46. Gypsy

46

Gypsy

Some time later...

I haul myself up onto the deck, my entire body slick with sweat.

“Oi! Someone get down there and haul the bard up,” I shout, nodding toward Vinicola’s limp form, sprawled like deadweight in the skiff below. A few heads turn, and before long, Vinicola’s dragged aboard, his lanky frame slumped on the deck.

I straighten, taking a breath, aware of the crew’s stares pinning me down with questions. Sure enough, a knot of them hangs back near the wheel—Fabien and Zayan must’ve made it back.

Thank fuck.

“What happened to him?” someone in the group of men surrounding me asks. I turn to see it’s Rye, the man who declared he’d stay on the ship even after Fabien gave him permission for early departure. I follow his line of sight and glance at Vinicola’s unconscious body.

“He fainted,” I say, a half-smirk tugging at my lips. “Nothing serious.”

At least, that’s what I hope. Nothing serious… right? But with the mess that went down on that cursed, moonlit island, who the hell even knows? That place felt like someone had embedded a thousand fires into stone, twisting everything up until Vinicola lost his damn mind. And that bit with the fish scale…

I need to talk to Fabien and Zayan.

I’m about to turn around when I spot a familiar figure tearing across the deck, his usual swagger thrown to the wind. Zayan’s running straight for me, every step charged like he’s been waiting years for this moment—not just a few hours.

The crew is staring—gawking, even. But damn it, I feel a grin pull at my lips. For once, I let myself feel the relief of seeing him. We never could have done anything remotely similar before. Not out in the open.

Zayan reaches me, hands bracketing my face before I can get a word in, his forehead pressing to mine. For a single heartbeat, I let it happen. Just long enough to close my eyes and breathe him in, to let that feeling settle, of everything being alright again.

But then it’s over. I force myself to straighten, to steel myself anew. I’m still the captain here. I need to act like one.

“Miss me that much, Cagney?” I murmur as I pull back, smirking to cover the hint of softness.

His grin shifts into that cocky spark I know all too well, and he eases back, close enough to keep me tethered but just out of reach.

Zayan Cagney... looking like a smug idiot and soft as warm butter.

“More than you’d think,” he says, voice low and rough, curling tight in my chest. Part of me wants to grab him by the collar, drag him into some dark corner and steal another damn moment before the world tries to rip us apart again.

Because maybe, just maybe, I missed him too. Actually missed him. Craved him. The pull’s there—the regret that we didn’t steal a few more moments back when we had the chance. And now, with him here, knowing what’s ahead, it only sharpens.

I clear my throat, shoving him away before he sees any more than I want him to. “Alright, enough with the sappy nonsense,” I say, giving his shoulder a shove. “We’ve got work to do. Tell me we’re on time—it’s not too late, is it?”

“Aye, we’ve got time,” he says, still looking at me with that damn look that lingers. But then his eyes drift to Vinicola, sprawled out on the deck, and his grin fades. “Oi, Rancour!” he calls out. “Get over here.”

Fabien strides up, eyes flicking from Zayan to Vinicola, brow furrowing in that way he does when things get messy. His usual calm slips, just a second, as he takes in the bard, limp as a fish left to rot.

“What happened to him?” he asks.

I cross my arms, fighting back a snicker at how ridiculous this is going to sound. “Moonlight got to him,” I say dryly. “Saw things, heard voices… then passed out cold. I had to drag his ass across the island just to get him here.”

And it wasn’t a stroll, either. Felt like hauling cannonballs uphill, and with a cursed riddle gnawing at my head, no less. I don’t expect Zayan or Fabien to fully get it, but there’s a look in their eyes that says maybe they do.

“Well, that’s just grand,” Fabien mutters, shaking his head. “Ridley, give him some smelling salts, would you?”

Ridley, who happens to be just behind him, steps forward, digging out a pouch at his belt. He kneels beside Vinicola and waves a pinch of the sharp salts under his nose. Vini stirs, groaning, his face twisting as the scent hits. His eyes flutter open, dazed, and he blinks up at Ridley, confused as a newborn.

“What… where…?” he mumbles, gripping the deck like it might throw him overboard. When his eyes finally focus on me, he tries for a grin, but it falters as he sways, glassy-eyed.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, V,” I say, attempting to keep my tone light. “Not seeing ghosts anymore, are we?”

Vinicola squints, clearly trying to scrape his memories together. “Ghosts? Land of the living?”

“You really don’t remember?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

He rubs his temples, frowning. “Just bits and pieces. We were on that moon-blasted island… and we picked up the fish scale. But after that…”

Well, figures.

“You passed out cold,” I reply. But before he can ask a dozen more questions, I turn to Fabien and Zayan. “Captain’s quarters. Now.”

I stride toward the cabin, Zayan and Fabien falling in beside me, their steps as heavy as their silence. The crew watches as we pass, whispering among themselves, no doubt conjuring all kinds of tales about that cursed island. Let them. I’m not spilling the truth out here.

They’ve spent enough years under Fabien Rancour to be hardened, but I’m not about to spook them more than they already spook themselves in the dark. The things the goddess plays at with mortals? Not something to be handed out like bedtime stories. Not to anyone but those who need to know.

Once we reach the captain’s quarters, I shove the door open, and they file in without a word. To my surprise, Vini drags himself in, looking about as steady as a wet sack. Ridley mutters at him to lie down, but he shrugs it off, stumbling to the bed and sitting with his head hanging, thumb pressing at his temple. The poor bastard looks like he’s been trampled by the ship herself.

I feel about the same.

I cross my arms, giving Fabien and Zayan a long, hard look. “So,” I say, voice thick with sarcasm, “did you two also take a stroll through hell, or was that just our special treat?”

Fabien scoffs, but Zayan’s smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. Oh, they’ve got stories alright.

“Hell might be an understatement, love,” Zayan replies with a lazy drawl, his smirk widening as he leans against the wall, arms crossed.

“Burning alive would’ve been an improvement,” Fabien mutters. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small cloth bundle and unfurling it to reveal a fish scale, shimmering and sharp-edged. A match for the one tucked in my own pocket. I pull mine out, the two scales glinting in the dim light like twin pieces of the same beast.

“At least we all made it out alive,” I say, more to myself than anyone else.

Vinicola lifts his head, managing a pitiful glare. “Alive is a stretch,” he groans. “And it’d be nice if someone filled me in. Did you manage to drag us back to the skiff, or…?”

I don’t answer right away, swallowing the hard truth. “Not exactly.”

Vini’s brow furrows, somewhere between confusion and disbelief. “Then how in the name of the gods did we get here?”

Gods? I nearly laugh, but the sound dies in my throat. They had everything to do with it—if you count caging us in here as divine work. Maybe the Lady enjoyed watching us claw our way out like rats in a trap.

Zayan stands off to the side, his smirk falling. His eyes catch on the scratches along my arms—marks courtesy of Vinicola’s panicked thrashing. Fabien, slumped in a chair, frowns even deeper than usual, his gaze heavy.

For the first time since we crawled back to safety, I look at the three of them, really look. They’re a mess. Zayan, usually golden and sun-warmed, looks weathered, his skin dry and cracked like old driftwood. Fabien’s olive skin has a burn streak across his face, like he’s been roasted under a sun that never rose. And Vinicola… well, he looks like he’s been chewed up and spit out by the whole damn island.

Funny thing is, in his case, that’s probably true.

It hits me—we’ve all brushed up against something raw, something magical, and it’s left its mark. But there’s no point in dwelling on it. What’s done is done, and I’ve no patience for rehashing old wounds.

Instead, I answer Vini’s question, throwing out a bit of the truth for Ridley’s benefit too. “There was a riddle with the fish scale. Said the longer we held something tied to the moon, the more it’d rot our minds, send us all to madness.” I hold their gazes, one by one. “Vini got his hands on it first—he’d already been losing his head over a pebble from that cursed island. I figured, if he went too far, I’d pry it off him and deal with whatever madness came my way.”

A dry laugh escapes me. “Turns out the damn scale had other plans. It clung to Vinicola like it was his by birthright. Tried pulling it off him, twice—wouldn’t budge.” I look at Vini, who’s pale as a ghost. “So when the madness hit, it hit hard. He couldn’t even stand, slumped over like deadweight, mumbling gods-know-what.”

I pause, letting the silence stretch before I clear my throat. “I dragged you, deadweight and all, back toward the shore, aiming for the skiff.” I shake my head, a bitter grin tugging at my lips. “But when we got there… surprise, surprise—the boat was gone.”

Vinicola’s face drains, his eyes wide. “Gone? So… how did we…?”

“Well,” I mutter, throwing a glance at Fabien and Zayan, “took me longer than I’d care to admit to piece it all together. I reached the shore, pulled out the compass, and checked our heading. We’d come from the southeast, so that’s where I should’ve been. But instead? I was staring straight north. Nothing about it added up.”

I grit my teeth, shaking my head. “So I went at it again, dragging Vini’s dead weight and heading southeast. Couldn’t keep the compass out, not with my hands full. Just kept moving, praying I’d end up where I needed to be. But when I finally got there, that damned skiff was still missing.”

“Alright…” Vini says, eyes narrowed, a furrow creasing his forehead.

“At some point, I just felt plain stupid. Sat myself down, pulled out the compass, and stared at it. Then, right in my hand, the needle started spinning. Slow, but steady. Turned out the whole island was shifting under us. I had to get my bearings, figure out our path, and hunt down that skiff to get us out.”

Zayan lets out a low whistle. “A moving island, huh? That’s a new one.”

Fabien grunts, rubbing his temple. “Solis had a fake sun. Didn’t track time like the real one, but burned all the same. The longer we stayed, the more we lost our sense of time and our memories. Had to remember where the sun was when we arrived, then head the opposite way.”

Vinicola shudders. “Good that it’s over, then.”

I raise an eyebrow, skeptical. “Maybe. But I wouldn’t be so sure…” I say, shifting my gaze to Ridley. “How much time until… well, the first moment the sun touches the horizon from now?”

“An hour,” Ridley replies.

“Right. We’d better be ready, then.”

And with that, we get to work. The First Trial won’t pass itself alone.

An hour later, we’re packed tight in one skiff, drifting between the two hellish islands. The sun is just about to break the horizon, and the sky’s turning fierce, bleeding into a harsher shade of blue with the first hint of light. The water around us looks still, but it doesn’t feel right. There’s something lurking beneath the surface—waiting, holding its breath. Even the air feels wrong: thick, sharp, like a blade held to your throat.

Unforgiving . That’s what it feels like out here. Whatever’s brewing beneath the surface, it will be merciless.

“Here we go again,” Zayan mutters, his voice barely cutting through the stillness. The light catches on the edge of Solis to my right, while on the left, the moon hangs, stubborn and unnaturally bright.

“Keep your hands inside,” I warn, glancing around. I don’t know what’s out there, but I’m not about to tempt it. The quiet feels like an invitation to some hell we haven’t seen yet. And we’ve seen our own share by now.

Vinicola huddles beside me, his eyes darting from the horizon to the water. “Shouldn’t we… I don’t know, do something?”

Fabien snorts, his tone dripping with bitterness. “We do what she wants us to do.”

The goddess.

I nod, my voice flat. “We wait.”

Then it hits—a tremor, low and deep, rattling the skiff under us. My fingers tighten around my pistol’s grip, even though I know damn well it won’t do a thing against what’s coming. To the right, sunlight catches on Solis’ rocks; to the left, the moon glares down over the other isle. The beams clash in a flash of blinding light, piercing the water just a cannon shot away.

The sea starts churning, twisting on itself. The hum that follows is so deep it feels like it’s coming from my bones. It feels like something’s clawing its way up from the deep, scraping its way up to the surface.

I grit my teeth, fingers clamped around the pistol, knowing damn well it’s useless.

And then, ahead of us, the water shudders, and a pillar—dark and gleaming—begins to rise.

Ahead of us, the surface shudders, and a pillar—dark, slick—begins to emerge. But then something strange happens. I blink, half-expecting the pillar to keep climbing, but instead, the water around us starts pulling back. Not fast, but enough to notice. The swirling water peels away, leaving behind jagged rocks, coral skeletons, dark patches of sand—things that should be buried far below.

“What in the bloody depths…” I murmur, watching the sea itself drain away, revealing more of the seabed with every second.

Fabien leans forward, frowning. “It’s not rising, is it?”

“No… it’s the sea. It’s dropping,” Zayan says.

Realization hits like a punch to the gut.

“Shit,” I snap. “Take the oars, head for that pillar! Look—there’s a gouge in the stone! We need to reach it before the water’s gone, or we’re stranded.”

A gouge that we have to manage to reach before the sea level drops low enough we won’t be able to.

Fabien and Zayan dive into action, seizing the oars and driving them into the lowering sea, forcing the skiff forward. I grip the side, fingers whitening as I watch the water recede, exposing more rock with every passing second. And ahead, that gleaming pillar looms taller by the moment.

“Faster!” I shout, urging them on. The skiff surges forward, Zayan and Fabien rowing in rough rhythm, their breath coming hard.

“Almost there!” Zayan calls, casting a quick, fierce glance over his shoulder.

The pillar is just within reach now, its surface etched with three openings—one horizontal slot in the front, two smaller round ones on either side. But with the sea draining so fast, there’s only a slim window for us to figure out their purpose.

“The scales,” I breathe. “They’re connected to this.”

Vinicola fumbles through his pockets, pulling out a shimmering scale from the moonlit island, and Fabien does the same, taking his own scale from his coat. Zayan grabs them and presses each one into the circular openings.

But that leaves the front slot.

Fabien digs into his pouch and pulls out an hourglass. “It fits here,” he says, staring at it. He lines it up, and as he brings the hourglass toward the slot, the sunlight and moonlight catch the glass, bouncing wildly across the stone.

It doesn’t sit in the slot the way it should; the angle of the light keeps slipping.

“Something’s off,” Zayan mutters, jaw clenched.

“Let me see it.” I hold out my hand, and Fabien passes the hourglass over without a word.

I don’t have time to waste. The tide’s rising, and we’re stretching higher in the boat with every minute. I shift to my knees, then stand to reach the gouge as Zayan grabs my legs, steadying me against the lurch of the boat.

Flipping the hourglass, I run my fingers along the edges, feeling for anything the others might’ve missed. Then I feel it—tiny, recessed compartments, barely noticeable. “Wait,” I murmur, prying one open. Inside is just enough space for the scales. Clever little death trap.

No way Fabien overlooked this. They couldn’t have been here before. But fuck this. Now isn’t the time to wonder. Without a second’s hesitation, I press the scales into each compartment until they click, melding with the glass like they were never separate pieces.

As I lift the hourglass back up, the light cuts through it perfectly this time, a single beam piercing the darkness and streaming down into the pillar.

Another deep, resonant hum echoes through the air, vibrating up from the depths.

“Hold on tight,” I say, barely above a whisper.

The water drains faster than I can brace for, and the seabed jolts up beneath us, rough enough to knock the curse right out of me. My hand grips Zayan’s shoulder, steadying myself before I can go sprawling.

“Look at that…” Vinicola breathes out, pointing at something up ahead.

Where the water once shielded it, a vast, dark rift gapes open in the seabed—a cave entrance with jagged, raw edges, untouched by the usual smooth lines of a cave wall. Above it, a faintly glowing carving, the same mark I’ve seen etched into that whalebone before.

“The mark of The Lady,” I say, my voice tight. “That’s where we’re headed.”

Without a second thought, I step off the skiff, boots hitting the seabed with a crunch. Zayan, Vinicola, and Fabien follow, a beat behind me.

There’s maybe two, three cannon shots’ distance between us and the cave. We press on, picking our way over patches of dead coral, bleached bones, and what’s left of sea creatures, all splayed out like offerings to whatever divine thing lies here. Every step crunches or squelches—anemones waving in thin pockets of water, small fish flopping in the pools, desperate as the sea retreats, taking their last breaths with it.

Fabien curses under his breath, yanking his foot from a tangle of seaweed. Zayan grips Vinicola’s shoulder, half-hauling him along, while I keep my eyes locked on that damned cave.

It’s… too calm. The kind of calm that leaves your gut twisted. And then I hear it—a low, distant roar, the kind that makes your blood go cold.

A wave.

I whip around just to see a monstrous wall of water, towering and dark, racing to reclaim the seabed with a fury that doesn’t care who or what’s in its way. It’s coming fast, too fast, curling high and hungry.

“Run!” I shout.

We bolt, stumbling and half-falling over the rough seabed as we scramble forward. There’s no smooth escape, no graceful dash—just frantic, desperate movement. Zayan pulls Vinicola forward, and Fabien and I push forward, breaths coming in sharp, panicked bursts. The roar is deafening now, the ground vibrating under the wave’s crushing shadow.

We reach the mouth of the cave, and I throw myself inside, hitting the stone floor hard.

But it’s far from over. If that wave crashes, it’ll flood this cave and trap us inside. The force of it…

I push myself up, every instinct screaming. There is no time for fear. Only survival.

“We keep moving!” My voice is rough, every nerve bracing for the crush of water that could grind my bones into sea sludge. The wave’s not a maybe—it’s a goddamn certainty if we don’t get out of here.

“But how? Where?” Vinicola cries, wide-eyed and pale. “It’s a dead end!”

I grit my teeth, palms against the stone, feeling the rough, jagged walls. Then—just barely—I catch it: a faint draft, brushing past my fingers. I look up, squinting, and see it—a narrow opening way up, hidden in shadow. Small, tight, but our only shot.

“There,” I shout, pointing. “We climb. It’s that or drown.”

Zayan and Fabien glance up, eyes narrowing, measuring the distance and risk without a word. And just like that, we scramble forward, fingers and boots digging into the rock as we start to climb. The wall is rough, covered in razor-sharp edges that bite into my palms, but I grit my teeth and keep going, feeling each jagged cut open with every inch I gain. Behind us, the roar of the wave grows louder, an all-consuming growl that makes the stone tremble under our grip.

“Keep going!” I shout, voice lost under its thunder.

The tests are bound to make us curse our lives. She wants that.

Zayan’s ahead, moving with relentless speed, every flex of muscle finding footholds I barely see before he’s passed them. Fabien follows behind, breathing heavy but steady, his gaze locked on the top, while Vinicola, sweating and panting, pushes himself upward with a tenacity that surprises me. He’s barely hanging on, yet he’s still there.

The wave’s roar builds, vibrating through the stone, and my muscles scream, but I force myself to climb faster, fingers raw and stinging as I grip narrow ledges.

Zayan’s first to reach the top, swinging himself into the narrow passageway, vanishing inside. I glance back, seeing Fabien gesturing to Vinicola to go next, and then it’s just me and him, clinging to the wall.

“Come on, Captain!” Fabien shouts, reaching his hand toward me. His grip is unshakable as stone itself. He waits for me like he’s not the one racing against the clock here.

I look at him, then up at the hole. It’s too damn tight for someone built like Fabien. So that’s why he’s waiting…

“Get your arse in there, Rancour,” I bark, hoping it sounds like an order. The trouble is, I know damn well he’s Fabien Rancour. Man like him doesn’t take orders—not from anyone in a crisis, not even me.

“We’re out of time,” he bites back, his jaw clenched.

Damn it.

I shove past him, hauling myself up and wedging into the opening. It’s narrow, painfully so, the stone scraping my shoulders and hips, pressing close from every angle. I grit my teeth and drag myself forward, inch by inch, scraping myself raw.

Finally, I break through, tumbling out onto smooth stone sloping down like a slick, hard slide. Below, Vinicola and Zayan are pacing, scanning for a way out.

It’s not the end of this goddamned cave.

“Where’s Rancour?” Zayan asks, glancing up. I say nothing, just staring back at the narrow passage. My gut knots as I wait.

A tense second drags into two, three, and then—finally—a rough hand grabs the edge, followed by Fabien’s fierce, determined face. He hauls himself through, landing beside me, his breathing ragged, a flush of irritation mixed with relief on his face.

“Tighter than a dead man’s arsehole in there,” he mutters, wiping his brow before shooting us all a glare. “What’re you all staring at? Move, for fuck’s sake!”

Right. Moving. Except… move where?

I glance around, pulse still hammering in my ears. This damn tunnel’s led us here—into a hollow stone chamber that dead-ends at a wall so smooth, it might as well be polished glass. Not a foothold, not a rope, not even a crack. Nothing to get us out.

We’re trapped. Completely, royally, fucking trapped.

The four of us stand there, chests heaving as the reality hits. The only way up is through that towering, merciless passage, and it offers no handholds, no ledges. Just the promise of a slow, agonizing death if we wait around.

Fabien’s eyes are darting over the walls, desperate to spot some hidden way out that I already know doesn’t exist. Beside me, Vinicola sways, pale as the moon itself, his breaths shallow and ragged. “Could we, I don’t know… try climbing this?” he stammers.

“Climb it?” Zayan cuts in dryly. “Maybe if you had wings. Got any?”

There’s a beat of silence, thick enough to choke on, and then I can hear the wave crashing. Feel it more like. The whole ground quakes. Moments later, a thin line of water trickles into the room from the narrow passage we’d just come through. My heart stops, then thuds painfully back to life.

“We need to do something. Now,” I snap. “This place is going to flood, fast.”

Zayan’s eyes flicker with mine. “Oh, fuck.”

“Everyone, get as high up as you can. Move!”

But there’s nowhere to go. The water trickle becomes a stream, then a cold surge rising past our ankles, icy enough to cut through my fears and dreams. I grit my teeth, feeling the bite of it as it climbs.

“We don’t have a choice,” Fabien mutters, his voice forced and low. “We wait until the chamber fills, then hope it carries us high enough to get air.”

Hope? It’s a bitter joke, but right now, it’s all we’ve got.

Hope .

I swallow, the bitter taste of reality sinking in. The water’s up to our knees, swirling faster, creeping higher. Soon, we’ll either float to that unreachable top—or go down, lungs bursting, bones left to rot with whatever else the goddess decided wasn’t worth saving.

“Alright, listen up,” I say, forcing steel into my voice. “When it’s time, hold your breath and kick like hell. Stay close. If you start drifting, grab onto someone and don’t let go.”

Vinicola’s got that wide-eyed, panicked look that says he’s already halfway to giving up. But to his credit, he nods, clutching Zayan’s arm like it’s the only thing tethering him to the world. Zayan stands firm, jaw set, unflinching even now. I tighten my fists, nails digging into my palms until they hurt.

The water’s at our waists now. Cold and biting, surging up around us as we press back against the wall, trying to keep steady. I glance up at that dark tunnel.

What a way to go…

Gypsy Flint—drowned by the whims of a goddess, entombed at the bottom of the ocean alongside her lover and two misfits she picked up along the way.

My body would never be found. My bones would likely never get discovered.

“Alright,” I mutter, barely a whisper against the roar of water around us. “Come on, then. Fill us up.”

Because what else is there to do but spit in the face of death and dare it to come closer?

As if it heard me, the water surges up faster, hitting our chests, our shoulders. My pulse thunders in my ears, my heartbeat pounding hard enough I can almost hear it echoing back. Cold cuts to the bone, and I grit my teeth, pulling in one last breath as the water closes over us.

Darkness. Only darkness now, cold as iron.

I kick upward, lungs burning, my muscles straining as I fight against the pull of the deep. The pressure is brutal, wrapping tight around my ribs like a vice, squeezing till I feel my chest might burst.

And then—just then—my fingers break the surface. I gasp, dragging in air like it’s the first breath I’ve ever taken, choking as I pull myself onto something solid, rough, and real beneath me. The others drag themselves up too, coughing and sputtering, a miserable lot, but alive.

It’s only after we catch our breath, after we take in where we are, that I feel it. Whatever hell we just survived—it was only the beginning.

Because the real Trial? The real Trial starts now.