Page 4

I tried to be like Mother—made of deep waters and gentle currents. But I’d always been a storm. With each passing minute,that storm churned darker, until it was a typhoon that whipped against my bones, pulling me apart at the seams.

“He promised he’d come,” I whispered.

Clark’s hand flickered, then stilled. “He will. He’s only a bit late.” He stood, checking the moon. “It’s almost time for the scroll to be opened. Want to get your mind off things by watching the island scramble over themselves for a few pounds of gold?”

No. I wanted to stay here forever until barnacles grew along my toes and I was made of salt. But I forced myself to stand and not shed a tear. “Just for a moment, then I’ll come back.”

With a final glance toward the sea, I trailed after Clark.

You better come,I begged Father.Because I’ve been counting on getting off this island, and I have nothing if I don’t have you.

TWO

Most of the island was so deep into their bottles, they wouldn’t be able to read the scroll come midnight. Clark kept behind me as I pushed through the masses, climbing higher through the town where all the streets spilled into one triangular focal point. Lanterns like diamonds were strung between shops, competing musicians played on each corner, and distilleries kept their doors open to collect as many coppers as they could.

Bjorn sat on a barrel outside his parents’ butcher shop, a satchel already packed at his feet. “I’m leaving as soon as that scroll is read,” he told the crowd at his heels. A few companionslingered by his side, their bags prepared as well. He’d undoubtedly promised them some reward for their assistance in the labyrinth, which was a common practice when you entered the maze with helpers. It wasn’t against the rules to have help. But only one could win.

Stories of those who took their victory and shared none of the spoils were more common than not. As were tales of helpers who killed their leader when the center drew near.

Other stories about the labyrinth spoke of magical shops that aided wistful journeyers, wolves that prowled the maze, and paths strung in the air for those brave enough to take them. We greedily soaked in every story we could about the mystical labyrinth that appeared only once every four years. It materialized overnight, always at a new location. There were a hundred islands to search for the labyrinth, and only a fraction of those who sought it ever found its doors.

Callahan had been hosting the labyrinths for as long as anyone could remember, the ritual carried down by his father and grandfather before him. They used their vast wealth to bless the islands, then once every four years they delighted in watching us scramble through the new game they’d created—all to win whatever prize was written on the scroll.

My gaze went to the scroll. It’d been pinned to the post in the center of the square, glinting gold in the firelight and rustling with the breeze off the sea. Our island’s name was written on the side.

To the island of Haven. May you find yourself in the labyrinth.

My mind tagged on the unspoken completion to the saying.At least, may you not lose yourself.

“There’s around ten skiffs in the docks, all with sails tied down already.” Clark faced the opposite direction, looking to the seas. I refused to look too far, lest my eyes wander back to the rocky pass in hopes of seeing my father.

I counted the ships. Twelve were prepared, with many more queued in the harbor.

My traitorous eyes snuck to the rocky pass.

Still no sign.

I turned back around. “I bet none of them find it. No one is rich enough to buy a clue or a key.”

“Aksel was,” Clark said, his eyes lit up like this was a secret he shouldn’t be sharing, yet it pleased him to do so. Aksel and his father were good friends, so I trusted Clark’s word on the matter. The tawny man with hard-set eyes and peppered hair stayed to the edge of the crowd, one hand resting on a knife at his side while the other played with a coin. He’d gone after the labyrinth before—twice if the rumors were true. He never found the doors.

Apparently, this time he was determined.

“Those clues cost a fortune.” I gave a low whistle. “Whatever is in the scroll must be worth it.”

“Probably an invite to the Sea Glass ball,” Clark said, laying down a dull copper coin on a windowsill before selecting two tarts for us from the tray. The apple marmalade drooped from the sides as he passed one to me.

“That would be a horrid prize. I bet it’s a caravel of your own, fitted with custom sails. Or rights to the new mines found in the outer islands.”

Clark’s red brows drew down. “I thought your… Gerald was claiming those.”

“He put in a claim,” I recited words from news clippings Mother found, ignoring how Clark almost let mybiggest secretslip in the middle of a crowded square. “But it’s adjacent to Vincent’s region. Vincent would rather die than see Gerald lay claim to those, and Callahan won’t wish to further disrupt peace between those two by upsetting either one. He will likely give Vincent the mines and lower levy by a point for Gerald.”

It was all speculation on my part, pieces of stories picked up from gossip or from tales that Mother had told me about the bloody relationship between Vincent and my father. Vincent was a big part of why Mother and I were hidden. But until I was at Father’s side, I would never know the full story of these matters.

Clark took a bite of his tart, then shrugged. “Maybe the prize is one of the Lord of the Isle’s magic trinkets.”

Doubtful. He wouldn’t relinquish those easily.