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“Shh, it’s all right, Thelia. They’re happy tears,” she says before bringing my lips to hers again. She kisses me slowly, and when she finally pulls away, that beautiful mouth is twisted into a playful grin.

“It’s your turn.”

With three short words, she sets my entire form aflame.

21

Now

Outside her door, the deck is quiet. The storm has settled. I turn to Cora, my fingers tracing the side of her face, not wanting to disturb her but knowing that I must.

We’re close. Scopuli’s pull pulses inside of me, the same way birds know where to migrate for the winter, following that instinctive, ancestral path to safer havens.

I place a gentle kiss on her cheek and whisper her name into her ear. She stirs, slow to rise. When her eyes find mine, it’s clear that she’s processing what’s happened between us. She wonders what it means for her soul.

There’s nothing I want more than to reassure her, but we don’t have time.

I slide from the bed to kneel before the wooden chest at its base. Its heavy lid creaks with resistance, but I find what I seek: a large crock filled with bayberry wax.

“Do you remember what to do with this?” My tone conveys my seriousness, and Cora’s hesitation is replaced with resolve.

“I do.”

“Their song will drive the men mad. If we have any hope of ever leaving Scopuli, we need to keep them away from the whipstaff, otherwise they’ll purposefully steer the ship into the rocks.”

“I know—Emme and I will keep them away from it.”

“And Margery and Elizabeth will load the others into the longboat just in case, right?”

“Yes, Thelia.” She reaches for my hand and squeezes it. “We know what to do. You can trust us.”

“If…if something happens to me—”

“Thelia—”

“Please, Cora, let me say this. You can trust us, too. My sisters look frightening, but they won’t harm you.”

She reaches into the chest and withdraws a small cloth bundle from its depths. Nestled inside are the dragonfly fibulae Pisinoe gave me before I left. Tears blur my vision at the sight of them—the last place I saw them was on my fireplace mantel before I lost my son.

“How did you…”

“I know what they mean to you,” she whispers, sliding them into my hair. “Please be careful, Thelia. I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t.”

“Do you remember the night before the challenge, when I followed you to the beach?” she asks.

I nod.

“This is going to sound absurd, but as I listened to you singing, I could so clearly see my life with you. It seemed impossible then, but now…”

Emboldened, I lean forward to kiss her again. She doesn’t turn away. Our lips tell each other all the things we’re too frightened to say aloud.

“I’ll find you when it’s over,” I whisper against her open mouth.

She nods, quivering against me.

Her tears taste like fear on my tongue.