Page 60 of Cursebreaker

“It’s not your fault,” I say.

“Funny,” he says, but his tone is anything but amused. Killian’s calculating eyes remind me so much of Will, I can’t bring myself to look at his face. I focus instead on the small gold pendant hanging from his neck. A seashell. “I was going to tell you the same thing.”

I gesture at the pendant. “That’s a beautiful trinket,” I say. “You’re looking more and more like a pirate every time I see you.”

He smiles fondly, and when his eyes twinkle, he looks nothing like Will. “Orella says hello,” he murmurs, touching the pendant. He adds, lowering his voice, “She told me to tell you”—he smacks his lips, looking skyward, as if trying to remember—“‘I’ve decided to take your advice.’” He cocks a brow. “Does that mean anything to you?”

I suppress a grin. “That’s between us.”

He nods. “I expected as much. Ah, before I forget—” He brings his fingers to his lips, whistles.

Two glowing orbs of light materialize in the fog, one pink, one orange.

The pink pixie presses her forehead between my brows, her laughter like the soft tinkling of the tiniest bells.

“Liv!” I cry. “Oh, I’ve missed you!”

She draws back, enough that I can see her face. She frowns, iridescent tears streaking her cheeks. Something unspoken passes between us—words that go beyond language. Words that need only be felt.

Will cared for her. He protected her. And she cared for him, too.

“Who’s your friend?” I ask her.

“This,” Killian says with a somewhat disapproving—if not adoring—glance at the orange pixie, “is Liv’s cousin, Sylvie.”

Sylvie twirls, her tiny skirt—orange leaves sewn together—swishing. She giggles mischievously before kissing Killian on the cheek.

“I asked Liv to accompany you,” Killian tells me as Sylvie swoops past my head and lands on my shoulder, her feet dangling. “Sylvie decided to accompany Liv.”

My smile no longer feels forced as I strain to look at the pixie, smothering her giggles with a tiny hand. “Welcome aboard, Sylvie.”

Killian begins listing rules to Liv and Sylvie as the pixies chase each other about his head.

I jolt at the soft touch on my shoulder. I’ve barely turned when Father pulls me into a firm hug. “You are more than your blood, sweetheart,” he says quietly. “Do not lose yourself in search of treasure.”

I can’t seem to find my voice. I just smile. Nod. Blink back tears as Father climbs onto the gangplank, and Mother draws me into her arms.

She presses her forehead to mine. “Make him pay,” she whispers, and when I meet her eyes, they burn like blue fire. “Make them all pay.”

And then she’s gone—crossing the gangplank after Father. I stand there at the taffrail, watching as the Moondancer disappears into the fog.

Calantha. Morana. Will. They’ve taken too much. Too many families have suffered by their hand. Too many people forced into hiding. Too many lives taken too soon.

I’m not just going to make them pay.

I’m going to make them bleed.

I find Owen in the galley, chopping carrots with a knife that’s meant for killing, not cooking. Henry doesn’t seem to mind him, which is strange, considering Henry minds almost everyone. Especially a pirate.

Especially the pirate responsible for his father’s death.

Especially the pirate he blames for what happened to Dorothy.

When I creep down the companionway that leads to the tiny kitchen, I pause, watching the two of them, waiting for Henry to drive a butcher knife through Owen’s chest.

Instead, Henry says, “We don’t get to control what happens to us, but we get to decide what we do with it.”

And I understand. Owen might not have an X tattooed behind his ear, marking him as a victim of the Deathwail like Henry and me, but my brother has revealed something to him—something about what he endured as Morana’s servant. And Henry knows all too well what it means to be used.