Page 50

I could smell salt again.

The seas rested at the brink of twilight, and they’d never looked so glorious. I only got one moment to enjoy it. Then, as if the universe had grown impatient, I felt my body drop.

I plunged into the icy grip of the sea.

The shock was immediate, the cold stealing the air from my lungs. Water rushed into my nose. I thrashed, instincts kicking in despite the numbness creeping through my limbs. My muscles strained as I fought to regain control of my body.

Once I did, I kicked, fighting for the surface. My head broke above water, and I frantically took stock.

I’d lost my axe in the labyrinth. I believed my dagger was sheathed at its side. My pack was gone. The heartbeat tattoo was not. It thumped merrily as I struggled to tread water, as if it didn’t realize we could drown.

Leif would be in for a surprise when his tattoo stopped beating in a moment.

Salt stung my eyes as I squinted against the dying light, turning in a slow circle to take in the world around me.

What I saw stole the breath I’d just regained.

This was the Shallows.

Small islands, each too close to allow many ships through, all bursting with life. The villages built upon them seemed to rise organically from the sea, their structures made of weathered stone and timber that spoke of years spent battling salt and storms.

On each island, narrow, cobblestone streets wove through clusters of multi-storied houses with peaked roofs of red clay tiles. Wooden beams crisscrossed the facades, and vines crept up the sides. Smoke curled from chimneys. Lanterns, glowing with a soft golden light, hung from iron hooks along the streets and bridges, already lit in preparation for nightfall. Behind the homes, towers pierced the sky, their banners snapping in the wind. The banners bore sigils I didn’t recognize, some emblazoned with lions, others with suns, waves, or intricate knots that seemed to ripple even when still.

The islands were connected by a web of arched bridges, their stone surfaces slick with moss from the constant spray of the sea. Small boats drifted beneath them, their green sails painted with the symbol of a silver serpent.

Merchants called out to one another as they loaded goods onto their vessels—crates of various sizes.

Once I spotted the ships, I couldn’t look away. The Silver Wings.

The only vessels permitted to travel these narrow canals.

My father’s legacy.

My birthright.

I kicked hard, spinning in the water as I scanned each vessel. Their towering masts stretched into the twilight sky, sails catching the fading breeze like ghostly wings. The larger ships were impressive, their hulls broad and intimidating, but my eyes locked on one vessel smaller than the rest. It was a sleek schooner, painted a deep navy with intricate golden trim that gleamed faintly in the dim light.

The scent of spices reached me even here, carried on the breeze from the crates stacked along its deck. But it wasn’t the cargo I cared about—it was the captain.

If anyone in this world knew the truth of who I was, they’d be aboard that ship.

Gritting my teeth, I swam with all the strength I had left, my legs burning with effort as the cold water clung to me like a second skin. But before I got too close, a loud clang broke through the evening air.

A bell rang out.

I froze mid-stroke, my heart pounding. One by one, figures moved to the edge of the ship, silhouetted against the golden glow of lanterns swinging from the rigging. The flickering light glinted off polished metal as pistols were raised, every barrel aimed directly at me.

I bobbed in the water while staring down the line of cold steel.

A new figure strode toward the ship’s railing with a measured confidence. I couldn’t make out his features from this distance, but the wide-brimmed hat atop his head was unmistakable.

With a chuckle, he leaned over the edge to call out.

“You thieves are getting bold!”

“I’m no thief!”

I shouted back, the salty air biting at my throat.

“I’m the winner of the Quarter Labyrinth!”

The reaction was immediate.

The crewmates exchanged startled glances, murmuring among themselves. Pistols faltered. The captain leaned forward slightly, as if trying to see me more clearly through the growing darkness.

I held my breath, my body swaying with the waves as I waited for his decision.

Finally, he gave a slow nod.

“Bring her aboard,”

he commanded.

The tension snapped like a bowstring, replaced by the sound of ropes being thrown overboard. I grabbed hold, and felt them yank me through the water to the hull of the North Star. I wanted to take it all in, everything from the crisp paint to the polished planks, but I had no time. A crewman leaned over, extending a rough hand toward me, and helped me drag my soaking body aboard deck.

The one in the captain hat took a long look at me before jutting his chin over the water.

“We’ll take you to the Sea Serpent.”

“You’ll do no such thing. I know this is the ship that captains the fleet.”

He stiffened, then peered closer. He was made of rough lines and a firm jaw, unruly gray hair and a matching beard, but the crinkles by his eyes spoke of his softer side. I didn’t get that side now. His boots scraped against the planks as he stepped closer, staring into my eyes.

My father’s eyes.

His were dark blue and filled with questions.

“How do you know such a thing?”

“They told me,”

I stated.

“When I won.”

He clicked his teeth together a few times.

“This isn’t how the winner was meant to come to us. Where is Callahan?”

I drew in air like it were courage.

“I promise you, I am meant to be the captain.”

Something in those words jolted through him.

“What’s your name?”

“Serenity.”

I couldn’t tell if the name meant anything to him, but he turned from me to face the crew.

“Lads and ladies, it looks like we have a new captain.”

They didn’t cheer.

But they didn’t appear hostile either.

Each one gave me a faint smile, then at their captain’s nod, went back about their business with hardly a second glance my way.

Someone fetched me a blanket, and I wrapped it around myself while watching them all work.

One sorted through crates, counting, making little marks in a notebook.

He’d read those marks to someone else, who would write them down as well.

He’d go into one of the two on deck cabins to speak with someone else, who sat at a desk making notes.

Nearby, a scribe sat cross-legged on a small stool, a ledger balanced on his knee as he scribbled furiously with a quill.

He wore a pair of spectacles, their lenses fogged from the heat, and every so often, he’d swipe them clean with the hem of his shirt.

“Barrel of cinnamon, forty pounds,”

he muttered to himself before glancing at the next item being hauled onto the deck.

“Sack of nutmeg, thirty pounds. Mark it!”

A boy no older than twelve darted between the workers, his bare feet slapping against the wood as he carried tags to attach to the goods.

On the far side of the deck, the quartermaster inspected each item with a critical eye, his fingers brushing over the goods as if he could feel their worth.

He adjusted his wide-brimmed hat and nodded to a sailor who had been waiting nervously for approval.

“Load it into the forward hold,”

he said curtly, and the sailor hurried off, hefting a bundle of silk that shimmered faintly in the sunlight.

Above me, the rigging groaned as sailors scurried up and down the ropes like spiders on a web, adjusting sails and tightening knots.

The ship swayed gently with the waves, but the crew moved as if they hardly noticed, their balance steady and sure.

The real excitement came when someone rang a bell three times, and one of the bigger merchant ships moved forward.

Our rowboats were lowered, three women hopped in, and they rowed to meet the bigger ship.

Their deck mirrored ours, but was twice as alive.

The Sea Serpent stayed nearby, drifting from ship to ship.

But the real leader was here, on this small ship, with this small crew.

This was what my father built.

All the towns on the islands around us, and most of the Hundred Islands, depended upon the Silver Wings to deliver goods.

These waters, these ships, these deliveries—they all had my father’s hand on them, and being on board made it almost feel like he was here.

I couldn’t help but feel like I robbed my father of his moment of unveiling me, and while that hadn’t gone how I envisioned it in my head, it still matched every expectation I had.

The one in the captain hat kept close while I took it all in, then he said.

“Follow me.”

He led me inside the other on-deck cabin and closed the door.

My wonder began anew.

I stole glimpses of the room as if they could tell me who my father was—and I liked what I found.

The scent of aged wood, salt, and faint spices permeated the air, mingling with the tang of oil from the lanterns swinging gently overhead.

Brass fixtures gleamed in the flickering lamplight, from the hinges of cabinets to the trim on the sturdy desk bolted to the floor.

The desk itself was the centerpiece of the cabin, its surface cluttered with maps, charts, and navigational tools.

A sextant rested on one corner alongside a magnifying glass and a compass.

Ink bottles, some half-empty, and a cluster of quills sat in a wooden tray, though ink stains marred the surface of the desk like battle scars from years of use.

An open ledger lay at the center, columns filled with neat handwriting recording cargo manifests, debts, and profits.

The walls were adorned with relics of past voyages—a curved scimitar mounted on one side, its hilt encrusted with small jewels, and a large, faded map of the known seas pinned above the desk.

A spyglass, polished to a golden shine, rested in a rack near the door.

Behind the desk were shelves lined with books.

The spines bore titles ranging from maritime law to poetry.

I’d always pictured Father as a stern man, but now I painted a new portrait of him—sitting at that desk and reading poetry.

One red spine caught my eye, and I squinted to read it.

Two Iron Knights.

The name sounded familiar. That’s right—Mother mentioned it several times.

“That was Gerald’s favorite novel,”

the man beside me said when I brushed a finger down the words.

“The main character was named Serenity.”

The question dwelled in the depths of his blue eyes.

“You’re his daughter, aren’t you?”

I lifted my chin. “Yes.”

“You didn’t win the Quarter Labyrinth, did you?”

“No.”

His eyes narrowed, then they sparkled.

“But you claimed us anyway.”

He chuckled, and the sound was like rippling water.

“Sounds like something the daughter of Gerald would do.”

I exhaled.

“Did you know my father well?”

“I was his first mate. I knew everything. Is your mother well?”

“Very. Though we were expecting to see Father by now.”

He let out a hiss of breath before removing his hat. His hair, streaked with threads of gray, caught the dim lantern light as he placed the hat carefully on the polished desk.

“For that, we are sorry.”

Sorry wasn’t answers. Sorry didn’t explain why we waited, and he never came.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Jorin.”

“Jorin, where is my father?”

His head turned to stare out the windows. Heavy curtains of dark blue velvet hung to either side, tied back with golden cords.

“We don’t know,”

he admitted, the words heavy with guilt.

“We were on shore at Cavernaugh unloading supplies two years ago, and he vanished. We searched everywhere, but…”

His jaw tightened.

“We had to set sail. I haven’t heard from him since.”

His eyes met mine then, and they softened.

“I would have come for you and your mother. I knew he planned to do so. But your father kept your location so hidden, not even I knew where it was, nor how to write to you. I’ve known you were out there, Serenity. I’ve known this ship belonged to you. But I couldn’t get to you.”

I stared at him, my fingers tightening on the edge of the book. The air felt heavier now. The word “sorry”

echoed faintly in my mind, but it wasn’t enough to fill the void left by my father’s absence.

“He was meant to be here to guide me,”

I whispered. I put the book back on the shelf.

“I don’t know how to be a captain. I need someone to guide me. This ship, it already runs perfectly fine without me, and I don’t want to disrupt that. Teach me what I need to know, and I promise to devote my life to serving this crew.”

He smiled. His large hand came to squeeze my shoulder.

“I will teach you everything your father taught me.”

My chest tightened, but I went on.

“Others will be coming. Someone will win the labyrinth in a few days, and they’ll expect the ship. I don’t plan to give it to them.”

Jorin shrugged.

“As far as this crew is concerned, you are our captain now.”

Now I could cry. But I kept the joyous tears at bay a while longer.

“And someday, when we find the right time, we are going to search again for my father.”

Jorin took the hat off the table, but instead of putting it on his head, he placed it on mine. The weight of it settled unfamiliarly, and it reached almost to my brow, but I adored the feeling. I looked up at him under it, and he grinned down at me.

“As you say, Captain.”