Page 83 of Cursebreaker

I melt into sleep, like sinking to the depths of the sea, and for the first time in a long time, there are no nightmares waiting for me in the dark.

I wake in Titus’s arms, my heart thudding against my rib cage loud enough that I fear it will wake him. Slowly, I ease out of his grasp. The bed creaks as I slip from under the covers and onto my feet, but Titus doesn’t stir.

I allow myself one long look at his face. I’ve never seen him this peaceful. This human.

My chest aches as I step out onto the deck and into the foggy gray morning.

The Republic of Ruin is a dark, barbed mass in the distance, like a jagged crown of obsidian. I don’t know much about the kingdom—few do—and from what Owen tells me, they’ve spent centuries ensuring it stays that way. Even the soldiers they send to fight in the League of Seven are mysterious and withdrawn, rarely speaking to anyone outside their faction. During my time at Castle Grim, I overheard a group of courtiers discussing Ruin’s strange fashions, and a nobleman once claimed there was an inventor who lived in the Republic who had created something the scientists in the Eerie considered an abomination, but even he didn’t know what that was.

I join Owen and the others near the center of the deck. They gather around my brother, hunched over a map of Ruin. Margaret glances up at me, assessing.

Her eyes go wide a moment later, but I don’t know why until I hear his voice.

“This side of the island hasn’t been inhabited for decades.” He approaches behind, stretching his arms over his head, his voice still rough from sleep.

I glare daggers at Charlie and Lewis, smothering laughs with their fists. Eliza hides her grin by coughing, covering her face with her hands. Henry glances at the sky, as if sending up a prayer of thanks. The others go perfectly still, blinking at us both as if they’re trying to piece it all together.

Titus just smiles coolly, leaning in to whisper, “I know you were watching me sleep, but it felt quite a bit like you were planning my murder.”

Rook nearly spits out a mouthful of water.

My face feels as if it were on fire. I clear my throat. “Owen?” I ask, shooting him a pleading look, my voice pitched. “You said you figured out where we should be looking.”

He hasn’t looked up, but he grins at his map, mischief sparking in his gaze. I can tell he’s thinking of a dozen jabs he could make at Titus or me or both, but his grin falls as he points at the jagged border of the island. “Batya’s poem was clear,” he says, and at the mention of the Sorceress, the air shifts, the faces of our crew now solemn—focused. “‘Where mermaids call’—these parts are known for mermaid sightings. Pirates come from all throughout the Western Sea to hunt them. ‘Born by night…’ I’m still working on that. But I don’t think it matters because,” he adds, pointing at the sky, “come nightfall, you’ll see the constellation of Ugo the Dragon soars directly overhead, and there—those cliffs in the distance, you see them? They mirror the shape of Ugo’s wings almost perfectly.”

I can’t help but smile, pride swelling in my chest. Owen—the navigator and his map. Of course he would have solved the riddle of the shield. He found the Red Island, too, I think. When no one else could, he knew where it was. With Owen on our side, finding the Relics… it might actually be possible.

Owen continues. “Now the last part, ‘Where spirits of the sea remain…’”

“The wreck of the Tidesinger,” Titus says, his brows drawn. “In four hundred years, no one’s been able to find it.”

Owen flashes a smile, slipping his hands into his pockets. “They didn’t have the power of the Lightbringer, either.”

Titus’s jaw tightens.

“You think I’ll be able to find it because I’m Hildegarde’s heir?” I move closer to the map, stepping between Owen and Titus. “How?”

Owen’s smile falters. “It’s just a theory, but… I believe an offering of your blood, given to the ocean—much like with the Elysian Navigator—might enlighten our path.”

Titus goes rigid at the mention of my blood. “And if that doesn’t work?”

Owen shrugs, scratching his chin. “I could be missing something,” he says, brushing a speck of lint from his coat. “The line, ‘Where what is given must be gained…’ That could be a key to understanding where to look. I’ll keep trying to interpret the riddle, but—”

“We’ll do it tonight.”

Owen glances at me, nodding with grim approval. But Titus scowls, crossing his arms over his chest.

“There’s a storm coming in,” Titus says, his voice strained. “We could give it another day. Try to come up with another plan—”

“I’m not waiting,” I say. “Morana’s kingdom advances with every passing day, and we still don’t have a single Relic.” I shake my head. “We go tonight.”

Titus gives a curt nod, but when our eyes meet, his gaze softens. “We go tonight.”

Owen claps his hands together. “Then it’s settled,” he says. He doesn’t waste time, ordering the crew to prepare for our expedition. But as the others disperse, Titus lingers at my side.

He’s right—there’s a storm coming. A dark shelf of clouds hangs over the sky like a towering black wave. Veins of lightning illuminate the darkness, and in the distance, the low rumble of thunder quakes the weathered boards beneath our feet.

Titus watches the sky, his teeth clenched. I want to reach for him, to take his hand, but the hair stands up on the nape of my neck as a presence brushes against my spine, like a gaze raking over me from head to toe.