The silver whole brings the storm to the sea, the mirror on velvet brings the ships to their knees.
Vanessa’s sleep-drunk voice sounds in my memory. The soft look on her face as she stared out the glass, unseeing as the words poured out of her mouth.
Seth stands, squinting as he looks up into the falling rain. When he meets my eyes again, there’s something I haven’t seen yet in his gaze. It’s not an apology. It’s not something reassuring. It’s something I remember feeling with Vanessa: disbelief.
One right thing is a fluke. But two?
“I drowned that night,” I call. “That’s what it meant by reborn. I fell beneath the water, and I died.”
If he feels like an asshole, he doesn’t give that away. If he’s sorry for doubting me, he keeps that hidden, too.
But I’ve just proven him wrong.
It doesn’t feel as good as I’d hoped it would.
Chapter 20
WHEN VANESSA SAID THE STORM WOULD BRING the ship to its knees, she wasn’t exaggerating.
All night, the ship rocks on the water, tossing about like a leaf. I try to help, but Rielle just shouts at me to stay in my room. That it’s safer for me there.
I wait for the fear to come. The winds are howling so fiercely that it feels like the walls holding me above the murky depths are made of plywood, ready to splinter at a moment’s notice.
But the fear stays away, or maybe it never left. Maybe fear has become so mixed in my blood that it’s part of me now. Maybe I’ve been low-grade panicking since the night Maddox took the Palisade, so this doesn’t feel like the end of the world.
And even if it is, I’ve already survived the end of the world a few times.
Sometime before dawn, there’s a sharp knock on my door. I pull it open. Seth stands in the doorway, completely drenched. His face is drawn. The swelling has gone down, but he has purple rings under his eyes.
“Where?” he asks.
I blink sleep from my eyes, trying to figure out what the hell he’s talking about.
“What’s our heading?” he clarifies.
“Where are we?” I ask, looking over my shoulder at the window. The sky is clearing, and the soft pink blush of sunrise is just starting to inch over the horizon.
“Off the coast of Oregon,” he replies.
I step aside, motioning for him to come in. He closes the door behind him. He puts his hands in his pockets and shifts his feet. It takes me a moment to place the body language. Is he . . . uncomfortable?
“What?” I ask.
Seth presses his lips together and rolls up onto his toes before going utterly still.
“You’re the Chosen One,” he says. The words have come out as a taunt so many times from him in the past twelve hours, so I don’t know what to do now that it sounds genuine.
But the words are raw as they slip past his lips, and they tear me down to the studs. He believes it. The whole of him, all the muscle and heat and the water dripping down the column of his throat, is stretched as tight as a bowstring in the presence of what he thinks could be the end of this hell. Hope, on Seth, is a lethal thing, a beautiful razor glinting in the low light.
If I’m honest? I didn’t think much when I said it back at the Palisade. I just knew I couldn’t watch them take Vanessa. And I didn’t think much again when I said it at the Jawbone. The lie was just locked and loaded in my mouth, and I spit it out at the first sign of trouble. I’ve been using it as counterfeit currency, waiting for someone to hold it up and inspect it.
I realize as I sit, staring at Seth Marsali as he wars with his own pessimism, that I didn’t think it would pass the first inspection. But here he is, and this lie has legs now. I’m watching it stand. I’m watching it breathe. I’m watching it stretch and move.
If I say yes now, there is no turning back.
I nod, my body responding before I can stop it. Because that’s what I was going to do. I was never going to risk my only chance to get Dean back—to get to the Torch, where I know my sisters will be. I don’t care what it costs me. But the way Seth’s face tightens, the way I’m breathing hope back onto a fire that was long since dead, makes me think that the cost of this very well might be his life—and my soul.
He leans against the door. “So you know where Anne’s Heart is.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t have to tell me. I wouldn’t. But I have to know where we’re going. I need a direction.”
“North, still. Just . . . head for the Blood Market. That’ll be close enough.”
He nods, and I see him calculating. Thinking, like a captain does.
“Where was Maddox taking you?” he asks carefully. I need to tread carefully here. One wrong word, one misplaced lie, and this all falls apart. I don’t know how long Dean has, to begin with. But I can tell the truth about this.
“The Vessel Queen,” I say. “Because I guess that’s a thing now.”
Seth runs a thumb over his lip and stands. “Yeah. We’ve known about it for a while. It takes longer for things to reach the shore, I think.” He paces through my small cabin. “Did she say anything else? Did she mention Abel at all?”
I hear the sorrow in his voice, and I shake my head sadly. “No. I’m sorry.”
Seth bites his thumbnail. “They wouldn’t kill him. Whoever took him—Vessel or Runner. He’s too valuable.”
“He’s your friend?” I ask.
Seth lowers his chin once. A nod.
“Is he as great as everyone says?” I venture.
Seth considers my words. “He’s better,” he says finally.
I don’t know what to say to that, but Seth spins on his heel, cutting the awkward silence with more calculations.
“So the Vessel Queen will be looking for you,” Seth says, looking at me like he’s trying to gauge how afraid I will be at the thought.
I steel my gaze. “Yes.”
Seth pulls a piece of plastic from his back pocket. Inside, the paper Monte slipped him is safely folded against the storm.
“We’re headed north, Charlotte. And I’ll take you there. But I need you to think about this carefully. The Vessels have been on the move, and we didn’t know why. But now we do. They’ve been looking for you—you’re a threat to their power. Maddox won’t be the only one who knows the Chosen One has been found. If we go up there, it’ll be dangerous. More dangerous than ever, now that Abel is missing. The Vessels and Runners will know that the Torch is in chaos without him.”
“There isn’t another option, Seth.”
“We have to make a supply stop just north of Crescent City. There’s a safe house there. We leave Curseclean at that location all the time. Someone usually shows up every three days to smuggle them south, to safety. You could—”
“I am not running.” I look down, bracing for his no.
He takes a breath as he considers me. “Then I’ll see it through,” Seth says.
I can’t help it then. I look up, my eyes meeting his.
“I’ll take you north. I’ll stay with you until you find Anne’s Heart, Charlotte, and you end this.”
I didn’t plan on that. I figured they’d leave me on the shore, and I’d be able to slink off, buy Dean’s freedom, and disappear.
This is going to be more complicated than I thought, but it’s kindness. Which is also complicating, for different reasons.
Seth nods once and then turns to the door.
A thought rips through me, and the words fly past my lips before I can think.
“One condition.”
He stops, looking back over his shoulder. “I didn’t know we were bargaining.”
“If you weren’t doing this for me, would you be looking for Abel? Would you be saving more people?”
His gaze hardens as he shifts to look at me. We’re allies, but we’re not quite friends. He doesn’t trust me. And for good reason. But I need to know this.
“Abel would want me to see this through. And ending the Crimson saves everyone on all R
unner ships.”
He turns to leave, and my hand flies on its own to grab his forearm, trying not to fumble as I discover that it’s thickly corded with muscle. He stops, looking down at my grip on him.
“I won’t let you stop helping people so that you can help me,” I say, and I mean it. Down to my marrow, I mean it. I want to save Dean more than I want to keep breathing, but if I sacrifice others’ lives in this lie, then I’m no better than a Vessel or one of the Exposed people who pay to become Xanthous. And if Dean thought his life came at the price of others’, then he’d never recover. The Dean I love would be gone.
“We’ll head north. But you’ll still help people and look for Abel along the way.”
Seth is quiet as he looks at me. He’s infuriatingly hard to read.
My eyes flutter as I exhale, the force of my plea racking through me. “Please, Seth.”
My voice shakes something loose in him. I see it in the way he turns, the way his gaze starts as calculating, then shifts, and I know he understands. “We won’t ignore any calls.”
I nod and let him go. He stops at the door.
“You’re not what I expected, Chosen One.”
My head jerks up at the nickname, ready to see a sneer. But as Seth turns back to the door, I think I see a soft smile on his lips.
Chapter 21
I TRY TO SLEEP, BUT MY STOMACH GROWLS, AND I realize I don’t know how long it’s been since I ate.
I slide my feet into my boots and slink out into the narrow hallway. The canteen is on the other side of the ship. As quietly as I can, I creep to the door and crack it open. I slip inside, slowly shutting the door behind me. I’ll just grab a can of beans, or a couple of Triscuits or whatever they have, and run back to my room and just hunker down until it’s time for my entire Liar McLiarson plan to come crashing down on top of my head—
I turn, stopping as I find Lucia and Thomas sitting around the tiny breakfast nook, Styrofoam cups on the table in front of them. I freeze.
I don’t think that Rielle likes me, per se, but at least she hides her complete contempt. So, of course, she’s nowhere to be found. Of course.
“What do you want?” Lucia asks, and Thomas gives her a glare over the edge of his cup. “What?” she barks.
I cross my arms over my chest, but it still feels like I’m running into battle without armor or something.
“I was just . . . hungry.”
Lucia leans back against the burnt-orange leather seat, sticking a toothpick in between her teeth. Her crop top inches up, revealing a muscled stomach. “If you’re expecting a sort of ‘Be Our Guest’ sort of thing, you’ve got another thing coming.”
“Think,” Thomas says, swirling the contents of his cup.
“What?” Lucia snips.
“It’s ‘you’ve got another think coming,’” he says, downing the rest of the liquid.
I slowly inch toward the Formica counter, where a small pack of saltines sits, half-eaten. I’ll grab those and disappear before Lucia can skin me alive via verbal lashing.
“That makes no sense,” Lucia says, her voice closer to me than it was half a second ago. I jump, spinning to find her standing behind me.
Thomas rolls his eyes behind her. “You don’t really care, do you?” he asks.
Lucia shakes her head. “Nope,” she replies to Thomas, then whips her yellow eyes to me. “And what do you think you’re doing?” she asks as I look in the cabinet.
“I am of no use to you if I pass out from low blood sugar,” I say.
A smirk slides up the side of her face. “You’re of no use to me with or without these four-year-old crackers.”
Thomas uses the distraction to reach out and snatch the rest of her Snickers bar, and Lucia slowly turns her head to him, giving him the scariest death glare I have ever seen.
“You wouldn’t dare,” she whispers lowly.
“You’re going to have to pick. Save the Snickers bar or give Charlotte a hard time. You can’t do both.”
Thomas holds the chocolate up, dangling it between two fingers as he slowly lowers it to his lips. He puts it between his teeth and narrows his eyes at Lucia. I kneel down, sorting through the cabinet. There are saltine crackers, a couple of bottles of Gatorade, and several MREs.
“You ass,” Lucia grumbles. I look over as Thomas chuckles.
“Come and get it,” Thomas replies, though he keeps the chocolate between his teeth, so it comes out cah ah geh ih.
Lucia presses her mouth to his, taking the candy bar from him with her lips.
He laughs, and she shoves him. Lucia chews the chocolate and wipes the back of her hand across her mouth. They remind me a lot of Harlow and Dean. The thought pulls at my heart in more ways than one.
“Stop watching us, perv,” Lucia snaps, and I jump at the sound of her voice. I grab the crackers and stand. The sooner I get out of here, the better.
Thomas lightly smacks the back of Lucia’s head, and she whips around to slap him before she saunters over to me, still chewing on the candy bar.
“Can’t sleep?” Thomas asks, and Lucia looks back at him, disgust plain on her beautiful face. Thomas tilts his head at the look—a challenge. He’s not going to treat me badly just because she does. Lucia rolls her eyes as she turns back to me, pulling out her knife. She means it to be intimidating, but I’ve been through enough now where it really doesn’t faze me.
“Too much on my mind,” I answer, ignoring Lucia.
“Not as common an affliction as you’d think,” she chimes in, running the edge of her knife under her thumbnail. Now it’s Thomas’s turn to roll his eyes. “Good one.”
“So you two are . . .” I motion between them, and Lucia crosses her arms.
Thomas waits to see if she’ll answer, but she’s silent. He puts his palms flat on the table. “Yes. We’ve been together since before the Crimson. We were part of an act in Vegas.” Thomas answers my unasked question. “Knife throwing. I was talking to another girl and Lucia chucked a throwing star into the side of my grande Americano. We’ve been together ever since.”
Lucia’s eyes soften despite herself, and she looks at Thomas. My chest pangs at the affection there for a moment before she turns to me. I force myself to meet her eyes. That’s one thing I learned from being Harlow’s sister all these years. Never show weakness during confrontation.
“Look. You don’t like me. I get it. You can put the knife away.”
Lucia laughs. “I don’t like anyone.”
“That’s true,” Thomas quips, and Lucia ignores him.
“But I don’t care about that,” she continues. “I don’t trust you.”
“It doesn’t matter what you think. Seth trusts me, and he’s the captain,” I say. All the teasing, the swaggering, slips off her face. She leans forward, stabbing the wall next to my head. I flinch. Lucia braces herself on the handle, her yellow eyes seeming to glow as she pins me against the wall.
“I’ve been around the world’s best bullshitters, and I can smell them from a mile away. You’re not that good. You’re hiding something, Chosen One,” she whispers. “I know girls like you. You probably ruled your school. You’re probably used to getting your way, and you think you’re going to wrap Seth around your finger like all the others. And maybe you could, if I wasn’t here.”
Rage bubbles up in my blood, bringing color to my cheeks. If I could tell her. If I could tell her how hellish middle school was. If I could tell her what it was like to grow up in Harlow’s shadow. In Vanessa’s trajectory. The anger simmers, and I glare at her.
She leans closer, and her breath tickles my ear.
“I’m going to find out what you’re hiding. And when I do”—she pulls the blade from the wall—“I won’t miss.”
I’ve earned every threat she can muster—even her hatred. But I won’t let her know that. Not with Dean’s life on the line.
So I turn my head and bring my lips to her ear.
“You can try,” I whisper back.
I push past her, shoving her shoulder with mine as I scoop to grab the crackers off the floor. I chance a glance at Thomas, who is eyeing me, his forearms braced on the table. He points to the crackers in my hand and then shakes his head. I look down, confused. He grabs a protein bar from the cabinet over his head and then tosses it to me. I catch it with one hand, and I thank God that I didn’t drop it.
“She’s not kidding. Those crackers are four years old,” he warns. I set the sleeve down on a shelf next to the door, cringing.
“Thank you,” I say, fully expecting Lucia to throw a comeback in my face. But she’s quiet as I leave, and I can feel her eyes on my back, almost as sharp as the daggers she wants to plunge there.
I slide the canteen door closed behind me, and it clicks shut just as a door ahead and to my left slips open. Seth slinks out, pulling his green sweater over his head.
I’ve seen Dean without his shirt. I am pretty sure I can remember each individual time, because it’s branded so deep in my synapses that I can see his tanned torso when I close my eyes. I’d like to think that I can keep my cool around beautiful people after all these years of practice. But when Seth turns and sees me, his hands still bunched in the sweater over his chest, I stare.
Because I love Dean. I know that down to the marrow of my bones. But I’m also a human with a pulse who knows some things. And Seth Marsali is something. I’ve seen him shirtless before, in the pit, but that felt different somehow. It’s hard to admire someone’s physique when you’re trying to figure out how to get through the day without dying. Now? In the middle of the night?
I can’t help it. It’s just so . . . there.
His muscles stretch as he freezes, one arm in the sleeve. His pants are slung low on his hips, and his torso is a collection of the variation of possible bruise colors—everything from buttery yellow to an angry-looking green. The dip in his shoulders leaves a shadowed hollow—the same one I used to admire on Dean.
I nod, lifting the protein bar by way of explanation. But it slips from my fingers, clattering to the ground.
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