A Curse of Gold

by Annie Sullivan

  “Good,” I reply. Maybe it will distract him from everything else.

  “Ahem.” Someone clears their throat behind me. “Shouldn’t you be sweeping?”

  “Yes, Captain,” Phipps says. He ducks his head and keeps sweeping curls of wood into the ocean.

  I slowly turn to face Royce. Dark circles have taken up residence under his eyes, giving his cheeks a more hollow appearance despite the scruff starting to show.

  “Oh, Royce.” I relax against him—careful not to touch the gold on his jacket.

  “How’s Hettie?” he asks.

  “Physically, she’ll heal. But the things she said to me when I tried to ask how she’s really doing—”

  His grip tightens around me. “A parent’s death is never easy.”

  I nod numbly. I’d been so young when my mother died. I remember her as one remembers a ghost. She flits through my memories, but I don’t know what’s real and what’s not.

  I think about what Hettie said, about if my father had died while he and I weren’t on speaking terms. How would that affect me? I’d still be angry and sad. I’d weep for all the times we could’ve had together. All the things we couldn’t share. All the things I would have wanted to tell him.

  It must be similar with Hettie. She and her father weren’t on the best of terms. Yet, she had loved him, had done what she could to make him proud. And now she feels like she has no one.

  I have to work to change that, to show how wanted she is. I add that to the list of things I need to do to actually be a leader. And a friend.

  But I have immediate things to deal with. I pull back from Royce and stare into his eyes, which continue to hold so much warmth.

  “Who do you think sent the creature?” I say.

  “I think it was Triton,” he says.

  “Not Dionysus?”

  He shrugs. “Triton controls things of the sea, and he probably knows we’re coming. And there was nothing about that monster that suggested it was once human, like the Oracle said Dionysus’s creatures were.”

  I stare out at the waves, only their white peaks visible in the moonlight. “So do you think there’ll be more?”

  He doesn’t answer, and I swing my gaze back toward him. He shrugs. “I honestly don’t know. But we should be ready for anything at any time. I plan to give the crew more battle training as soon as I can and will have extra men stationed on lookout duty.”

  “How is the crew?” I ask.

  Royce clasps his arms behind his back. “Two are fighting for their lives. We should know more in the morning. One will lose a leg. The rest have cuts and bruises and a broken rib here or there.”

  I swallow.

  “It would’ve been worse if you hadn’t done what you did.” His shoulders soften and he takes my hand in his. “Are you sure you’re okay using your power this much?”

  “I have to be.” I shiver and wrap my arms around my chest as night air drifts in. It brings with it the icy feeling of absorbing gold. I hadn’t even hesitated this time to reach out to the gold. I don’t know if I should be proud or terrified. I’m too tired to decide.

  He nods ever so slightly. He’s worried—I can tell.

  I lean against the railing and stare down at the waves tossing their manes against the ship. Every time I blink, I think I see another golden eye in the water.

  I have no idea if Triton will send more monsters after us. Or what he’ll do when he finds out what I did to this one. If we had any chance of him helping us before, I may have just ruined it for good.

  Royce pulls me back to his chest and holds me there while he tilts his head down against mine and I stare down at the waves—frightened by what I’ll see.

  “At least we’ll finally get to see Jipper,” he says.

  “If Triton helps us,” I remind him.

  “We’ll make him help us, and then we’ll sail for the island of legends, where streams run clearer than any water you’ve ever seen.” He throws his arm out wide as if he’s envisioning the scene before him. “We’ll be revered among seafarers everywhere as the ones who found Jipper—the island most of the world wouldn’t even admit existed.”

  “Is that what you want?” I ask. “To be the greatest seafarer alive?”

  He shrugs, once again wrapping his arm around my waist. “What I want is to be wherever you are.” He kisses the side of my neck, sending a shiver through me. “Land or sea, everywhere is an adventure with you. And I want to spend a lifetime discovering every place with you.”

  “You might not feel the same after we actually discover what lives on Jipper.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he says. “Compared to the Island of Lost Souls, it could be a nice break. At least we know there won’t be any pirates.”

  I laugh. “I guess that’s one thing we can look forward to.”

  We fall into contented silence as the gentle rocking of the boat sways us back and forth. We stay that way until a gurgling sound slices through the night.

  Royce tenses at the noise. Then, all around us, the ocean heaves.

  We stumble apart to keep our balance as the ship sways and steadies.

  Royce rushes to the railing just as Rhat rushes up from below decks.

  “What was that?” he shouts.

  Men pour out from below, ready to face the new threat. Blades gleam in the moonlight while the men adjust their stances.

  Everyone waits as the noise continues to get closer.

  Braver sailors venture toward the railing, scanning the black waves for any sign of what’s coming.

  I search for a weapon, but I don’t see anything littering the deck. I’m about to run downstairs for one when Royce cries out.

  “There.” He points out into the darkness.

  Thick green tendrils race across the top of the waves. They weave and slither over, under, and atop one another, intertwining across the water.

  Snakes. Thousands of them.

  They wriggle over the top of the water at an unnatural speed as they head straight for the ship.

  “There’s more on this side,” Phipps calls out from the other side of the deck.

  “Swords at the ready,” Royce says. “Stay by the rails. Try to keep them from coming aboard. And prepare the cannons.”

  Men position themselves all around the railing while others rush off to get the cannons ready to fire.

  Cannonballs clink and powder floats through the air.

  But as the mass vaults forward, there’s something strange about it. They can’t possibly be snakes, or if they are, they’re the longest ones I’ve ever seen.

  I squint, trying to get a better look. Unending strands of green dip up and down at even intervals. Snakes don’t naturally move like that.

  As it gets closer, it becomes clear it’s not thousands of slithering reptiles. It’s endless strands of seaweed weaving over each other as they race to reach us.

  The ship sways violently as the plants encircle us, but they don’t rush up and over the edge like I expect them to. They wrap around the base of the ship instead.

  That’s when the cracking starts.

  The swirls of seaweed wind tighter and tighter around the ship. The hull’s boards groan and bow outward before snapping.

  The ship lurches downward. Swords clatter to the deck as men drop them to stay on their feet. The ship starts to tilt to the side as a long crack rips down the middle of the ship.

  The entire deck comes alive as men scream and scramble to leap away from the growing rupture.

  “The ship’s going to sink,” Royce yells. “Get to the longboats!”

  The words aren’t even out of his mouth before the seaweed tentacles find their way over the railing and go straight for the four longboats, wrapping them up and squeezing until more cracking signals their demise.

  “What are we going to do?” Rhat says.

  Royce’s eyes slide from his to mine. They scan around blankly. And I realize for the first time that Royce doesn’t have an answer.

>   Men scramble for the swords they dropped and are attacking the vines crawling across the deck, but the ship is nearly covered.

  “Go get Hettie,” I tell Rhat. “She’s asleep.”

  Rhat rushes off.

  I turn to Royce and the crew. “If we’re going to end up in the water, we need to be prepared as best as we can be. We should start ripping off doors—anything big enough to float on.”

  “Yes,” Royce nods, “and ropes to bind things together.”

  Just as he says the words, seaweed laces around his ankles. One minute he’s standing there, and the next, he’s gone.

  He disappears over the edge of the ship with a splash.

  I scream his name and rush toward the railing. That’s when I feel something slimy, wet, and cold clamp around my skin.

  Seaweed attaches itself to my foot like a leech. It twists its way over my ankles and up toward my calves.

  With a yank, I clatter to the deck, slip over the edge of the boat, and disappear into the water.

  The chill leaks into my bones and instantly shuts down my body.

  Bubbles swirl all around me. I fling my arms around and try to fight to the surface, but there’s nothing but seaweed in all directions. It curls around my arms and loops over my shoulders. It races to wrap me up just as the gold always did in my nightmares.

  My lungs shudder, and they begin to burn. My throat clenches together, begging me to open my mouth, to find air somewhere. Even my stomach begins to revolt, as if vomiting would at least force me to unseal my lips.

  The last of the bubbles escape from the corners of my mouth.

  My head pounds, and my eyes close.

  There’s a light in the distance. It’s the aura of the cursed gold back in the castle. It gleams invitingly—reminding me of everything I left behind, everything I have to protect.

  I force my eyes open.

  I refuse to give up.

  I give my arms one final thrash and kick as hard as I can.

  For a moment, I break through the surface. I gulp in air through the pieces of seaweed plastered to my face. Through the slits, I spy the ship in tatters. Its broken halves already dip below the waterline.

  No. No. No.

  “Hettie,” I scream. “Royce, where are you? Rhat? Phipps?” I can’t see anyone else in the water.

  I try to fight toward the wreckage, to find them, to find something we can float on, something that hasn’t been shattered. But the seaweed won’t let me through. My arms slap uselessly against it instead of propelling me through the waves.

  I spin around, trying again to find anything, anyone. The dark night presses in tighter around me. There’s no one there. Just me and the endless black sea.

  A familiar sensation flits through me as the seaweed tightens its grip on my ankles, wrenching me back under in a spray of bubbles.

  I fight and kick and pull at the green vines. But this time I’m pulled deeper faster and faster.

  My golden hair spiraling around above me is the last thing I see before the darkness of the sea swallows me whole.

  CHAPTER 11

  Painful light fills my vision as I open my eyes.

  I blink. I’m lying atop something coarse and uncomfortable while water gently laps at me from all sides.

  I sit up to see a hazy sunrise in the distance while maze-like corals spread out below me. Down the way, I spot another crumpled figure.

  Royce.

  I crawl across the rough coral and flip him over.

  He groans and opens his eyes. “Kora?”

  “Yes, I’m here,” I say.

  Groggily, he sits up. “And where exactly is ‘here’?”

  “I’m not sure.” I help pull him to his feet.

  We’re standing atop some sort of coral reef. Green, mossy-looking ones near the surface squelch under my feet, and fiery red corals jut out of the water like twisted antlers. Huge sea fans breathe up and down beneath the waves.

  Small fish swim around and through the holes in the reef.

  But as I turn, it’s what inside the circular reef that makes me stop cold.

  A watery palace shooting out of the surface of the ocean. Running water forms every wall, turning whatever lies behind it into shrouded shapes. Tall turrets stretch high into the air.

  The thick coral reef rings it in. Inside the reef, sharks swim in lazy circles. The small whisper of their fins breaking the surface at odd intervals is the only sound until someone behind me shouts, “I’m drowning! I’m drowning!”

  It’s Hettie. Her hair floats around her as she struggles at the surface.

  Cocoons of seaweed unravel all around her to reveal different crew members. Rhat is already rushing to pull Hettie from the surf as Phipps helps another injured man onto the coral.

  Lenny pops up next. He hooks his arm over the coral and pulls himself up.

  Phipps is there immediately. He pulls a bit of seaweed from Lenny’s hair and pats him on the shoulder. A look I can’t understand passes between them, but Phipps seems to relax slightly after seeing it.

  As soon as the last man arrives, we study the distance from the reef to the palace. The water that had seemed calm before appears to be growing darker by the minute. Or maybe it’s my imagination that the waves are getting closer and closer to our feet. Not to mention the sharks.

  “How do we get over there?” Hettie asks, cradling her arm as she eyes the palace. “Assuming we actually want to get over there.”

  “I’m not sure we have a choice,” Rhat replies.

  No sooner are the words out of his mouth than an arch forms in one of the watery walls. Water speeds around it without dripping into the opening. From the base of the gap water spouts up, forming a bridge between the palace and the reef. The bridge hardens, turning to ice.

  We all share a look.

  Rhat tests it with his foot. It creaks but holds his weight.

  He starts slowly across, gliding one foot in front of the other, and appears to never take his full weight from the ice.

  Royce tells the crew to wait on the coral while he and I follow.

  Despite her injured arm, Hettie charges up after us. I figure it’s better not to argue with her.

  Beneath the bridge, the sharks’ fins drag against the underside, sending ice chunks melting into the ocean. It sounds like claws digging into prey.

  I ignore the sound and concentrate on my footing and only release my breath once we’re all safely across.

  We enter through the gap in the wall and find ourselves in a high-ceilinged room. Other watery walls cut it off from other parts of the palace. Colored algae in deep reds and greens crisscross back and forth to form an intricate rug on the floor.

  Chairs made out of coral and seashells line the edge of a table made of driftwood. It’s more intricate and beautiful than the driftwood that ends up on the shores near the palace, and someone has painted scenes across it. Some show small yellow-and-orange fish swimming along. Others show palm trees guarding their beaches as waves wash ashore.

  Those aren’t the only paintings in the room. Seascapes are plastered all over the wall using what I can only assume are live starfish to anchor them in place. I lean in to get a closer look and jump back as a real stingray swims through one of the walls and disappears into the ceiling, showing off its gill slits as it swims above us.

  “Wow,” I whisper. I stop myself before I reach up toward it.

  Across the room, Hettie is sticking her hand in and out of the wall, marveling each time it comes back out.

  “Welcome,” a voice echoes across the room.

  I freeze, suddenly as cold as the floor of ice beneath us.

  Slowly, I turn. At the other end of the room is a tall man.

  He doesn’t look older than about twenty. He has high cheekbones balanced by full lips that pout forward slightly as though offering an open invitation to kiss them. His tan skin goes nicely with his dark hair, which is weighed down by a twisted coral crown.

  It can only be Tr
iton.

  He wears loose pants and no shirt. He saunters forward, showcasing the muscles of his sculpted abdomen.

  Hettie’s mouth drops open, but she quickly snaps it shut.

  It’s not hard to see why he was able to convince so many women to become his Temptresses. He has bright eyes that are balanced by a mischievous grin spreading across his face. There’s an air of mystery to him, something that hints at him knowing something you don’t, of having explored all of the places people long to go.

  A few months ago, I would’ve been drunk on that kind of charm. But Aris had that same air about him when he pretended to court me. He’d lured me in with all the places he’d seen. And I know how that ended up—lied to, hurt, and deceived into thinking he valued me, when he actually was working with Captain Skulls in hopes of harnessing my powers for his own means.

  I square my shoulders.

  “I’m Prince Triton, son of Poseidon, Prince of the Tides, Sovereign of the Sea, Commander of the Currents, more courageous than any sea creature,” he continues. He leans against one of the walls and smirks as he looks us over. His eyes linger on me, and one eyebrow shoots up inquisitively. His smirk seems to falter just a bit, but I’m too far away to know for sure. “I see you’ve invited yourselves in.”

  “There was an opening in the—”

  He holds up a hand, silencing me. “I allowed you to enter. Now we’ll see if you leave alive. Follow me.” Without waiting, he turns and heads into the room behind him.

  Royce’s eyes glance toward mine. I read the warning there. He and Rhat go first.

  I wish I had a sword, a dagger, anything. At least Royce has gold on his coat if I really need it.

  No footsteps sound as we walk across the room.

  The next room is even more magnificent. The ceiling soars farther upward. Another algae rug runs the length of the room until it ends at the foot of what can only be considered a throne.

  The throne gurgles upward out of the floor and is made from the same water as the walls. Jets of water spray up behind it to give it height and grandeur.

  It reminds me a little too much of the swan fountain back in the palace garden for my taste.

  Triton picks a small yellow fish out of one arm of the throne and tosses it through the wall before plopping down on the seat, reclining so that his feet hang over the other arm.