Noa played with her bracelet. The charms were all blue whales—Julian had bought it for her after they captured an island with a jewelry shop. She wondered how she would have convinced Mom to listen to her. Mom and Julian were a lot alike, though Julian was flightier than Mom, who had been about as flighty as a bag of rocks. But they had the same laugh, the same twinkle in their eyes, and they looked so much alike that on her sad days, the days Noa missed Mom the most, she found it hard to look at Julian.
Noa sprang to her feet. Several figures were making their way across the causeway that connected the two islands, one dragging a cart. Julian’s soldiers ran to intercept them. There was some gesturing and waving, and then, to Noa’s astonishment, the sound of laughter. The soldiers motioned for the strangers to come ashore. They unloaded their cart, accepted a purse from one of the soldiers, and then ambled back across the causeway.
Noa hurried over. “What in the thirteen seas is this?” she demanded, trying to sound coldly foreboding, the way Julian did when he was mad.
The soldiers turned from the sacks they had been hunching over, then snapped to attention. “Princess Noa,” said Matias, the closest one. “The villagers have been kind enough to sell us their best mangoes.”
He held out one of the sacks, revealing several dozen perfectly ripe fruits. The smell made Noa’s mouth water.
She forced her gaze back to Matias. “Villagers? What ‘village’ did they come from?”
“On the other side of the island,” Matias said, gesturing vaguely. “Said they noticed we were stuck and thought we might be hungry. Good thing they didn’t see what King Julian did to their fishermen, else they might not have been so hospitable.” The soldiers laughed heartily.
Noa pressed her fingers against her eyes. She forced herself to speak slowly and deliberately. “If any normal person saw Astrae on their shores, they’d run in the other direction, not come and give us fruit. People around here know Julian’s reputation.”
“Maybe they’re not normal. One of them did have quite the twitch.” He mimicked it, which got everybody laughing again. Clearly, the soldiers didn’t have high standards when it came to wit.
“And you didn’t bother to ask any questions?” Noa demanded. “What if those mangoes are poisoned?”
“Who’d try to poison King Julian?” one of the men said, looking bemused. Noa’s heart sank. Most of the people in Julian’s service thought he was invincible. Usually that was a good thing—it made them fiercely loyal, despite Julian’s tendency to toss people to Beauty when he lost his temper, or, on one memorable occasion, turn them into a tree. But Noa realized this also made it impossible for them to believe that a group of humble villagers would dream of attacking him.
“There’s nothing to fret about, Princess,” Matias said mildly. He handed her one of the fruits. “See? They’re just mangoes.”
The soldiers gathered up the sacks and moved away, leaving Noa alone at the water’s edge.
“You want me to do what?” Tomas said.
“Dissect it!” Noa thumped the mango down on the table for emphasis. “What’s so confusing about that?”
“The fact that it’s a mango,” Tomas said, “not a science experiment.”
Noa gave him such a glare that the boy hurriedly added, “But I can certainly do my best.”
Noa had gone straight to Tomas with the mango. He was a baker, after all—or at least, he was a baker’s son, and so should know his way around a suspicious fruit. Astrae’s village had few shops, and fewer still that had remained open after Julian turned the island into a traveling lair. While the islanders had supported the old queen, not everyone was thrilled with their new living situation, and some had set sail for more stationary shores. But Tomas’s father was a distant cousin of the Marchenas and fiercely loyal to Julian, and wouldn’t be likely to leave Astrae even if Julian launched it into the clouds.
“This is dumb,” Mite announced. She had met Noa on her way to the village, having been watching her from Julian’s tower. Noa should have known Mite would never pass up a visit to the bakery—her mouth was already smeared with sugar from the cookies Tomas’s father had plied her with. They were in the kitchen behind the shop, which was clean and cozy, with a clay floor and the black mouth of an oven taking up the entire back wall. It smelled faintly of octopus pie.
Noa ignored her sister. “Well?” she said to Tomas.
He shrugged. He brushed his hair off his forehead, streaking his dark skin with flour. Tomas was usually covered in flour. Only twelve, he’d decided that he was going to be a baker when he grew up, just like his father. He loved cookies and pies and bread so much that Noa suspected he might have flour in his veins, too. “I’ll try cutting it up, I guess. See if there’s anything strange about it. If not, well, it’ll make a nice tart, or a mousse with some lime and chili pepper . . .” Noa folded her arms, and he stopped talking and went to fetch a knife.
Mite let out a long sigh. Noa ignored that, too. She hadn’t spoken a word to Mite since leaving Julian’s tower.
Tomas peeled the mango and cut it into small pieces, and nothing strange happened. It looked and smelled like an ordinary mango, and in spite of herself, Noa’s mouth watered.
“Now what?” he asked.
Noa bit her lip. If the mango was enchanted, there should be some sort of flaw to it—an odd smell, perhaps, or a texture like sawdust. But she noticed nothing.
“Try cooking it, I guess,” she said. “Maybe the magic will leach out.”
Tomas’s face brightened. “Good idea! Have you tried my dad’s recipe for fried mango? Pairs beautifully with a nice sourdough.”
He tossed the pit into the corner of the kitchen. A white cat winked into view and snatched it up.
“That’s just Ghost,” Tomas said. “Don’t mind him—he eats everything. Here we go.” Humming, he lit the stove and plopped the mango into a frying pan with a generous pat of butter. “It’s not going to explode, is it?”
Noa sighed, sinking onto a chair. She felt stupid. Maybe Julian had been right not to trust her instincts. Maybe she was just a little girl with an overactive imagination.
“It’s probably not going to do anything,” she said. “I think I’m wasting your time.”
“That’s all right.” Tomas took up a rag and wiped his hands, only succeeding in smearing more flour on them. “If Julian wants me to cut up—er, dissect—an orchard of mangoes, I’d be happy to help.”
Noa winced. Tomas had an enormous crush on Julian, and while she hadn’t said this was her brother’s idea, she also hadn’t said it wasn’t.
“The truth is,” Noa began, “when I said the island might be in danger—well, Julian doesn’t actually agree.”
Tomas nodded. Sweet-smelling steam was rising off the pan. “That makes sense. I mean, even if the king’s navy is lurking on the other side of that island, Julian could take them. I wouldn’t want to watch that.” He shuddered, then darted a glance at Noa. “I don’t mean that I’m afraid of him. But he’s so powerful. And clever. And—”
“Please don’t go on,” Noa interrupted. She would rather cut off her own ears than listen to another person gush over how handsome or special or charming Julian was. For some reason, they all seemed to think this was something Noa would want to hear, or perhaps some thought she could put in a good word for them. She never did, of course—given how catastrophically Julian’s last romance had ended, she hoped he never kissed anyone again. Also, it was gross.
“I guess we’ll just go home,” Noa said. She headed for the door, but an odd clattering sound froze her in place. One of the heavy trays of bread had overturned, and the loaves lay strewn across the floor.
“Oh no,” Tomas moaned. “Dad’s going to kill me.”
Noa bent to help him gather them up. Mite screamed.
Noa whirled. An ugly row of red cuts bloomed on Mite’s leg. Before her crouched Ghost—or something that looked like Ghost. The cat’s eyes were all white, and his mouth seem
ed to have widened and grown extra teeth. As Noa watched in horror, Ghost’s hiss deepened into a guttural, unnatural roar. Mite scrambled to get out of the way, but before she could reach Noa’s side, the cat lunged.
4
Julian Almost Destroys the Island
Noa seized the nearest large object—a mound of bread dough proofing on the table—and hurled it at the cat. It connected with a wet thump, and the cat toppled over, while the dough fell to the floor with the imprint of a cat’s surprised face in it.
“Oh,” Tomas breathed, but he wasn’t looking at the cat. The pan of mango was emitting a rust-colored steam, which gave off a foul smell. Tomas extinguished the stove and tossed the pot, mango and all, into a sink filled with water. More steam erupted, but now it was clear.
Noa, Mite, and Tomas stared at each other.
“Ghost,” Tomas murmured, kneeling at the cat’s side. Unconscious, he looked like an ordinary cat again, but Tomas didn’t protest when Noa picked him up by the scruff and shut him in a closet.
“I have to get back to the castle,” she said. “I have to warn Julian. He’ll know how to undo the spell cast on those mangoes—whatever it was, it’s definitely dangerous. Tomas, you stay here and look after Mite. Have your father close the shop, and don’t let anyone in. By now, who knows how many people the soldiers have given mangoes to.”
“I’m not staying here,” Mite said, indignant. Noa opened her mouth to argue, but there came a series of shouts in the street outside the bakery, followed by several loud crashes, and then an ominous silence.
Noa swallowed. “All right, let’s go. Hurry.”
The three of them slipped out the back door. Rather than heading through the village, Noa led them up a narrow path through the hillside. Looking back at the village, she couldn’t at first see any signs of trouble, but then the wind stirred and she caught the smell of smoke.
“That’s the cobbler’s,” Tomas said, his face gray. Noa watched as flames spread from the shop at the edge of the village to the shed beside it. People ran helter-skelter along the streets, but she couldn’t make out what they were shouting.
“Come on,” she said.
The trail eventually petered out, and they had to fight their way through salt grass and prickly pear cacti. Mite, for once, didn’t insist on stopping to turn over rocks. Her face was blotchy, and she was blinking rapidly.
“We’ll be all right,” Noa said awkwardly. She didn’t know what to do when Mite was upset, because Mite didn’t get upset like other children. She got all quiet or went off and hid somewhere, like a cat with a stomachache. Besides, Julian was usually the one who handled Mite when she was like this, not Noa.
Tomas, meanwhile, was chattering away about magical poisons. He couldn’t speak any magical languages himself—most people couldn’t, as magic was about as common as left-handedness—but like many Floreans, his parents occasionally bought spells from magicians, or, these days, requested them from Julian.
“My mom’s sister had a healing spell go bad once,” he said. “Made her see things that weren’t there. Maybe this spell is something like that—you know, blood magic gone bad. If so, Julian’ll put it right. Isn’t blood magic his specialty?”
“Every magical language is his specialty,” Noa said. “He’s good at healing, but that looked more like magical possession, and I don’t know if there’s a cure for that.”
“There’s a lot of smoke,” Tomas said, panting now. The hillside was growing steeper, and they had to scrabble forward on hands and knees. “I hope the fire hasn’t spread to the harbor.”
A chill settled in Noa’s stomach. “I don’t think it’s coming from the village.”
They came to the brow of the hill. Before them was the beach and the row of outbuildings that held supplies for the castle, as well as a dock lined with colorful fishing boats and dinghies. Now many of the boats were adrift, and the end of the dock had sunk below the water, with broken boards tumbling in the waves. These were enormous, the breakers reaching at least six feet, pounding at the beach like angry fists, despite the clear sky and still air. Smoke poured from several of the castle windows.
“Where’s the island?” Mite asked.
With difficulty, Noa tore her gaze away from the castle. The mysterious island they had run into was gone, leaving no trace that it had ever been. In its place was a neat row of three royal warships, their enormous sails billowing in the wind.
They were flying the flag of King Xavier, and they were heading straight for Astrae.
“No,” Noa murmured. Suddenly she was back in her wardrobe again, watching assassins pace toward her bed. She was shivering in the bow of a fishing boat, as home slipped below the horizon. Then she was running, ignoring the cacti that prickled her sandaled feet. She fell once, but was up again quickly, flying down the familiar hillside like a goat. Mite followed close at her heels, while Tomas huffed and stumbled some distance behind them.
The mystery of the waves was quickly resolved. Up to her knees in water near the broken dock stood one of Julian’s salt mages, her hands raised as she screamed an incantation at the sea. The more she shouted, the higher the waves grew. The woman—Noa thought her name was Kearin—was drenched, her black hair a wild tangle around her face.
“What are you doing?” Noa shouted over the waves. “Did Julian—”
She faltered when the woman turned around. Her eyes were the same all white the cat’s had been, and her lips were drawn back from her teeth in a horrible grin.
Noa shoved Mite behind her. “Go!”
The mage lunged at them, still screaming in Salt, but she didn’t get far. A wave crashed over her, and a board from the broken dock struck the back of her head. She went limp, and the retreating wave drew her out to sea.
Mite’s eyes were wide with terror. Noa grabbed her hand and dragged her along the beach like a doll, her sandals flinging up clumps of wet sand. Tomas, catching up at last, shouted a warning. A man in a black cloak was racing toward them, and Noa, panicking, turned and wrenched Mite in the other direction.
But it was only Renne, out of breath, his eyes wild but still their usual brown. “You can’t be here— Not safe— Half the mages have gone mad—”
“We know,” Noa said. “Where’s Julian?”
Renne motioned to the castle. “I couldn’t get to him. There are a dozen mages in the foyer, attacking anything that moves.” Renne ran a hand through his hair. In that moment, he looked much younger than eighteen. “I came looking for reinforcements. Julian—”
“Can handle a dozen mages,” Noa cut in. “You need to get the island moving. The king’s warships will be within cannon range in minutes.”
Renne rubbed his hair again. “I—”
“Find Kell,” Noa ordered. “If she’s been poisoned, look for one of her mates. The most important thing is to get moving again. Do you understand? Xavier wants to throw us all into confusion, then swoop in and capture us.”
It was a mark of Renne’s distress that he actually listened to her. “All right. But Princess Noa, you and your sister must hide before—”
His cloak burst into flames. Noa leaped back, but before the flames could engulf him, Renne shouted a command, and a fierce wind put the fire out. Noa whirled. Lurching toward them with jerky strides were two more mages, their eyes white and their mouths stretched into grins. Renne seemed to master himself. He stepped neatly between the mages and the children and barked over his shoulder, “Run.”
They ran. Noa led them toward the castle. Though she might have seemed confident before, Noa was worried about Julian. It was entirely possible that he was engrossed in spellwork in his tower, oblivious to the chaos unfolding below. If so, and the corrupted mages took him by surprise—
Noa swallowed. She couldn’t let herself think like that. Julian would be fine. He’d found a way to slither out of King Xavier’s schemes to capture him in the past. He’d slither out of this, too.
The three of them dodged around an
unconscious mage lying motionless on the beach, the waves licking his feet. On the basalt shelf that jutted out into the sea below the castle, a corrupted mage was confronted by three other mages who seemed to be trying to force her into the sea. Despite their numbers, the uncorrupted mages seemed to be losing. The corrupted mage kept rearranging the stone beneath their feet. As Noa watched, one of them stumbled and fell into the surging water.
Noa, Mite, and Tomas thundered up the winding stair to the castle. Waves crashed against the cliffside, spraying them. Then Noa spotted a familiar black eye winking at her amid the froth.
“Beauty!” she shouted. “The island is under attack!”
“Is it?” The sea serpent lifted her head above the waves. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Noa dashed the seawater from her eyes. “You have to do something! You’re bigger than the king’s warships—could you coil around them, or—”
“Oh my.” The serpent cocked her head. “You want me to attack the royal fleet? Really, dear, what sort of lady do you think I am?”
“The sort of lady who swamped one of our fishing boats and swallowed the sailors whole,” Noa snapped. “Not to mention all those other ships that went missing in your old hunting grounds. Do you think I’m going to believe someone else was responsible?”
“I think,” Beauty said, “that you’re the wrong Marchena. You see, only your dear brother can command me. Alas, I don’t see him anywhere.”
Noa stared. “But you’re supposed to protect Astrae! That’s—that’s the whole point of you!”
“The point of me.” An uncharacteristically sharp note entered the serpent’s elegant voice. “I see. I have endured for over five hundred years, tasted the waters of all thirteen seas, seen the births and deaths of dozens of silly kings and queens who all, at one point or another, sought to destroy me, and will be alive to watch dozens more rise and fall, but now I understand that my entire existence can be reduced to my present servitude at the whims of the Marchenas.”
The Language of Ghosts Page 4