Page 138 of Cursebreaker

I know the moment Titus sees Will take a step toward me, because in the split second that he’s distracted, a Gore slashes his face, spraying the mainmast with blood.

Titus falls to his knees, his blade sliding across the deck and out of reach. A flash of lightning illuminates the Gore’s monstrous claws as it prepares to strike him again.

I lurch forward, my cutlass raised—

But then Will is there, standing over Titus. For an instant, it’s as if I were back on the beach once more, watching as Will towers over Jack, his blood dripping onto the sand. Only, this time, when Will’s blade arcs, a streak of purple, blue, and green light, the Gore’s head rolls across the deck.

One heartbeat. Two.

Will extends his hand to Titus.

“No need to thank me,” Will says, his voice a low rasp, and when he glances at me, his eyes twinkle with amusement.

“Didn’t plan on it,” Titus clips, taking his hand.

Will helps him to his feet.

There’s no time to question Will’s allegiance. The three of us move as one as Will draws a second Elysian blade from a sheath at his hip and tosses one to Titus.

The years Titus and Will spent fighting together on a battlefield are evident in the way they trust each other’s every maneuver, their attacks coordinated as if they had done this a thousand times. I find myself fitting into their rhythm just as I once did with Owen and my siblings aboard the Lightbringer; I duck as Titus swings his sword over my head, and Will drives his blade into the gut of the Shifter behind me as I whirl, cutting down the Sylk that lurches for us. Lunge. Parry. Feint. Strike.

Titus and Will act as if the past few months never happened, and I think, once or twice, I hear one of them laugh, hear the other shout a warning, a thanks, a compliment.

I remember what Henry said: Just think what we could accomplish with him on our side.

With Will fighting alongside us, we might actually have a chance. Even the Underlings seem to cower at the sight of him back-to-back with Titus. Sylks abandon their hosts. Shifters flee the ship.

Another cannonball rattles the Starchaser.

No—not the Starchaser.

I realize, a moment too late, that the Starchaser hasn’t been struck. And it isn’t cannon fire that shakes the very foundation of the Red Island. I can’t see Morana, but I know she must be close—I can feel it, as if he were still connected by some invisible thread. I know, when the island groans and magma floods the jungles, spilling out over the top of the volcano like a pot boiling over, that Morana has gorged herself on enough blood to enhance the affinities granted to her by the power of the Lightbringer.

And I know it’s with the power of the Lightbringer that she tears apart the very fabric of the island, ripping it in half.

“Maker of All!” Rook cries.

I feel the pain of not only the people of the Red Island but also the island itself. But there’s nothing I can do—nothing but watch as the Red Island begins to sink.

I think of Elsie as pieces of the island crumble into the sea. I can’t lose her again—not when I’ve just got her back.

I could save them all, I think. If I could control my power, I could fight back against Morana. But I’ve let fear keep me from trying—too afraid to lose control to even attempt to master my abilities. I’ve let shame keep me captive: shame for the things I’ve done, shame for never being enough—for never being fast enough, or brave enough, or strong enough to save everyone. To save myself.

And now shame is all I feel as I watch the island ripped apart by a power I should be able to control.

I’m torn between defending the Starchaser and finding a way back to the beaches to search for my little sister when a bloodcurdling scream chills my blood.

Time slows to a crawl as I turn in the direction of the sound.

Henry staggers to the left. Sways.

He’s still holding the hilt of the dagger protruding from his stomach when Margaret cuts down the Shifter who bested him. Will and Titus move, racing toward him.

But it’s too much. The pain. The blood.

And I—

I let go.