, not now. I need to find Rancour. Where the fuck is he?

I scan the deck, eyes narrowed against the wind and sea spray.

The ship jolts, tilting nearly on its side as if the creature’s taken another mad lunge. I brace against the railing, heart hammering as my entire world spins. Below the deck, the men curse and scream so loud, I know they’re bound to get tossed around like ragdolls.

“Zayan!” I shout, jerking my hand toward Ridley. “Get him down there now, or I swear—“

Before I can finish, Zayan grabs Ridley by the arm, muttering something that earns a reluctant nod from the old man. I catch a glimpse of Ridley’s weary eyes, resignation settling in. He knows—hell, we all know—this beast below us isn’t something we’ll tame or outrun. It’s a gamble every second we stay on this ship.

Just like Rancour warned.

I grit my teeth, shoving wet hair from my face as I squint forward. Finally, I spot him—Rancour, right at the bow, with Vinicola beside him, both of them bracing against the edge of the bow, teetering like fools on the brink of being swallowed by the sea.

I need to get to them.

Without a moment of hesitation, I haul myself forward. The air’s thick with salt and spray, stinging my eyes and burning my lungs, but I push through.

“Rancour!” I shout, my voice barely cutting through the chaos. He turns, dark eyes sharp beneath his soaked hair.

“Captain!” Rancour yells, steadying himself as the ship lurches again. “We’re about to turn! Brace yourself!”

Turn? Turn where?

But before I can snap at him for an explanation, the whole ship veers, listing so sharply I’m slammed into the railing. The wood crushes against my ribs, the impact stealing the breath right from my lungs. I cough, doubling over, and for a second, I swear I taste blood on my tongue.

Water surges over the sides in a torrent.

Rancour’s shouting something, but I can’t make it out. I catch the flash of his arm, but it’s too late—a loose rope whips around the mast and swings toward me like a bullet. It cracks against my shoulder, and pain explodes through my arm, dark spots edging my vision.

“Damn it!” I hiss, gripping the railing hard enough to splinter the wood. Pain or not, I’m not about to black out. I refuse to give in.

I force myself upright by sheer power of will. The deck lurches again, and another wave crashes over us, soaking me to the bone, the salt burning in every scrape and bruise.

Rancour reaches out. His fingers close around my arm, steadying me as the ship tilts again, and through the roar of the wind and water, his voice cuts through. “Look up, Captain!”

I drag my gaze skyward, breath rasping in my chest. Above us, a line of white forms in the sky. At first, I think it’s the clouds. That they somehow morphed or came with the wind. But no. It’s moving .

Seagulls. Hundreds of them, forming a thick line that veers toward the Marauders’ ship before stretching out beyond it.

My gut twists. “Is this…?” I mutter, bile rising to my throat.

Rancour’s lips curl into a dark smile. “The Lady’s not too keen on being outsmarted.”

A sick feeling pools in my stomach. The sea goddess’s wrath, laid out plain as day for all to see—even the Marauders. They just have to look up to know exactly where we’re headed. We may be faster than the Red Ones now, but if they can track us by the sky, we’re as good as cornered.

I spit the salt from my lips, muttering curses under my breath. “Rancour,” I snap, forcing my voice steady, “you got a regular compass on you?”

He blinks, his smirk faltering, but digs into his soaked coat until he pulls out a battered brass compass, scratched and weathered. He flips it open, showing me the needle wavering as it settles.

“We’re heading straight for the Sister Islands,” I say, piecing it together in my mind, two and two forming a bleak answer. “We’ll reach the Trial, alright. But so will the Marauders. That’s what’s going to happen, isn’t it?”

“Only one way to find out, right? We hang on!” he screams.

I hate that he’s right.

All we can do now is pray we reach the Sister Islands first, finish the Trial, and somehow slip away before the Marauders catch up. Because a vengeful goddess is one thing—but Roche of the Crimson Marauders is another beast entirely.

Call me a fool, but of the two of them, there’s only one who’d flay me alive without blinking.

And this time, I’m not about to put a bullet through my head to avoid that. Not a chance.