I hate Markham for making a fool out of me yet again.
I hate that he ruined our plan to turn him in to the queen and set me free.
I hate that, no matter what I do—fight against him or fight with him—he scars me.
As the sunset washes brilliant yellows and oranges across the sky, Laverick joins me by the window. “I think I prefer the brig,” she says. “These silent clocks are eerie.”
The dead timepieces aren’t helping my mood. The pirates might as well have locked me in a tomb with corpses.
“I like your ticker, Evie.”
I perk up a little. “You do? I thought you were repulsed by it.”
“I was surprised, not repulsed. Why would I be? Everyone answers to time.” She sighs to herself. “I asked Jamison about it while we were in the brig. He told me what Prince Killian did to you when you were a little girl. I wish you had said something.”
My preference is still that no one besides my uncle knows about my clock heart, but that level of privacy is gone. “I’m sorry about this, and about Claret.”
“Do you know how we came to get our nicknames?” Laverick asks, smiling to herself. “Most people think it’s because I resemble a fox with my reddish hair and long nose, and Claret resembles a cat with her tapered eyes and fine grooming habits. But I earned my name because Vevina said I could sneak into a henhouse and steal the eggs right out from under the chickens without ruffling a feather. Claret earned her name because she’s like a cat with nine lives, always landing on her feet. No matter what happened to her on the streets, she could always maneuver her way out of getting caught. If anyone can outlast this place, it’s her.”
Claret truly has a respectable resiliency, and it’s charming just how much Laverick admires her friend.
“Can you keep a secret?” she asks more softly.
“Always.”
“Claret and I have grown closer since we left Dorestand. We’re close friends, but I want to become closer.”
Her meaning soaks in, and tears well in my eyes. “Oh, Laverick.”
“Well, creation,” she says. “I didn’t expect you to cry. Is it such an offensive thought?”
“Not at all! Now that I know how you feel, I’m even sadder Claret isn’t here with us.” Children of Madrona believe all love stems from the collective beauty of creation power. No one is whole without family, friendship, and love. Laverick falling in love with Claret should be celebrated the same as if she loved a man. “Why didn’t you tell me how you felt about her?”
“No one wants to tell their secrets to someone who won’t share theirs,” she answers, leaving me with no defense. “On the ship, Claret and I tried to spend time with you. We weren’t loitering outside your cabin to steal a glimpse of Radella. We were hoping you would let us in and introduce us to her.”
I wish I could go back in time to invite the Fox and the Cat into my cabin and be friendlier, but I would also take back Captain Redmond exposing my ticker to everyone. I have never offered my secrets willingly, because I couldn’t, and I’m not sorry for being careful.
“Do you think Claret wants to be closer to you too?” I ask.
“I haven’t told her how I feel yet, but I think she does. We had a moment before we left our world . . .”
“A kiss?” I ask, my gaze sliding to Jamison. I have not kissed him since I locked him belowdecks on the Cadeyrn of the Seas. I made the decision to abstain from kissing so we can more easily return to our old lives when the time comes.
“Claret and I were interrupted by crewmen,” Laverick says, “but it may have been for the best. Claret still relishes the life of a pickpocket, and she likes roving the seas with Vevina. I’ve been thinking about opening an ammunition shop outside Dorestand, a small place where I can tinker with my black-powder experiments, like how I rigged the cannon to shoot harpoons.” Laverick quiets even more. “But I cannot picture my life without Claret. There was a moment when we were separated in the Thornwoods. Just a few minutes, but it felt like forever. And now this . . . I took my time with her for granted. I would give anything for another chance.”
I slide another glance at Jamison. I couldn’t have known I was bringing him or my friends into a world with which Markham was familiar. Had I known, I would have never done it, but there is no second chance for this.
“Well,” Jamison says loudly, addressing the room, “we’ve wallowed long enough. Before we work together to form a plan, we need to decide what to do if—no, after—we get out of here. Obviously, we should prioritize the sword but keep an eye out for Claret.”
Laverick’s mouth bobs open and shut. “Obviously?”
Radella shoots in front of Jamison and wags her finger at him angrily.
“They have a point,” I answer, rubbing at my aching temples. “Markham wants us to follow him. That never ends well.”
Jamison raises his hands to the pixie in a bid for peace. She still scowls at him, so he collects parchment and ink from the workbench and then returns to the table. “Radella, why don’t you write down your thoughts on the matter?”
He extends the quill to her and she takes it, dipping the end in the ink and then brushing the tip across the paper.
Laverick folds her arms across her chest and stews. After our discussion, finding the sword seems much less urgent than looking for Claret, but I don’t see why we cannot do both.
“We’re not giving up on her,” I say.
Her frown lessens a little, just enough to let me know she believes I’m resolute, yet she’s still reluctant to agree to Jamison’s suggestion to put the sword first.
Radella finishes jotting down her formal complaint. She’s acting quite cowardly, considering Father Time sent her as his representative from the Everwoods. She finishes her note, and Jamison silently reads what I am certain is a contemptuous monologue. He patiently lays the letter down and soothes her in a gentle voice, his words too low to make out.
Radella stomps her feet and trills angrily.
He raises his voice over hers. “No one here asked you to leave the Everwoods and come with us. For that matter, none of us is forcing you to stay. You can fly away if you want, and we’ll do this without you.”
Radella zips up to his nose, and the little scamp kicks the end of it. Her booting him probably hurt no more than a flick of a finger, yet Jamison flinches. She dashes to the top of the grandfather clock and perches out of sight.
I leave Laverick and go to the table. Jamison hesitates a moment and then pulls out a chair for me. We sit together and watch the internal trickle of the sandglass.
“My father is fascinated by timepieces,” he says. “He’s a great admirer of your uncle’s work. His collection isn’t as eclectic as the captain’s, but he owns several hourglasses, and his favorite storybook tale is of the infinity sandglass.”
I haven’t heard this story in a long while. Setting my elbows on the table, I lean forward to listen.
“As the tale goes, the infinity sandglass is ancient, older than all the worlds combined. The glass vessel is made from the ash of a sun, the sand of a moon, and wood taken from the first-ever elderwood. Turning the sandglass ushers in the hours and keeps time across the seven worlds. The job belongs to Father Time’s helmsman. Like a helmsman in charge of flipping an hourglass on a ship, he keeps the worlds on schedule.”
“That would be a big responsibility,” I say.
“Immense,” Jamison answers. “My father would inspect every hourglass he came upon in hopes that it would be the infinity sandglass. I have always wondered how it would feel to hold the pulse of time in my grasp.” He opens his hand and flexes it shut. “I underestimated Killian. Now that I know he was banished by his family and lost someone he loved, I understand very well his desperation to make it right. He will make more reckless decisions to redeem himself.”
“The sword of Avelyn can stop him.” Of all the secrets I hold dear about my clock heart, this one Jamison should know, if only to help me figure out the
meaning. “Father Time said the sword will be Markham’s undoing.”
“Then we cannot leave this world without it.”
Across the way, Laverick nods in agreement. Though she isn’t as invested in finding Markham, she accepts that the sword cannot stay here. Even so, I feel guilty for uniting them in my cause and drawing them into more danger. I grip the base of the hourglass, seeking strength from time itself. “Maybe the three of you should look for Claret while I race Markham.”
“I’ve had a lot of time to think about your sword.” Jamison grabs the hourglass and drags it closer to us. “Before the sword of Avelyn was a blade, it was a star. After the star was broken, she could have faded away, but she fulfilled a new purpose and became the greatest sword in all the cosmos. I think Father Time asked you to retrieve the sword because the task would change you, change us, for the better.”
His confidence in me is more reassuring than he knows, but whenever I think of the permanency of my ticker, I’m torn. I want to believe that its life-sustaining power is for my own good. But if I’m whole with a clock for a heart, does that mean I’m whole without Jamison, without love?
His morning-sky-blue eyes bore into mine. “You’re not alone, Everley. We still have a chance to deliver Killian to the queen and purchase your freedom. I’m not giving up.”
“Neither am I.” Laverick smiles, a sincere albeit weak gesture of support. “And you never know. Maybe if I help you capture the prince and turn him in to the queen, she’ll pardon me and Claret too.”
I stop myself from launching across the cabin and grabbing her up in a hug. “I won’t let you down.”
“Now we just need Radella to come around,” Jamison says with a pointed glance in her direction. High up on the grandfather clock, the pixie flutters her wings in discord. “My only real concern is whether Everley is well enough to continue.”
My throat squeezes down on a swell of excuses. I wish I could tell Jamison, tell all my friends, what Father Time said about my clock heart and what my uncle did for me. But it is so unbelievable I don’t know where to start. “My clock heart is always a gamble. This is no different.” I remove the chisel from my back pocket and hold it up. “Let’s make some trouble.”
“Finally, something I’m good at.” Laverick hops to her feet and begins to case the cabin. “The lack of cannons and guns is a fair indicator that there isn’t any black powder on board, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make something else that goes boom.”
Liking her line of thinking, I leave Laverick to plot up something devious. Markham assumes the pirates have taken us out of the race, so he’s free to do whatever awfulness he intends next. He’s been in control since we arrived in this world, but we’re going to get what we’re after, and then we’re all going home.
Chapter Thirteen
We are ready for the pirates.
Though we assumed the captain would off-load us to a trader relatively quickly, it’s taking longer than expected. Besides bringing us meals, the crew has sequestered us in the cabin for two days. Osric hasn’t returned, and neither have the merrows. Their silence has been unnerving, as though they’re storing up their resources for something more nefarious. We have been on guard constantly, and the wait is wearing on us all.
Laverick is curled up on the bench by the window, her back to us, her attention on the sea. Radella came out of hiding once, just long enough to disappear our cups. Jamison called her an imp for her spitefulness. She stuck out her tongue at him and flew back to the top of the grandfather clock. When the time comes to escape, she better do what we planned or we’ll be in trouble.
Jamison and I sit on the bunk side by side, and he traces the lines of my palm. We have tried to fill our waiting time with less stressful topics and activities.
“This is your head line,” he says. “The head line is associated with your beliefs, attitudes about life, and self-control. Your line is straight and unbroken, which means you have a strong sense of justice and injustice.”
Palm reading is a parlor trick among nobility. The people hosting the party bring in an old woman who’s supposedly a hag, and she entertains them with mystical projections about their wisdom and destiny. My parents invited one into our home once, but I was too young to remember much. Jamison comes from a higher circle in society—my father was only a baron—so he undoubtedly has more experience with charlatans. I feel ridiculous paying attention to such nonsense, yet I cannot quell my interest.
“Your fate line is unusual,” he says. “You have one, when not many people do, and it’s strongly marked.”
My lips turn downward. “What does that mean?”
“It means you are strongly controlled by fate.”
“Does it say what my fate is? Perhaps something about Evermore?”
“I don’t know what that is.”
“Never mind. Go on.”
Jamison pulls my hand up to his face and inspects it closer. “This here is your heart line.”
“You don’t need to read that.” I try to yank my hand away, but he holds on tightly and will not let go.
“The heart line is the most important part of the palm reading. It indicates your romantic life and your emotional stability.” He traces the thick line that runs from one side of my palm to the other. “Look how strong it is. This is by far your longest and most identifiable line.”
“Which means . . . ?”
“You love with your whole being,” he says quietly. “It also means you are resilient. Regardless of what life thrusts upon you, you never give up on trying to set the world right.”
I squint hard at him. “Is that really how that line is interpreted?”
He kisses the center of my palm and grins. “Are you questioning me, darling dearest?”
“I wouldn’t dare, honeysuckle.” I turn his left hand over to analyze his own palm lines. “It’s my turn to read your lines.”
“Oh? All right, Lady Callahan. What does my heart line say?”
All I know about palm reading I just learned from him, but I ponder on his emotional stability, about him wanting to return to his father, make amends, and win back his life. He must miss his huge estates, his servants doting on him, and the grand social life of a noble, yet he never speaks of such matters. He seems more comfortable serving aboard a navy ship, working among the other crewmen, but for how long? He joined the navy to escape his father, and now all he speaks about is going home.
“Everley?”
“I’m getting to it.” I squint at his hand, pretending to divine his fortune. “Your line curves upward toward your index finger, which implies that your heart will change many times in your life, but the line is strong, so you will withstand any loss you endure.”
He gazes into my eyes for so long I almost forget what we are talking about. “You have a talent for palm reading,” he remarks at last.
“Are you saying I have a future doing parlor tricks?”
He laughs, and I am certain there isn’t any better sound.
Laverick straightens and leans closer to the window. Radella flies over to look out the glass as well. Her wings flutter excitedly. We join them to see what has garnered their attention. The ship is sailing by a rocky spit. The sliver of land looks like a tail sticking out in the middle of the water and is made up of boulders all piled together. I see no vegetation, except, at the farthest point, there stands a single gnarled tree, its splayed branches barren of leaves or acorns or berries. A body hangs by a noose from a crooked bough, its bare feet dangling. Scales adorn its chest and a sack covers its head, the shape of which is too large to be human.
“It’s a finperson,” says Jamison.
“I wonder who strung him up?” Laverick asks dimly.
I wonder what he did to get here. Back home, Dorestand’s execution yard is in a quad between the prison and the courthouse. My uncle and I would pass by it on our way to the lumberyard. On days of scheduled hangings or burnings, we took the long route to the yard to evade the c
rowds from the queen’s self-made Progressive Ministry gathering to witness the deaths of those convicted for worshipping Mother Madrona. What crimes merit execution in this world?
We sail past the hanging tree, our path parallel to the skinny crag of rocks. The land builds in height to sheer limestone cliffs, and low sandy beaches stretch in the path of the treacherous tides. No other foliage grows alongside the rocky cliffs besides sparse clumps of crabgrass. The single tree at the end of the spit endured the winds and tides and saltwater spray, as though it’s there exclusively for hangings.
According to the world map I saw in the captain’s quarters, we are traveling alongside Hangman’s Spit, sailing up the coast to Merrow Lagoon. East of the lagoon is Skull Reef, and directly out from the reef, far below the surface, lies Everblue.
We stay at the window, mesmerized as the terrain transitions again to sloping hills of loose dirt and scrubby seagrass. The ship approaches a large stone structure with an open top for a fire signal, and past it, we receive our first glimpse of Merrow Lagoon and the continent’s only village, Eventide.
Eventide is nestled between the hills and cliffs at the base of an ashen mountain. A path winds up the side of the mountain to a structure of sorts, like a lookout. Along the bowl-shaped bay are clay buildings with terra-cotta tile roofs. The rock faces are white with a pearly sheen, and the shallower water of the lagoon gleams pale indigo. Docks extend into the waterway, where smaller watercraft are moored.
Cries carry in from outside as the crew lowers the anchor. The four of us scramble to our stations and wait.
The afternoon gives way to evening, but the pirates do not come for us. Eventually, Jamison leaves his position by the door to pass out supper. Laverick gnaws on a strip of seaweed, while Radella watches out the window as the lights of the village twinkle to life just ahead of the stars. Her little wings droop again. She could fly off without us, but for all her haranguing, she will stay.
Into the Hourglass Page 13