Alōs held his helmsman’s gaze. He, who had helped steer his ship through many storms, was doing it now.
“That sounds good, old man,” he said with a nod. “And do remind those aboard that we wait for no one. If they are not ready when we are to push off, they miss out on collecting any bounty.”
“Aye, Cap’n.” Boman tapped his heels together before barking at the group to push out of the room.
As the door shut behind them, Alōs stood for a moment, barely taking in what had just happened.
“Well,” breathed Niya, pushing from the wall and striding toward him. “That was unexpected.”
He shook his head. “Annoying is more like it.”
“I believe it went exactly as I thought it would.”
Alōs turned to lock eyes with her, an unsettling sensation running through him. “Did you put them up to this?”
“I put no one anywhere.” She held up her hands. “It’s not my fault if they took my gruff response about them stopping gossiping like bar hands and taking whatever questions they had up with the man himself.”
“By the Fade, Kintra!” Alōs growled.
“As I see it,” she said, unfazed by his temper, “now we all can get on with plans and stop with the tiptoeing. This ship is a family, whether you like it or not.”
Family.
Alōs ran a tired hand through his hair, letting out a sigh as he sat back in his chair.
He’d barely survived the first family he had. This lot would surely do him in.
Still, he would be lying if he said a part of him wasn’t pleased by the turn of events. Cautious but pleased.
“Speaking of plans,” said Niya, gesturing to the map on his desk. “Our plans for tonight are still rather rubbish.”
Alōs glanced to the spread-out papers, thoughts of what still lay ahead resurfacing along with the throb in his temples. “Yes,” he agreed. “But they’re the only ones we’ve got.”
CHAPTER FORTY
The moon was a silver crescent in the night sky, the peeking voyeur to the pirates who slipped quietly through dark waters below. Their rows were timed to the rhythm of crashing waves on the distant shore, their pants of exertion no louder than the whistling of sea air.
Sitting at the bow of one of the boats, Alōs studied the bonfire glow coming off the farthest-west cliffside. Its twin to the far north. Watchtowers.
An island with eyes.
Yet he and his crew, three boats full, slithered directly in the middle, through their blind spot.
That night they breached land where few who stepped on ever stepped off.
All were silent as they set to their tasks. Giddy glimmers in gazes as they plucked forth blooms edging the forest entrance. Children with the heady promise of shiny treats when done with their chores.
No one spoke of what had been shared in his chambers. Only moved like the accomplished thieves they were, focused on the task at hand.
Alōs found Kintra across one of the sand dunes, watching the scurrying pirates like a mother to children. Her shadowed gaze met his, with a winking of gold from her earrings against the faint glow of the moon. His heart beat a quicker rhythm as they each gave a nod, and he and Niya split off from the group, carving their path north.
“This is where I think we are meant to enter.” Niya pointed to a tangle of dark trees crammed between severe cliffs. “We can reach their camp fastest on this trail, but we’ll have to cross those two rivers.” She glanced back to the map she had unfurled. Its markings were barely visible in the night, but he had studied it enough to know she was right.
“Crossing rivers won’t be an issue,” said Alōs, stalking forward.
Niya caught up to him, tucking the map inside her vest. “Says the man who can walk on water. But what about me?”
He glanced down at her. “Can you swim?”
“Of course . . .”
“Then we enter here.”
A wet growl echoed from inside the jungle as they approached.
Niya paused, studying the unknown darkness. “Rivers may not be an issue,” she began, “but other things not drawn on maps might be.”
“There will be other things,” assured Alōs. “But we must get to their camp while it is still night. I don’t know about you, but I would rather not sleep here unless forced.”
Alōs walked on, and as he stepped beneath the black canopy, he allowed his eyesight to adjust. Barely any moonlight fell across the forest floor, but thankfully, as they continued deeper, pockets of firebugs and glowing shrooms began to light their way.
Alōs pushed aside thick vines draping from branches. They twisted around one another like the island’s veins. The air grew damp and heavy, and Alōs’s magic purred contently from the mist, feeding off dewdrops that collected on his exposed neck.
“It’s beautiful,” whispered Niya, reaching out to stroke a purple glowing bud. It opened at her touch.
“And deadly,” added Alōs.
“What do you mean?” She frowned over to him.
“‘For the plants that glow, into the Fade the eaters will flow.’”
Niya tugged back her fingers, wiping them on her pants. “Maybe lead with that one next time.”
They climbed over felled trees, used their blades to cut through thick foliage, and carefully avoided hanging nettle.
“This place,” said Niya, as they entered a meadow twinkling alive with firebugs, “it reminds me a little of . . .”
“Of what?”
“Esrom.”
“Yes,” he agreed, pushing away the sudden ache that realization caused. “It has similar qualities.”
“Do you miss it?”
His brows drew together. “Esrom?”
“Yes. Do you miss having it as your home?”
He was silent a long while, only the buzzing of nocturnal creatures mixing with his thoughts. “At first, it was like living without being able to breathe. But now . . .”
“Now?”
“It is a pain I’ve grown so used to it has become a strange companion.”
Niya was quiet for a spell, the soft crunching of their footsteps the rhythm of their path forward. “Some memories, I think,” she eventually said, “are worth the pain they bring. They remind us that whatever we had was real. And knowing it was true, remembering, well, it can sometimes offer a comfort, even amid all the hurt.”
Niya’s eyes were two pools of blue sapphires in the glowing night as he met them. Open, like they had been so many days ago when she’d lain in his arms. A new pressure weighed against his heart, but it had nothing to do with memories of his old home.
“Niya . . . ,” he began.
“We’ve reached the first river.” She pointed forward.
The canopy of forest broke to reveal fast-flowing waters dancing like quicksilver in the reflecting moonlight.
Niya strode toward the bank, leaving Alōs alone in their shared moment like a child releasing a floating lantern into the night.
“Do you think it is deep?” asked Niya.
Alōs came to her side, looking at the flowing river. “Only one way to find out.”
“Can’t you work your magic so we both can walk on water?”
“If you allow me to carry you, then yes.”
This seemed to give her pause. She bent to test the water. “By the Fade,” she hissed, shaking out her hand. “It’s freezing.”
“I’ll meet you on the other side, then?” Alōs spun out a spell, gathering his magic in green clouds beneath his feet, before stepping right above the river’s surface. He could feel the power of the water beneath him, a rush of energy that fed into his gifts to keep him floating.
“Wait,” called Niya.
He turned to look at her on the bank. “Yes?”
“Carry me.”
“You’ll have to repeat that,” he said. “The river is quite loud.”
“You heard me just fine.” She fisted hands on hips.
“I promise I did not,” he said, feigning innocence. “Something about cranberry tea, was it?”
“Carry. Me.”
He arched a brow. “Was that a command? Because given the circumstance, I believe the situation warrants more of a grateful, humbling request. Don’t you?”
She glared daggers at him, obviously unaware that such a look only fueled his actions further. He bit back a grin.
“Carry me, please.”
Such sweet satisfaction, he thought.