Page 4 of Cursebreaker

Blood, I realize, a second too late. Out of the corner of my eye, Gabriel appears, his sword raised, prepared to break Will’s hold on me by whatever means necessary. But he never gets the chance.

One moment Will leans in, his teeth bared, and the next, I’m thrown onto my back, my ears ringing.

I scramble upright, blinking, attempting to control my breathing even as my pulse pounds in my eardrums. The serpent—has it returned?

Above, muffled shouts give me pause. Before I’ve even made it to my feet, another explosion sends me careening forward, and my head collides with the iron bars of Will’s cell.

Not a serpent.

Cannons.

Gabriel hauls me to my feet, giving my shoulders a shake. “We’re under attack!”

Instantly, I’m transported to the day the Nightweavers attacked our family’s ship. The day the Lightbringer sank.

I watch Gabriel charging up the steps, but all I see is Owen.

I wasn’t fast enough to save my brother. To save our home. To save my family from captivity.

I won’t make the same mistakes again.

I quickly check that Will, slumped against the wall of his cell, is still breathing. It’s better that he’s unconscious. I know it’s only because of his curse that he tried to bite me, but if he were to break out of his cell in the state he’s in, we’d have more problems to deal with than whoever has launched an assault on our ship.

Satisfied that Will is safe—for now—I race after Gabriel.

When I emerge onto the deck, the tang of gunpowder coats my tongue.

Ten seconds. That’s all the time I get to survey my surroundings. To try to make some sense of the black flag, marked with the scarlet sun of the Eerie, illuminated by a crack of lightning cutting through the pitch-black fog.

Nine. The royal Nightweaver ship—the Mythslayer—packed with Bloodknights and human prisoners, the latter chained to the deck, soaked by the downpour of rain.

Eight. Cannons blast, tearing two holes in the starboard side of our ship.

Seven. Bloodknights storming over the gangplank and onto the Starchaser.

Six. My siblings, their weapons drawn, shouting at one another over the sound of the third cannon blast.

Five. Shards of wood slice my hands, tiny splinters needling into my palms, but I plant my feet.

Four. Henry steels himself at my side, flames engulfing his outstretched hands.

Three. I draw a cutlass from a sheath at either hip, the warm metal buzzing at my touch.

Two. Twenty feet from me, a tall, menacing figure stands before the prisoners on the main deck of the Mythslayer, his eyes glowing gold, his blond hair shaved close to his scalp. A king without his crown, he looks every bit the wicked villain of legend—his black cloak, trimmed with scarlet thread, his bare, tattooed hand outstretched, as the first human’s face shrivels and they collapse, their blood pulled from their body in a gruesome cloud of crimson.

One. Titus smirks, his gaze meeting mine as he forms a bloodred blade and points it at the throat of his youngest prisoner, the sight of her braided blond pigtails and tear-streaked face nearly knocking me off my feet.

My youngest sister.

Elsie.

I barely avoid the first strike of a Bloodknight’s broadsword, unwilling to pull my gaze from Elsie until the last second. His blade slices my cheek as I dodge his blow, ripping my flesh. Pain cleaves across my face, but the sting is like a jolt of electricity to my veins, sharpening my focus. When he strikes again, I roll, back on my feet in an instant, fists clenched around the hilts of my cutlasses.

Elsie is all I can think as I cross my blades, my teeth vibrating from the impact of the Bloodknight’s assault. Elsie, I say her name with every furious beat of my heart, shoving against the Bloodknight’s weapon with such force that he stumbles backward a few steps.

My little sister should be safe on the Red Island. How is she here, now? Has Titus found the island after all?

I attempt to scan the deck, but the dense fog of the Dire enshrouds the Mythslayer, obscuring Elsie from view.