Page 79 of Cursebreaker

A new day. A fresh start.

I throw the pebble into the ocean, feeling lighter somehow. Ready to face whatever comes—together.

And still… I can’t shake the feeling of seeing Will again—the way he’d called out for me. We’re miles away from Hellion, but his voice seems to echo, even here, even now, chilling me to the bone.

Because he didn’t sound angry.

He sounded afraid.

What took place in Hellion seems to have an effect on everyone, not only the four of us who went ashore. Gabriel and Henry no longer bicker—at least, not over things that matter. Margaret, Diana, and Eliza spend most of their time together. Titus and Gabriel spar—Jack and Lewis take bets on who will win. Sylvie and Liv take a shine to Rook, always urging him to play music—even when Charlie plugs his ears with cotton. And sometimes, when the sun is setting, and we gather for supper together on the main deck, I can almost forget that we’re at war—can almost pretend this is all there is. These people. These brief moments of joy with my family.

But at night, when I am alone in my quarters and the glowing silver ink of the Elysian Navigator forms the image of the Helm on the island of Ruin—when I recite the poem Batya had read from the shield—I know that none of this will last.

Day after day, I find reasons to avoid Titus. What if I’m misreading the signs, as I had with Will? What if I let myself fall for Titus, only to lose him, too?

The others seem to know what I’m doing, but no one says anything. I can tell Eliza wants to talk about it—Rook tries, but Diana chops him in the throat and he breaks off in a fit of choking—and even Margaret and Jack seem to be working up the courage to ask, but I never give them a chance.

One afternoon, on the second week of our voyage, Titus tries to give me a hand with the rigging, but I make a beeline for the companionway. I find Henry seated on a crate in the galley, his head in his hands.

“Need some help?”

He leans back, his fingers steepled under his chin, a smirk curling his lips. “If you think you can cook a better stew than me, by all means.”

I fold onto the crate beside him. “I know I can cook a better stew than you,” I say, nudging him with my elbow. “Gabriel could cook a better stew than you, and I don’t think he’s ever even stepped foot in here.”

He chuckles, but his eyes are dark. “Gabriel hardly knows how to hold a spoon.”

We glance at each other sidelong, our lips quirked, and when Henry finally breaks, I find myself holding back a few seconds longer, just to listen to his laughter. Laughter that still, even now, reminds me of all that he’s survived—all that we’ve survived together.

I rest my head on his shoulder, his cheek pressed to the top of my head. We sit in comfortable silence, listening as Henry’s magic brings a pot of water to a boil. But after a while, I feel him tense, his throat working on a swallow.

“My nightmares are getting worse,” he says.

“Mine too,” I admit, only to him. Only ever to him.

“I just don’t understand.…” He knits his hands in his lap, anxiously twisting his fingers. “Why would he ask that Annie go free?”

My heart drops into my stomach.

“He’s not supposed to care,” he says, voice low, as if he were reluctant to say the words aloud. “But… you said he spared Leo from the Deimos.”

I sip at the air, my head spinning. “Yes, but Henry… he killed Flynn, Sade, Batya—all those people at the palace—”

“I know,” he says, getting to his feet. He paces the small galley, his expression hard. “But what about Owen? What about all the people he killed while he was working for Morana?”

I wince. “That’s not the same.”

“How?” he insists, brow furrowed. “He killed my father, Aster. He’s the reason—the reason Dorothy is dead—”

“Will compelled you—”

“Owen tried to kill you!” His eyes are wild. “You’ve forgiven him. I’ve forgiven him! But it doesn’t change what he’s done—why he did it. What if Will—” He grinds his teeth, braces his head between his hands. “I just can’t believe that he’s not still there, somewhere. That he doesn’t have a reason.”

I feel like I’ve been struck. “You think he had a reason for compelling me to be with him?”

Now it’s Henry’s turn to wince. “That’s not what I—”

“That he had a reason to compel you to try to kill Margaret?” I get to my feet, holding his stare. “Letting Annie go, burning Leo’s body—he knows how that makes him look. It’s all a part of his game.”