“The Magical Mysteries of Jipper and Other Islands,” I whisper before I can stop myself.
That book had been my link to the outside world. It described islands in such vivid detail that I could imagine I was there. It’s half the reason I wanted to sail the world.
“‘To those who cry that Jipper be nothing more than musings of drunk men and even drunker philosophers, I ask you, when did you last grasp the wind? When did you last hold the tide in your hands? I ask you, why can the sun rise and sink each day and not an island?’” he quotes the opening lines.
“‘For though the tides rise and fall, men say an island cannot. What fools men are,’” I continue. “I can’t believe you’ve read it before.”
We grin at each other in the dark.
“Do you really think Jipper exists?” I ask, remembering the last time I asked such a question.
He nods. “Every source I’ve found says that when the sun sets, the island disappears. I’ve always been more interested in what happens if you’re stuck on the island when the sun sets.”
“Some people think you die,” I say.
He actually laughs, and it’s a nice sound. “Maybe you die. Maybe you go wherever the island appears next. Who knows? Maybe after we take on the Temptresses, I’ll be feeling a little better about my luck and will sail there next to find out.”
“I’ve always wanted to see it,” I say. I rest my elbows on the railing and stare out at the waves.
“Then let’s go.” Royce matches my posture. Our elbows are nearly touching.
“Just like that?” I ask.
“After we get your father’s gold back, of course.” He turns slightly toward me, his face inches from mine.
The crash of endless waves echoes across the ocean as we stare at each other.
After a few heartbeats, Royce clears his throat and drops his gaze.
He pushes off the railing. “You seem to know it well, but just in case you want to read it again.” He hands me his copy of The Magical Mysteries of Jipper and Other Islands.
I can’t help but run my fingers over the cover. “Thank you,” I whisper.
He gazes down at me.
We’re standing so close.
Too close. It is too much like when Aris last kissed me. The rawness of the memory makes my breath catch in my throat.
“I should go check on Hettie,” I tell him, stepping away. “Good night,” I say over my shoulder as I head across the deck with the book.
“Good night,” Royce calls softly after me.
I catch one last glimpse of him staring up at the stars before I descend into the hallway.
I lean against the wall inside the door for a moment, letting the cool night breeze wash over me. Royce isn’t Aris, I tell myself. But in my mind, they’re so closely linked, especially since Aris pretended to be Royce in so many ways. It’s so hard to sort out what’s real and what’s fiction. But it’s even harder to like the qualities in Royce that I know are real because I once thought they belonged to Aris.
Because I once loved them in someone else.
CHAPTER 22
The next few days bleed together, though I can sense the cup growing closer and closer as we cut through the waves. The men must feel it in their own way too because I often spot them staring off into the distance. Sometimes they shiver. Sometimes they whisper to Triton, asking him for protection.
When I see their fear, I can’t help but wonder if we’re facing the Temptresses for nothing. What if the curse has already stolen my father from me? I contemplate sending a messenger pigeon to Uncle Pheus, but I don’t know if his response will arrive in time.
Then I remember I don’t need pigeons.
After a moment of concentration, I arrive in my ghostly state in the tower room. The golden table twinkles invitingly, but I turn toward the door, soon realizing no one has bothered to clean up the shards of wood on the floor. I hop over the mess and dash down the stairs into the hallway. I know I have to hurry while in this form to avoid ending up like I did after staying too long on Captain Skulls’s ship.
There’s a shriek to my left. I glance over my shoulder and see a maid has thrown the tray she was carrying into the air and has her skirts hiked around her knees, running in the other direction.
Half the staff already thinks of me as a ghost. What does it matter if the other half do?
I put the maid out of my mind and hurry toward my father’s room. His door is ajar, and I slip inside. A shaft of light from the hallway illuminates his sleeping form.
As I move closer, I watch my father’s chest rise and fall. His face is ashen, and despite the stubble staining his cheeks, they appear hollow.
He fidgets in his sleep and calls out my name. Then, with a start, he opens his eyes. Bright blue, but with flecks of gold. Have those metallic tones always been there?
When his eyes find mine, he says my name again and smiles, causing my heart to leap into my throat.
His eyes hold warmth. For me.
“I knew you’d come back to me.” His hand shakes as it drifts toward me. In that moment, I’m not a young woman, not a princess, but a child scared of the dark. And my father has finally come to chase the monsters away.
It’s not long before his eyes slide backward, and his hand falls back to his side.
But his reaction is what I needed. I know that he’s still in there. Somewhere. And I can still save him.
As I begin to reach out to the coin on the ship, a hinge squeak startles me. I turn and find my uncle in the doorway. His eyes go wide and he calls out to me, but I’m already pulling away. There’s too much to explain to Uncle Pheus right now, and I don’t want to have to answer for Hettie. Soon, we’ll all be able to return home and set things right.
I just need my father to hold on until I can bring all the gold back.
That’s the thought coursing through me when the ship stops on the fourth night after leaving the Island of Lost Souls.
Nothing creaks, nothing rocks, nothing breathes. Well, except Hettie, who’s snoring softly beside me.
I nudge her arm far more gently than any nudges she’s given me the past few nights. “We’ve stopped.”
“I wish you’d stop.” She rolls over to where she thinks I can’t reach and pulls a pillow over her head.
“Hettie, wake up. We’re there.”
“Oh, fine,” she says, “I’m awake.” She sits up and looks out the window. She seems distracted, and I know her thoughts must be on Rhat.
She doesn’t even complain as she pulls on the clothing Rhat found for her on board—loose trousers and a white shirt with the typical Kalakhosian trim design running down the sleeves and outlining the small area where silver cords crisscross over her collarbones.
She secures her pants with rope and has the shirt tucked far inside.
She’s managed to look like a put-together castaway. I can only imagine what I’m going to look like.
I pull on my own set of pants. The trousers are rough and about four sizes too big.
“Oh, here,” Hettie says, stalking over. She lashes a rope through the belt loops of the trousers and secures them with a complicated knot. She smiles to herself, pleased with her own handiwork.
“Rhat taught it to me,” she says when she sees I’m scrutinizing her.
The pants have an awkward gathering in the front, but at least they won’t be falling down. I pull on the shirt and tuck it in. It pools down to my knees. I roll up the long sleeves. As a final adjustment, I pull the silver cords tight, exposing less of my skin. I already feel exposed enough without a dress on, without layers of fabric between me and the world.
I pull on my sturdiest pair of gloves because I know what I’ll be encountering. Gold and lots of it.
But I’ve survived my other encounters. I can do this. I have to.
The silence is even heavier above deck. A bright moon casts a long trail across the still water. Few crew members are out, and those who are look warily at cliffs in th
e distance.
I just make out a channel running between two of those cliffs. From this distance, it looks like it’s paved with gold.
Waves crash between the high bluffs as they race to escape out the other end. The water in the passageway moves faster than anything else around it, as if even it’s frightened by what its depths conceal. This won’t be anything like swimming at the seashore I’d visited as a child.
Shallow golden pools line the edges of the channel, each one glowing unnaturally. The Temptresses’ treasures eerily glint, their glow ebbing right beneath the surface. No wonder men come to try their luck against the sirens. A fortune awaits any man who can overpower them.
I scrunch up my brow when I realize I haven’t seen one of the Temptresses. All the golden pools seem unguarded. No fierce warrior women with spears made of stones and coral wait to pounce on us the moment we near the rocks.
I take a deep breath and look away. Royce anxiously moves toward me.
“Is the longboat ready?” I ask. I know he had hoped we’d arrive while the sun was still out, but we both knew we couldn’t wait. My father needs every moment he can get.
“The men are preparing it now.”
Rhat and Hettie appear, walking closely together, their shoulders touching. They keep glancing at each other, but neither says anything.
“Kora,” Royce says, “get the boat as close to the cup as you can. Rhat will go down after it. He should be the only one going in that water.”
We all nod.
“We’ve taken certain precautions,” Royce continues as Rhat shoves bits of cloth into his ears. “Hopefully this will help guard against their voices.” He hands Hettie and me matching bits of cloth. “In case you’re not immune.”
I shove the cloths in my rope waistband as Phipps and a few others lower the longboat down the side of the ship.
Royce lowers his voice and stares out toward the rocks. “Should anything go wrong . . .” He pauses. That pause holds us all; no one wants to finish the thought. I take a deep breath. “Then come back to the ship,” he finishes. “We’ll regroup from here.”
We go silent. Each of us know who’s most likely not to return. I try to avoid looking at Rhat. I want to tell him that he doesn’t have to come. But since the cup is underwater, I can’t deny we’ll need him.
As we move toward the ladder leading down to the longboat, the other sailors form a line. Each one nods to Rhat, taking off their hats to the comrade they fear they’ll never see again, the comrade they wouldn’t trade places with for all the gold in the Temptresses’ lair.
Rhat ties a rope around his waist, knotting it securely.
“The other end’s attached to the longboat,” he explains, “so you can pull me up if you need to.”
Rhat pauses before Royce. They clasp each other on the shoulder.
“Be safe, my friend,” Royce says. The two share a long look that speaks to their friendship. Then, Rhat climbs down to the boat and helps Hettie do the same.
I move to follow, but Royce lightly touches my shoulder.
He pulls out a thin knife and presses the hilt into my hands.
“Rhat will be tied to the boat.” He won’t meet my gaze. “If he’s not going to make it up, cut the rope.”
I stare blankly at the knife then down to the boat where Rhat and Hettie sit next to each other.
“The Temptresses are supposed to be incredibly strong,” he continues, “stronger than ten men. If they get a hold of him, they’ll pull the boat down as well. None of you will make it back.” He clenches his jaw and looks away. “Rhat’s aware of what I’m asking you to do. He knew the risks when he volunteered.” Royce clears his throat. “I’m giving this to you because I don’t think Hettie could do it.”
I can’t process what he’s asking of me. The knife weighs down my hand despite its small size, and I look up to Royce and shake my head. I try to give him the knife back, but he refuses to take it.
“Rhat made me promise Hettie would make it back to the ship alive,” he says. “And I promised you I’d help get your father’s gold back.” He looks down at the knife. “I hope you don’t have to use it, but it might be the only way I get a chance at keeping those promises.” His eyes are pleading. I know it must be just as hard for him to ask this of me as it will be to actually carry it out.
I swallow and nod, not at all certain I will be able to use the blade.
“Thank you,” Royce says. His eyes hold me a moment. “Be safe.” He looks like he wants to say more, but doesn’t.
Slowly, I tuck the knife into my makeshift belt, and Royce helps me onto the ladder. The moment his hands are free, I can already see him reaching for the coin he keeps in his pocket. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s rubbed a hole clear through by the time we get back.
Hettie holds up a lantern to light my way as I descend. In addition to her lantern, four torches are lashed to the edges of the boat so we can see as much as possible.
I take my place at the other oar. Hettie sits sandwiched between Rhat and me, where her fingers clench and unclench the handle of the lantern. Royce was right about one thing: Hettie could never cut that rope.
We drift away and begin rowing.
The current picks up quickly, steering us toward the opening between the cliffs. The rocks speed toward us faster than they should, as though the water wants this over as quickly as we do. The closer we get, the faster it flows. Water sloshes into the boat, and I nervously glance back at the Swanflight. What if we don’t even make it to the Temptresses at all?
“Slow, slow,” Rhat shouts. He reaches over to stop me from rowing, but my oar is no longer in the water. Still, the boat hurtles ever closer to the rocks.
“We’re going too fast,” Hettie says. She grips Rhat’s arm, digging her fingernails in.
“Stick your paddle in and pull against the water,” Rhat tells me.
I do what he says, but it makes no difference. Jagged outcroppings of rocks look like teeth waiting to chew us up, and gold and silver treasures hidden under the water flash by. Some magic is drawing us closer, and soon the rocks rear up in front of us. The hull of the longboat twists as the waves catch hold of it, and we careen straight toward one of the cliffs. I slam my oar down in the water, forcing the water to pull against it. It has no effect. And the cliff looms ahead.
Hettie screams.
I shut my eyes, awaiting impact.
CHAPTER 23
Instead of the crash I’m expecting to hear, everything goes quiet.
Slowly, I open my eyes. The sea has gone still. Not a single ripple disturbs the water. Hettie gradually releases the grip she has on Rhat’s arm.
Something doesn’t feel right.
Shadows ripple around the golden treasures, but nothing else moves. I don’t see a single fish. Even they seem smart enough to stay away from here.
The boat stopped inches from one of the rock cliffs, and submerged at the cliff’s base I notice shallow ledges dotted with deeper pools, all lit by no source I can find. Each ledge and pool holds a feast of treasures. Strands of engorged pearls, bejeweled crowns, silver plates, and golden statues line the rocks. It’s the coins that draw my attention. Deeper in the water, between the ledges on either side, the coins create a solid layer that runs off farther into the dark water, like a golden stream.
Royce definitely wouldn’t have liked this place. I certainly don’t. I pretend my gloves feel slick from sea spray and not from my sweating palms.
I wouldn’t even have to get my elbows wet to reach some of the treasures closer to the boat. What happens if I touch the gold underwater?
I don’t want to think about it. I can’t afford to—I’m already terrified as it is.
Next to me, Hettie’s hand hovers over the water, right above a tiara covered in sapphires, ready to slip in and grab the point waiting right below the water line. I slap her hand away. “Don’t touch anything.”
Hettie winces and rubs her hand. “You didn’t have to hit me
. I wasn’t going to take it.”
Aside from our voices, the world around us remains unnervingly silent. I seek out the cup as quickly as I can and find it’s only a few feet ahead of me. Thankfully, light from one of the pools spills over so that I can just see it. It’s lying amongst a few golden platters and other items tossed atop the pathway of golden coins. It sparkles brighter than anything else around it, which is hard to do in a sea that literally looks like molten gold.
The water there is maybe twenty feet deep. I’d have trouble reaching it, but I’m sure Rhat won’t.
“Rhat,” I turn to point out the cup’s location. But Rhat isn’t listening. He’s staring into the water on his side of the boat.
“Rhat,” I say louder, thinking he can’t hear because of the cloth in his ears.
He doesn’t look up. Instead, he leans closer to the water.
“What do you see?” Hettie asks, afraid to look.
Something splashes behind the boat, and I spin around. One of the torches sizzles out as water spatters over it.
I turn back to warn the others. I’m too late; Rhat keels over the side of the boat. I slam against the opposite side as the boat rocks in adjustment to the weight shift.
“No,” Hettie screams. She frantically pulls at the rope attached to Rhat’s waist with her free hand, but it doesn’t do much good with her other hand still holding on to the lantern. The boat dips and takes on a few inches of water as the rope pulls taut and lurches the boat farther into the water.
Rhat floats several yards in front of the boat. Around him, three shimmering figures with human shapes twist and twirl. Their skin looks like running water. They have long, flowing hair that tangles like two rivers meeting. They are clear yet solid.
The Temptresses have arrived.
They’re oddly beautiful, like moving ice sculptures, flowing through the water as though they’ve choreographed every movement together. Their arms arch forward and back, and then, like birds diving into the sea, they dive at Rhat.
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