Page 5

Just as we finished our sticky tarts, the Warden of Haven appeared on his horse—the only horse on the whole island—and trotted to the post before dismounting. Musicians halted. With great fanfare, the Warden straightened his padded vest, stomped invisible dust from his leather boots, and cleared his throat.

We all hushed. Even the sea seemed to hold its breath.

Half of me still thought of Father, somewhere on the sea, trying to reach me. But Clark had been right. The excitement ofthe night bled into my skin, soaking my body with a tingly anticipation as if I were one of those setting off tonight. What stories would they bring home? Who would win this year? What magical adventure awaited them?

My toes sank into the dirt to guide me closer to the man like a marionette on a string. We all pressed together, hungry for his words. Across the seas, a hundred other islands were just like us, eagerly waiting for the tick of the clock to announce we could open the scroll.

“Another Quarter Labyrinth is upon us,” the Warden spoke, eyeing the clock tower behind him. One minute away. “And it is about time to hear what we play for.”

Down the street, Bjorn stood casually and slung his satchel over his shoulder as if he were headed out for another day of fishing. But his almond eyes gleamed with the adventure of it all.

I looked back to the Warden.

“Remember, we want to see all of you alive. So travel safely. Play fairly. And keep your wits about you.”

Play fairly. Stories differ about the labyrinth, but one thing rang clear. People didn’t play fair in the Quarter Labyrinth. They played to win.

The clock struck. A buzz went through the crowd.

“Five coppers say it’s the rights to that mine,” Clark whispered.

The Warden pulled the string on the scroll. The enchanted seal wouldn’t have allowed it to loosen before midnight, but now it fell easily, and the scroll unwound.

“Best of luck to all,” he sang out. He left the scroll on the post, opened for all to read.

The Warden mounted his horse with a glance at the writing. As he did, his eyes widened. But he recovered himself and trotted away.

As he left, the islanders swarmed forward. Clark and I waited back to watch it all. “I bet six coppers that Bjorn never finds the island,” I said. Bjorn had one of his friends struggle through the crowd to read the scroll, and the friend returned to whisper to Bjorn. His mouth flattened, then he nodded and set off down the hill to the pier.

Aksel read the scroll then meandered toward his house without a word. Clark must have been right—he’d paid for a clue to the location of the labyrinth and was downplaying his interest. He’d have to wait an hour for that clue to be delivered, and then he could set off. Even with the hour delay, he’d have a much easier time finding the maze. Those with clues often reached the labyrinth, but they’d still need to figure out a way in on their own. You had to buy a key to walk through the doors.

I leaned toward Clark. “And I’ll bet seven coppers that Aksel—”

“Gerald Montclair won’t like that,” someone said.

My gaze whipped around. Whoever had spoken moved away, their voice getting lost in the flurry of noises. I shifted closer. Gerald wouldn’t like what?

As I listened, I heard his name again. Followed by the word,missing.

I was moving, barreling into the crowd as Clark grabbed for my hand. I ripped my fingers free. Elbows jabbed at my gut and feet collided with mine, but I heaved through, making my way to the scroll.

Someone shouted as I stumbled against them, but the noise faded when I saw the scroll.

The words were scrawled in black ink flecked with gold.

The winner of the Quarter Labyrinth claims the right to the Shallows, as well as the Silver Wings. May you find yourself in the labyrinth.

“Oh, Ren. I’m so sorry.” Clark stood behind my shoulder, placing a tender hand on my arm.

I jerked away.

“Looks like the Silver Wings is getting a new captain,” someone cheered. I clenched my teeth together, shoving past them. The chill of the night wasn’t enough to soothe my fury. I let it carry me away from the heat of the crowd and those who were already claiming that fleet was as good as theirs.

Uncertain footsteps told me that Clark followed. “Ren, wait!”

I broke into a run. He ran too. Down the hill. Into the dark night. Toward the spot where we foolishly waited for Father to appear, though now I realized he was never coming. There was a reason Father’s notes stopped two years ago. He needed help. And I needed to finally have my father.

I’d waited long enough.