Page 46 of Cursebreaker

“No,” I say. “None of this is your fault. And besides,” I add, grinning, “you were right. The Red Island is real.”

He smiles even as more tears fall from his eyes. “Do you think—” His voice catches. “Do you think I can ever come home?”

My stomach twists, my chest tight. “You are home,” I tell him. I peer around him, at our siblings, and wave them toward us. “It’s all right,” I say. “He’s back.”

Lewis slips out of Margaret’s hold, nearly tackling Owen.

“You look awful,” Lewis tells him, mussing his hair.

“Oh, really?” Owen laughs, pivoting to put Lewis in a headlock. “I can still kick your ass, though.”

The two of them jab at each other, giggling and shoving like children, until Owen catches sight of Charlie, his face still buried in his hands.

Lewis hangs back as Owen approaches Charlie, slowly, gently, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder.

“I thought—” Charlie hiccups. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“I’m here, brother,” Owen says as Charlie throws his arms around him. “I’m right here.”

After a minute, Owen draws back, only slightly, his head tilted at Margaret.

“Come on, Marge,” he says, a teasing grin tugging at his lips. “I know you missed me.”

A sob wrenches free from Margaret’s chest, and she piles into their hug, followed by Lewis. Owen sticks out a hand, beckoning me, and I half-laugh, half-sob as I join their embrace.

A fifth pair of arms wraps around us.

“I think we really needed this,” Rook says with a sigh.

Charlie and Lewis seem to smother their grins, and Margaret rolls her eyes as we break apart.

But Owen claps Rook on the shoulder. “Ah, the musician,” he says. “Are you still taking requests?”

Rook bows slightly at the waist. “Finally, someone who appreciates my talents.”

Owen smiles as Rook jogs across the deck to fetch his violin, but the instant he’s gone, Owen turns to me, his expression grim, and my heart sinks.

“Who can we trust?” he asks, his voice laced with urgency.

I watch as Rook descends the companionway. Titus trusts him. He trusts Diana, too. And I trust the others—Gabriel, Henry, Jack, and Eliza. They’re my crew. My friends.

“There isn’t a soul aboard this ship whom I don’t trust,” I tell him as Margaret, Charlie, and Lewis all exchange solemn glances, their spines straightening, rolling their shoulders back. Preparing for a fight.

Trust. It means more to my siblings and me than any other word. It’s the difference between life and death. It’s an anchor. A vow.

“Good,” Owen says, nodding slowly. “Because I know what Morana’s planning, and we’re going to need all the help we can get.”

A gentle breeze billows the sails of the Starchaser as the sky turns a soft, dusky shade of lavender, and the quiet melody of Rook’s fiddle paints the coming night with anticipation.

Owen stands near the bow of the ship, quietly chanting, his hands raised. He spent the day putting wards around the Starchaser—magic that Diana tells me hasn’t been practiced since before the Fall. Magic she’s never encountered.

I sit between Gabriel and Eliza as Henry emerges from the galley for the first time all day, carrying a pot of stew. Annie trails along behind him, holding a towering, lopsided stack of wooden bowls, her gaze fixed on the deck.

I get to my feet as Henry approaches Margaret. He doesn’t look up, his dull gaze fixed on the weathered boards underfoot, as Annie offers Margaret a bowl. My sister smiles warmly, taking the bowl from Annie with a soft, “Thank you.”

Henry dishes out the stew with surprising care, but I don’t miss the way Margaret flinches as he reaches out, spoon in hand, to ladle it into her bowl.

Henry’s brows pinch, his mouth twisted in a frown, and he takes a deliberate step back. He serves Jack, then Lewis and Charlie, and finally—