“But we never had the pearl. How will it help us find something we never lost?” Melda asked.
Mora turned to Vesper. The waterbreather seemed to pale even more beneath the blood queen’s gaze. “The pearl used to be guarded by those in the forgotten city of Swordscale, before it was stolen from them and hidden well. She must hold the compass. And it will lead her to the pearl her people lost.”
She stroked the waters again, and the image changed. “The compass was buried on Indigo Isle. And the only way to it is through the Devil’s Mouth, a cluster of pointed rocks nearly impossible to navigate through.”
Melda gritted her teeth at the image in the cauldron. The rocks formed an impenetrable maze. One wrong turn and their ship would be ripped to shreds. “How do we know you’re telling the truth?”
Tor didn’t dare breathe as the blood queen turned slowly toward Melda.
Engle swallowed.
But Mora simply bowed her head. “Immortals are cursed in many ways. One of them is that we must always tell the truth. It makes tricking and scheming all the more difficult.”
Tor stiffened. The Night Witch was immortal. Which meant…
“You can’t escape your fate, boy, as much as you wish to,” the blood queen said. “None of us can.”
When they left the cave, their ship bobbed before them, not having moved an inch. Mora joined them on the shell path, more barnacle-crusted land appearing beneath her feet as she made her way around the ship, to its very tip. The trail formed a small hill and she climbed it, to the mermaid carved into the ship’s bow. Tor watched her place a piece of sea glass on each of the siren’s eyes.
“She’ll help you in the Devil’s Mouth,” Mora said.
Then, without looking back, she followed the trail back to her cave, water erasing the bridge at her heels.
* * *
Vesper opened her shell charm once more, revealing a path to the next location she gave it—the Devil’s Mouth. From a bird’s-eye view, the labyrinth of rocks looked treacherous. Tor couldn’t imagine what it would look like right in front of him.
“We’ll be there in a day,” Vesper said.
Engle sighed, disappointed. “What are we supposed to do until then?”
Melda stared at him. “Possibly try not to get killed by a number of creatures from that book,” she said, arms across her chest.
“Well, I’m starving,” Engle said, to the surprise of no one. “We need to stop for food.”
“I’m hungry, too,” Tor admitted. “Tonight was supposed to be stuffed purple peppers…”
“Purple peppers?” Engle gasped. “I love those.”
“Me too. I would duel a pirate for a few right about now, with toppings—” Before he could finish his sentence, something appeared on the deck. A plate of stuffed peppers, complete with shredded cheese and sprinkled paprika.
Engle stood frozen, mouth in a perfect circle.
Tor blinked. Melda and Vesper didn’t say a word.
“Do it again,” his friend said quietly, not moving an inch toward the plate.
Tor remembered Vesper’s words. The ship belonged to him now. He closed his eyes, then let his imagination wander, thoughts forming like fireworks. He imagined a slew of his favorite breakfast foods, each more delicious than the last, and heard Engle gasp.
Tor opened his eyes to see that a table had appeared, covered in platters holding various steaming foods—flower-stuffed empanadas, scrambled eggs with cheese and spices, maple bacon, toast with chestnut spread, emerald cream puffs, diamond-dusted croissants, fruit plates, canela tea, pink salt hot chocolate, sapphire berry smoothies, bright red cherry juice.
Engle grinned at him. “I take it all back. I’m thrilled you’re the new Night Witch.” He promptly dug in.
Melda reached for a blue smoothie. “Do you think you can make anything we need appear?”
Tor went through a list of things he could want, and felt, somewhere inside himself, that the ship had a limited inventory. “No. But I think the ship has the same types of things we would find at an inn. And necessities for sailing.”
Engle licked his fingers clean of emerald cream. “No day-old bread this time, eh?”
Melda smiled a bit, remembering.
Vesper raised an eyebrow, then shrugged, reaching for the plate of sliced fruit and fried meat. She put a piece of pineapple in her mouth, then made a strange face as she chewed it, as if not expecting it to be tart.
Tor realized it had been almost a full day since he’d had something to eat. He hadn’t even had a single pang of hunger until then. Had he gotten used to an empty stomach after so many hours without food during their last journey?
Or was it something else? Time on the sea seemed to flow differently. Every hour seemed to have the potential of passing as quickly as a sputtering ocean breeze or as endlessly as the horizon.
He ate quietly, teeth sinking into ripe, rich, tangy mango. The eggs were soft and well-seasoned, pepper and cayenne bright on the tip of his tongue, and he smiled at the sweetness of diamonds from a stuffed pastry.
It made him think of his father, a cook. What had his mother told him about Tor’s absence? And Rosa—his little sister, who always kept the house full of music, thanks to her singing emblem. Did she wonder where he was?
He had left them, again. On a quest that even with a banquet spread before him, couldn’t help but seem fruitless.
Tor’s breath hitched as the ship suddenly shuddered—there was a sudden crack of wood so loud, it seemed to splinter the air.
The deck flipped violently to the side, sending all the food and metal plates clattering away.
He stood from where he had fallen, arms outstretched for balance, the ship still dangerously tilted to one side.
“We hit something,” Engle said, seeing through the front of the ship for a split second. On good days, his sightseeing emblem allowed him to see through objects.
They walked cautiously to the bow of the ship, where the mermaid was whole, the spot next to her
