43. Gypsy

43

Gypsy

I jolt awake to a sound that thrums through me—a deep, haunting call that could only belong to that beast of a whale. My eyes fly open, and before I can even draw a breath, the ship shudders violently beneath me, creaking like it’s about to split apart. The planks tremble under me, rattling everything down to the nails. A sharp crack cuts through the air, followed by a crash somewhere in the hull.

And then… nothing. Just an unsettling, hollow silence.

I don’t waste a heartbeat. I pull at the lines of my hammock, my fingers quick as I untie myself and swing to my feet, trying to steady myself on the boards, strewn with tangled limbs and puddles of seawater.

Before the others can even grunt themselves awake, I’m already heading up the ladder.

My heart thumps in my chest as the damp air of the crew quarters gives way to the sharp bite of the ocean breeze near the hatch. I haul myself up, and the deck sprawls before me, wood bent in more places than I can count, with pools of water reflecting the darkening sky.

It’s evening already.

The sun’s slipping down, splashing pink clouds across the horizon, while a thick mist hangs over the waters, casting everything in a silver-pink glow. If I didn’t think this might be the last sight I’d see before something swallows me whole, I might appreciate its beauty.

But no. I can’t stop and stare when bile rises in my throat from sheer fear of the beast that’s been pulling us for an entire day. Where is it? The thought of it lurking out there, hidden in the fog, makes my blood run cold.

I scan the water, bracing for the worst. But as I make my way toward the bow, where most of the ropes had been fastened, I see them now hanging loose.

I barely breathe, squinting into the mist, searching for any ripple or shadow that might betray its presence. But the water is calm, soft waves moving in the sea, too weak to even sway our ship.

That thing is gone.

I turn on my heel, run to the hatch, and shout into it, “Oi! Wake your sorry asses! We’re here!”

There’s a groan from below, followed by the muffled sounds of cursing and bodies shuffling. Footsteps pound up the ladder as the crew drags themselves up one by one, eyes wide despite just having slept.

Fabien’s head appears first, his face hard and pale. He catches my eye, then looks past me, scanning the mist with an intensity that tells me he feels the same chill I did.

“What happened?” he asks, his voice rougher than usual, like he hasn’t had water in days.

“It let go.” I gesture at the slack lines, the empty water around us. “The beast—it’s gone.”

He sucks in a breath, but there’s no relief in his eyes. Only wariness. “So we’re here?”

“Looks like it.” I nod, though I barely believe it myself.

First, we get the impossible task of reaching the Sister Islands in two days, then the Marauders find us on open waters, and then… we survive being pulled by a giant whale.

Kali and Silver would piss themselves if they heard about this.

When this is all over, I need to make sure the bard spins a tale so that my name will be remembered not only in the Whisperwind Sea but across all seas.

The rest of the crew stumbles out, each one wearing a look somewhere between awe and dread as they take in the misty horizon. No one says it, but we’re all thinking the same thing: this is not over yet.

Zayan and Vini clamber up last, the first looking like he won’t quickly get over the fact that Roche nearly caught up to him, while the latter gazes up with sad, weary eyes.

“Head up, V,” I tell him, offering him a hand to steady himself on the deck. He takes it. “We’re not dead yet.”

Zayan, already eyeing the mist, mutters, “Uh-uh. Yet.”

The crew gathers around, forming a loose circle as we all look out over the still water below the bow. It’s quiet, so quiet that the creaks of the ship and the occasional slap of a wave against the hull sound like cannon fire.

Fabien, standing tall among us, breaks the silence, his voice low and serious. “Help me haul the net up. I want to see the artifact.”

Zayan is the first one to react, his jaw tightening as he heads over to the net, fingers flexing around the ropes. He nods at me as I join him, and together, we pull the net up from the depths.

“I don’t see it anywhere,” Zayan mutters, his eyes narrowing.

With a final tug, we manage to hoist the net up, dripping seawater across the deck.

At first, I think it’s gone completely. But then, my stomach drops as I catch sight of the splintered shards. The artifact isn’t in one piece anymore; it’s broken, split clean down the middle, shattered right where the rune was carved.

I let out a low chuckle, the kind with no humor. “Guess that shaman wasn’t full of shit after all.” I glance at Rancour. “Looks like the artifact really did only work once.”

Fabien scowls, kneeling over the wet, tangled net to pry the two pieces apart. “Well, at least some of them aren’t lying bastards,” he mutters. “Or we’d be nothing but a memory by tomorrow.”

I don’t need to ask who he’s really talking about—it’s not the Marauders. A sea battle, we could handle. Sure, we’d bleed, break bones, maybe lose a few, or the ship, but we’d stand a chance at seeing the next sunrise. No, what he’s talking about is the Lady. She’d make sure we all drown after the mark of two days passed if we didn’t reach the Sister Islands. Might even send another monster after us, just to prove her damn point.

“So we’ve got a whole day to work this out, yeah?” I ask, running a hand through my hair and pacing, trying to shove down the creeping worry rising in my chest.

Fabien’s gaze doesn’t leave the splintered artifact as he mutters, “I guess,” he mutters, voice low. “Assuming she doesn’t go back on her word.”

The thought sends a shiver down my spine. Could she? Make us jump through all her hoops, solve her riddles, only to turn her back on her own rules and drown us anyway? My gaze shifts over the mist-choked waters, trying to spot any sign of land. Out there, somewhere in that rolling fog, the Sister Islands are supposed to be waiting for us. But the mist clings tight, thick as wool, swallowing the horizon so the sea and sky bleed together in one endless blur.

I don’t see a damn thing.

“Ridley,” I say, turning sharply. “You got a spyglass on you? I need to know if we’re actually close or just drifting around like fools.”

Ridley pats his coat before pulling out a battered spyglass. He unfolds it, and I snatch it from his hand, lifting it to my eye, trying to see through the thick mist.

The spyglass only sharpens the fog, barely worth the trouble. But then, after a second of straining, I catch what I’m looking for: two faint shapes. One’s flat and bare; the other, rough and reaching, tree canopies clawing at the sky. Sister Islands.

It has to be.

I lower the spyglass, a heavy breath slipping out. We’re close, though with this fog hanging like a bad omen, it’s hard to tell if it’s a mile away or just beyond our bow. Either way, not knowing our distance in these waters could turn deadly in a heartbeat.

Fabien is watching me, waiting. “Well?” he asks, his voice cutting through the muted quiet.

“Think I see them,” I say, handing him the spyglass. “But the mist… it’s thick as thieves, hiding every damn detail. Could be a hundred feet, could be a mile off.”

Fabien frowns and raises the glass to his own eye, but I can tell he’s squinting just as hard as I was. He lowers it, frustration set hard in his jaw.

“There’s still daylight left,” I say, thinking fast. “We could take one last look at the hourglass before the sun dips below the horizon. Just in case.”

“It’s pointless,” he replies. “The sun only reveals that damn taunt, nothing more.”

“Then let’s waste some time on it,” I say, crossing my arms. “Because if there’s even the slightest chance something’s different, I’d rather know now than be blindsided later.”

Fabien’s mouth pulls tight, but he doesn’t argue—just nods. He reaches inside his coat and carefully pulls out the hourglass. I’ve seen it before, but damn, it’s beautiful. Delicate, almost fragile-looking, it’s finer than anything I’ve laid eyes on—even that cursed compass, if I’m being honest.

He sets it on the deck, stepping back, and the crew follows his lead, eyes wide as they take it in. I can practically feel their breaths catch; they’re staring like they’ve never seen anything like it before. Not surprising—most of these men wouldn’t recognize an artifact if it bit them. Last time, they were too busy gripping the deck to notice the whalebone. And Fabien? Bet he guards his collection like a miser’s gold.

A hush falls over the deck, and a hint of a smirk tugs at my lips when I hear the murmurs ripple through the crew. A few even tug off their bandanas in some instinctive show of respect—for the goddess or the hourglass itself, who knows. And then, as the sunlight hits the glass, I catch it—just a flicker—that strange shimmer that turns their awe to outright shock. Some of them even stagger back, like they’ve been slapped by the force of it.

I don’t flinch; I just take it in, my pulse quickening. And, curse it all, it has changed.

“You’re near to the gate, but the hour’s not set.

Divide yourselves now, in pairs you must trek.

On islands afar lies something to find;

Only then shall the first trial unwind.”

“Would you look at that,” I mutter, lifting my eyebrows. “So there was something we’d miss.”

Fabien’s face hardens even more—if that’s even possible, considering he already looks like he’s carved from stone. But there he is, staring at the hourglass like it’s gone and betrayed him, his fists clenched so tight that his knuckles look ready to split. Part of me wonders if he’s actually going to punch the damn thing.

But of course, he doesn’t. Instead, his voice drops, lower and rougher, like he’s slipped back to that half-crazed state from the shipwreck island where we first crossed paths.

“Pairs?” he grits out. “Trek? Go to the islands?” He spits to the side, a murderous glint in his eye. “The Lady’s got us tangled up in her games again.”

“Of course it couldn’t be as simple as just reaching the damn X,” Vinicola mutters beside me. “I warned you.”

“You did,” Fabien replies, barely looking up.

But it doesn’t matter who said what; what matters is the timeline. The spot we need to reach, right between the two islands, isn’t moving. We still have to be there tomorrow, at dusk or dawn. If dusk…

“We need to move,” I say, cutting through their murmurs. “Split into pairs, quick. Each goes for whatever it is we need to retrieve from these islands. Ridley, how long until we’re expected back?”

Ridley’s fingers tap rhythmically as he calculates. “About twelve hours until dawn. Another twenty-four until the next dusk.”

I nod, that cold weight settling in my gut. “Then that’s the window.”

I look between Vini, Fabien, and Zayan, sizing up the challenge we’re about to throw ourselves into. The Lady’s meddling is clear enough—she gets her kicks watching us scrape and squirm, her tests designed to chip away at us until we’re barely holding on. And now? We’re closer to facing her Trial than ever. Like hell I’ll give her the satisfaction of hesitation, even if the thought of splitting up on those islands leaves a sour pit in my gut.

“Pairs,” I say, the plan forming before I’ve got time to second-guess it.

Zayan’s gaze locks onto mine, expectant, like he already knows where this is going—or at least where he wants it to. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to pair up with him too, keep him within reach, know exactly what’s happening to him every second. But there’s no room for that kind of thinking. Not now. Now I need to think like the captain of our crew.

“We’ve got two islands, both different as night and day.” I cast a quick look at the jungle-shrouded one and feel my skin prickle. “And if it’s all the same, I’d rather keep clear of one of them. Jungle’s a damn weakness of mine, and I’m not about to pretend otherwise. Vinicola?” I turn to the bard.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself, Miss Captain,” he says. “I’m with you on this.”

“Good.” I gesture at Zayan and Fabien. “That puts you two on jungle duty. Vini and I will handle the other.”

Zayan’s eyes narrow a fraction, but he doesn’t argue. His silence is answer enough.

Ridley, peering through the mist, gestures at the islands with a sharp nod. “The one with the high treetops—that’s Solis, the sun island. The flatter one, barely any trees—just rock and scrub—that’s Lune.”

I nod, gripping my pistols for reassurance. The open island may lack the cover of trees, but it could hold dangers of its own—hidden ravines, jagged rocks, and no place to hide if something decides to hunt us. But that’s a risk I’ll take over wrestling with the twisted jungle paths any day.

“Right, then. We go in, grab whatever The Lady’s hiding on those islands, and get back here before first light. No time to waste.”

Fabien grunts, a muscle twitching in his jaw, while Zayan’s gaze lingers on me, a glint of something—worry, perhaps—flashing in his eyes. But after a moment, he just inclines his head and turns toward the rowboats lashed to the ship’s side.

I motion for Vinicola to follow, and as we head toward the rowboats, he glances back at the crew standing on deck, a flicker of unease in his eyes. “You think they’ll be alright?” he mutters. “What if the Marauders catch them before we’re back?”

“They won’t,” I say flatly. “We’ve outpaced them so far, haven’t we? They’re a day behind, maybe more.”

What I don’t say is that we have no damned clue how long this Trial is going to take. Or that the Marauders sail with The Lady’s blessing, and they’re gunning for us like bloodhounds with a scent. They’ll close in eventually, like sharks circling the edge of a bleeding skiff.

Eventually .

Instead, I give him a half-smile and start rolling my shoulders, loosening up for whatever hell waits on those islands. He doesn’t need to hear the rest of it.

Because whatever’s coming, we’ll need every ounce of grit and sheer will just to make it back. No room for doubt.

And sure as hell, no room for fearing Marauders.