She shaded her eyes with her hand and peered ahead of them into the never-ending ocean. “I should check our readings again.” They’d been sailing nearly four weeks now, and she’d thought they were making good progress, but something felt off.
She unrolled the charts and Wen took out the compass. He read off the degrees for her and she marked them on the chart, frowning. It was the wrong time of day to take a sight on the sextant—she’d taken one at noon and would take another at midnight. “We should be getting close. At least, I think so. Maybe I miscalculated.” She sighed, letting the chart roll back up again.
“What happens when we do get close?”
Talia laid her hand on the tiller again. “The Billow Maidens’ curse is over.”
He looked at her, waiting for her to go on.
“Rahn cursed them for nine hundred years, and as far as I can figure out, their enchantment ends this year. In another week or two. The Billow Maidens know—that’s why they’ve been calling me. It’s too big of a coincidence to ignore.”
“And you think they’ll help you—help us—defeat Rahn?”
Talia nodded. “They won’t be bound to her anymore. Their power will return. And Endain should feel enough kinship with me to want to help. At least I hope so. Rahn plans to bind the Waves again when their curse is over. She means to renew her hold on their power, to join it with hers and rise from the sea and conquer the world.” She chewed on her lip and told him part of the truth: “That’s what I saw the second time I looked in the mirror.”
He clenched his jaw. “There’s still more.”
She rubbed her thumb against the edge of the crackly chart. “There’s a reason you found the mirror room, why you saw me in your vision, why we’re both here now.”
“And what’s that?” he asked her quietly.
“Remember how you said you thought the house chose you? It—it did. The sailor—my ancestor—built the Ruen-Dahr, wove Words into the stones so it would never lack for a guardian. Only the knowledge was lost and the mirrors forgotten—”
“A guardian against what?”
“Against the sea. Against Rahn’s return. Your mother sensed her coming, Caiden’s too. I think they were meant to be Guardians. But they didn’t know why and they couldn’t stop her. The not understanding—I think that’s what drove them mad.”
His face tightened. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“I didn’t want you to feel more responsible for me than you already did. You’ve been trying to protect me this whole time—you, the last guardian, me, the last of Endain’s bloodline. Everything’s come full circle and we’re here. Together. Against her.”
“What makes you think you can stop her?”
The sea sang to her of eternity and rest and release. “I was born to it. Every moment of my life has brought me to this point and I can’t—I won’t—shirk from the fate the gods have led me to. It’s the reason for everything, don’t you see?”
He looked at her unhappily. “What’s your plan, Talia? Please tell me you have a plan.”
She quirked a smile at him. “I do, in fact.” She stowed the chart and dug her leather knapsack out from under the rest of the supplies. “I read a lot about Rahn. She was strong once, but now she draws on the Tree and the Star to give her power, like Aigir did before her. Some historians believe that only the Tree and the Star could ever defeat her.”
Wen raised an eyebrow, listening.
And then she told him. “I stole something from the temple under the garden.”
“What did you steal?”
She undid the knapsack, drawing out a jar that pulsed with unnatural light, and a sliver of wood bound in a glass-and-iron casket.
Wen yelped and scrabbled backward making the ship lurch and water splash over the side. “Gods’ bones, Talia!”
“It’s all right,” she said, cradling the jar in one hand and the casket in the other. “Honestly. They don’t seem to do anything bad to me.”
He came warily closer again. “That killed Caiden’s mother.” “I haven’t opened it, haven’t touched it. I won’t, not until we need to use it.”
He rubbed at his temples. “You shouldn’t have taken the risk.”
“I had to, Wen. I couldn’t come empty-handed—this isn’t a suicide mission. Now we have a piece of the Star and the Tree. Maybe—maybe it will be enough to turn Rahn’s power against her. We can do this—the daughter of the sea, and the last guardian.” She tucked the jar and the casket back into the knapsack, and fastened it again. “We can do this,” she repeated firmly.
He shook his head, a smile quirking at his lips. “You are full of surprises, Talia Dahl-Saida.”
She smiled back at him, struck by the softness in his eyes. “I just hope it’s enough.”
Wen took a breath. “Me too.”
“Talia! Talia! Wake up!”
She felt Wen shaking her shoulder, and she stirred foggily from restless dreams to find him leaning over her, his face drawn and scared.
“Storm’s coming.”
That was enough to jerk her fully awake. She looked up at the sky, the noonday sun blotted out, angry clouds tumbling in from all directions. A cold wind ripped at her hair and the waves were already rising, smashing hard against the side of the boat.
Together, they furled the sail and lashed it to the mast. They secured their belongings underneath the tarp, Talia at the last minute grabbing the knapsack and slinging it over her shoulder. She could feel the pulse of the Star-light, warm beneath the leather. Then she and Wen sat down and tied themselves to the mast as well, the ropes tight around their chests and their backs pressed into the wood, leaving their arms free.
They’d been through a half dozen storms already, but this one felt different. Darker. More dangerous.
The black clouds swallowed the last piece of the sky, and all at once it was wholly dark. Wen caught her hand in his. She could feel his pulse in his wrist, nervous, quick.
A wave crashed over the side of the ship. Lightning flared to the north. Thunder crashed, so loud and close it seemed to shake the world.
She’d run out of time. Oh gods, she’d run out of time! Billow Maiden heritage or not, they were too far away from land to weather a storm that could easily sink a much bigger boat. She was going to die here—Wen was going to die here, and it was all her fault.
She looked over at him as he braced himself for the coming onslaught.
The clouds broke and the rain came, roaring and dark. Lightning seared the sky, so near and bright it momentarily blinded her. The answering thunderclap was deafening. Wen’s hand held tight to hers, and she felt the ship tilt beneath them, then the tug of ropes around her waist as gravity tried to pull them down. A wave slammed into the mast; she choked on seawater.