“Who attacked Swordscale?” Tor dared ask.
Vesper shook her head. “I have no idea. No one speaks of it. And most of those who might have known are dead.” She shrugged. “As I told you before, Swordscales are superstitious. They believe writing about bad things will make them happen. Speaking them is worse.”
“I’m really sorry, Vesper,” Tor said again, knowing it wasn’t enough.
She took a deep breath. “My people are already weak, already broken. If the Calavera succeed, waterbreathers will be all but extinct. We’re the last settlement I know of.” Her bottom lip quivered, and she bit it, holding it still. “My parents died protecting their people.” She lowered her head, her green eyes blazing. “I won’t let their sacrifice be for nothing.”
* * *
Later, the sea was still. It felt heavier around the ship as Tor navigated it, requiring more effort than usual. He was alone on the deck, compass in his palm, when Melda appeared. She offered to take over while Tor rested, but he declined. He wasn’t tired, and he liked watching the water, especially when afternoon turned to evening.
“It always looks a little lazy this time of day,” he said, staring out at the ocean. The few waves that did form around them had rounded crests, as if the sea was ready to get off work.
Tor couldn’t fathom ever getting tired of watching it. Each mile they sailed, the water looked a little different.
He turned to her. “You know, maybe Vesper isn’t so bad. Maybe we can trust her.”
Melda gave him a look. “Are you going off facts? Or are you biased, because she’s a waterbreather, like you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Melda shrugged. “You’ve wanted this marking your entire life, and she’s the first person you’ve met who has it. I get why you’d want to trust her.”
“No, I just—” He wanted to tell Melda about Vesper’s past, but stopped himself. Doing so felt wrong. It wasn’t his story to tell.
Melda walked over to him. “Are you enjoying it, at least?” She nodded at his emblem.
Just a month ago, Melda had scoffed at Tor’s wish for a waterbreathing marking. Now, he saw no judgment in her gray eyes. He frowned at the sky. “It feels wrong, knowing the cost. And circumstances.” He looked up at her. “But—yes. It’s just like I thought it would be.” He straightened. “Sandstone—you should have seen it, Melda. It was bigger than Estrelle, like Zeal, even. But…down there.” He was grinning. “Breathing underwater, it’s incredible. It’s just like breathing air, but it’s thicker, you know? Sweeter, almost. And things are different underwater. You can walk, just like on land, or swim, and—” He stopped himself, took a breath, then slowly slumped over. “I know I sound strange. But I can’t explain it. I’ve just always been drawn to the ocean, like something’s waiting for me out here.” Tor shrugged. “Do you know what that’s like?”
Melda was looking past him, focusing very intently on a spot far away. Her fingers found the base of her throat, where her necklace once sat. Before she had sacrificed the rare drop of color it held to save Engle. “I do, actually,” she said.
Then, they were flying through the air.
Tor hit the side of the ship and bone snapped—his arm erupted in pain, like fireworks going off beneath his skin. He screamed out, and Melda crawled over to him. Engle jumped up from where he had landed, on the opposite side.
Something had struck the boat.
“What was—” Before Engle could finish his sentence, a long tentacle whipped out of the sea fast as the casting line of a fishing rod and across the deck. It landed with so much force, Tor, Melda, and Engle went flying backward once more.
The bone in his arm stuck out in a strange direction, almost through his skin. He cradled it as he rose, barely resisting the urge to cry out in pain.
Engle swallowed. “That’s a capsizal,” he said. “Five tentacles. Fifty feet long. Carnivorous.” He shook his head. “I knew something was following us. I wasn’t just imagining it.”
Melda screamed as another tentacle spiraled from the water and smacked against the ship, this time slithering down its side, underneath the vessel, all the way back around. “It’s going to smash us to pieces!” She turned to Engle. “Does it have a weakness?”
He nodded. “Terrible eyesight. Can only sense movement.”
Another tentacle had joined the others. Then another. And another. Its suction cups made sticking sounds as they fastened firmly against the wood—its tentacles went taut, and the boat cracked, a fracture running straight down the deck like a bolt of lightning. It was going to split the ship in half.
Tor recognized the creature—it looked just like the giant squid from Sandstone. He wondered how Vesper was doing below deck and hoped she would be able to escape through a window, if the vessel was crushed further. “How many of these exist?” he yelled over the growl that shook the ship, pain a pulse in his arm.
Engle was shaking. “Only one at a given time.”
Just then, Vesper surfaced from below deck, pushing heavily against the latch, which one of the tentacles had partially covered.
Tor took a step toward her and couldn’t believe he had just tried to convince Melda that Vesper could be trusted. “You took it, didn’t you?” He remembered Captain Forecastle’s words about the ship’s golden-edged sails; he had said it meant something aboard had been stolen. Tor had assumed the sails had sensed the Night Witch’s stolen cloud charm, but now—
“Took what?” Melda yelled. The sea at their sides bubbled like the ocean was simmering, a big soup they were about to be boiled in.
“The fortuneteller’s skull.” That was why the monster had attacked in the library. And also why it had followed them all this way. “Give it back!” Tor yelled.
Vesper hesitated.
“You’ll kill us all!” Melda said.
Vesper reached
