Page 48

48

“K eep moving,” Florence whispered, her voice razor-thin, barely audible above the rustling leaves.

They had wasted too much time arguing over the safest path. Cirrus insisted they follow the river, retracing their steps, but Florence had known a quicker way—one that shaved off miles. What she hadn’t mentioned, at least not until it was too late to turn back, was that her shortcut veered dangerously close to Enyo’s camp. Every step was a risk.

The group crept forward in near silence, their movements slow and deliberate. Each snapped twig or misplaced footfall felt like the bang of a cannon.

"Shh! Be quiet," Vivienne hissed under her breath.

"I am shushed, Viv,” Lewis muttered. “It’s not my fault everyone else is loud."

Her eyes narrowed, confused for a moment. Lewis was on the opposite side of where she heard the noise. Shit.

The underbrush rustled violently. Figures emerged from the trees, stepping into the moonlight—Enyo’s men, their weapons already drawn, their leering grins promising nothing but cruelty.

Her heart was a caged beast, battering against bone.

“Drop your weapons,” one of the sailors growled, his blade glinting in the pale glow. “You’re coming with us.”

Cirrus' hand twitched toward his cutlass, but Vivienne shot him a sharp, pleading look. Not here. Not now. They were outnumbered, and any fight would be over before it began. One by one, their weapons clattered to the ground.

The men wasted no time. Rough hands wrenched their arms behind their backs, binding them tightly. Rags, crusted with filth and the gods only knew what else, were shoved into their mouths. Vivienne gagged against the rancid cloth but forced herself to breathe through her nose. There was no point in struggling.

They were marched through the camp like war trophies. Fires crackled around them, casting long, flickering shadows across the rows of tents and makeshift structures. Vivienne caught glimpses of stolen supplies—barrels, crates, weapons—all pilfered from the Zephyrus crew during the raid. They’ve been living off our resources while hunting us down. The thought sent another wave of fury through her.

At the center of the camp, towering wooden stakes jutted from the ground like execution posts. The moment the sailors tied them in place, Vivienne knew exactly what this was. A display. A spectacle. Enyo wanted an audience. She reluctantly drew her gaze upward.

The captain lounged in a crude wooden chair, his wounded leg propped on a stool, his bandages already soaked through with blood. The sharp, jagged lines of his tattoo—a coiled serpent bound in broken chains—shifted with the rise and fall of his shallow breaths. He was in pain, good , but the dark gleam in his eyes warned that he was still very much in control.

Enyo’s lips twisted into a cruel grin. “Well, well,” he crooned, his voice like rusted iron. “I think you need a new nickname, Vivienne .” He spat her name like it was vulgar filth. “I’m thinking… cockroach . I’ve tried to kill you and your little friends several times, and yet… here you are.” He scowled. “And look, your plant friend is back from the dead.”

His murderous gaze zeroed in on Lewis.

Her stomach lurches, a sudden and sickening freefall. No!

With a sharp jerk of his head, Enyo signaled. Two brutes lunged forward, seizing Lewis by the arms. They dragged him into the firelight, ignoring the muffled protests from the group.

“Before I send you to your grave, plant boy ,” Enyo sneered, waving for a crewman to bring over a pail. “You’re going to fix something for me.”

The sailor dumped the contents at Lewis' feet. Wilted Noctilum buds tumbled to the dirt, their shriveled petals a mockery of their once-vibrant glow.

“Tell me,” Enyo said, his voice dangerously smooth, “how do I make them bloom?”

Lewis pushed his glasses up with his shoulder, glancing at the flowers. “Uh… well, only a few species of flora are capable of flowering off the vine?—”

The first punch snapped Lewis’ head to the side.

Vivienne gasped, horror clawing up her throat as his spectacles flew off, landing in the dirt. Blood trickled from his split lip. One of Enyo’s men shook out his fist.

“Let’s try this again,” Enyo drawled. “How do we make these infernal things bloom?”

Lewis straightened, pain written across his face, but defiance burned in his eyes. “You can’t ,” he rasped. “It’s impossible. There’s nothing we can?—”

Another fist collided with his jaw, sending him reeling.

Vivienne screamed against her gag, her cries drowned beneath the others’ muffled shouts of rage.

"How many flowers did we collect? If memory serves, we picked thirty-four." Enyo reached a hand down to Lewis' face, grabbing him by the chin, forcing him to make eye contact. "A blow for every bud might loosen your tongue... or kill you. I don't have a preference. Rufus, Jonjo, show our guests why no one fucks with me or my crew."

Jonjo’s next blow cracked against Lewis’ ribs, forcing a strangled wheeze from his lungs. Rufus followed with a savage punch to the gut, doubling him over. Another fist to the temple sent him to his knees.

Cirrus thrashed wildly against his bindings, his muffled curses turning into an animalistic growl. Florence’s eyes were ablaze with fury as she writhed, but the knots held firm. Owen bellowed, muscles straining, veins bulging against his skin as he fought against his restraints with every ounce of his remaining strength.

“STOP!” Vivienne tried to scream, but the gag choked her words into strangled sobs.

A brutal kick sent Lewis sprawling in the dirt, a bruised and bloodied heap. He groaned, barely able to lift his head.

Something inside her snapped. The burn of rage consumed her. Lewis doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t kill bugs. He’s never hurt anything or anyone in his life. Vivienne writhed against her bindings. Hot, angry tears streamed down her face as she pushed the gag out of her mouth at last.

“I CAN FIX IT!” The words ripped from her throat, raw and desperate.

Enyo lifted a bony hand, signaling his men to halt. Lewis lay motionless, his breath ragged. Blood seeped into the dust beneath him.

Enyo’s black eyes glinted. “And how do you plan to do that ?”

“I’ll give you ours,” Vivienne said, gasping for breath.

Owen and Florence’s eyes snapped to her in shock. Cirrus mumbled something against his gag—probably What are you doing? —but she ignored them.

“We have one in bloom,” she lied. “Let us go, and it’s yours.”

Enyo scoffed. “Why should I believe you?”

Vivienne held his gaze, steady as steel. “You shouldn’t,” she admitted. “I wouldn’t trust someone who stabbed me either.” Her lips curled as his expression darkened. “But if you untie me, I can show you.”

A sailor reached for her bag.

“You can’t just dump it out,” she snapped. “You’ll crush it, and then you’ll be right back where you started.”

Enyo exhaled through his nose, then flicked a finger. “Fine. Show me.”

A knife slashed through her bindings. She ignored the sting of returning circulation, reached into her tote, and slowly withdrew a single, glowing Noctilum.

The camp stilled. The sailors stared, their unsightly faces illuminated in its eerie light.

“This flower is one of the tributes we have to bring Velorien to break the curse,” She drew a stabilizing breath. “Its petals heal. You need your leg to mend. You need this.”

She locked eyes with Lewis. A nearly imperceptible nod. "You let us go," she continued, voice firm. " Let us live —it's yours."

Enyo tilted his head. “Or I take it and kill you.”

“You won’t get close enough,” Vivienne countered, curling her fingers around the bloom. “One wrong move, and I’ll crush it.”

The captain chuckled, a dark and unnerving sound, as he gestured for his men to step forward. As they did, Vivienne closed her fingers further around the blossom. They halted as Enyo's hands flew up in a stopping motion.

Enyo's lips parted in a slow, disgusted grin. “It appears you weren’t bluffing. You have yourself a bargain.” He turned to his men. “Untie them.”

Ropes fell away. Owen and Cirrus ran forward to help Lewis stand. Florence retrieved their confiscated weapons and sliced through the rope on Lewis’ wrists. Vivienne held her breath. They just need to get clear.

"Go," Vivienne urged, her voice low but forceful, "I'll be right behind you."

Cirrus hesitated, his gaze locking onto hers, searching for a crack in her resolve. Owen’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. Florence, ever the fighter, looked ready to drag her away by force. Even Lewis, battered and barely upright, shook his head in objection.

"Move," she hissed. "Now."

One by one, her friends backed away, their reluctance palpable. She kept her eyes trained on Enyo’s men, tracking every hint of movement, every twitch of their fingers near their weapons.

Her pulse thundered as she retreated, never turning her back, never giving them the opening they wanted. The distance stretched between them, but the space felt razor-thin, every inch a battle between control and chaos.

"All of you, back off!" she barked.

Enyo’s men tensed but didn’t advance. They watched her with predator’s patience, their hands hovering near blades, waiting for the moment she faltered.

She reached the camp’s edge. Her friends stood just beyond, waiting, poised to run the second they were free. Vivienne’s throat tightened. She crouched, lowering the Noctilum toward the ground with deliberate slowness, as if any sudden movement might break the spell. Her breath felt too loud, too uneven, as she placed the glowing bloom onto the dirt. Her fingers lingered on the stem for half a heartbeat longer than necessary. Then she straightened, her eyes never leaving Enyo’s, as she jogged backward, creating space between them.

“There’s your flower. We are leaving now,” she said, each word a declaration stronger than she felt.

Enyo chuckled. A slow , chilling chuckle.

“I agreed I wouldn’t kill you,” he mused, his grin widening.

A deep, unnatural cold crept through her limbs.

“But,” he continued, tilting his head, “I never said my crew wouldn’t.”