The siren turned to watch him as he approached, like she could see him. Her head tilted to the side in curiosity, before she nodded at Melda.
And he was yanked by his feet to the bottom of the sea.
A Warning to Untested Pirates and Sailors
Sirens are not the only temptresses of the sea. In the vast blueness, one must rein in greed—and desperation. For both lead to mistakes. And mistakes, at sea, are nearly always deadly.
Orangebalms are a trail of tiny islands meant to tempt pirates and sailors into lowering their anchors. Dwarf fruit trees line their shores, sprouting golden apples, honey mangoes, and purple peaches. More than enough to tempt a dry, hungry mouth. But these fruits are plump with poison—even the thick, sweet-smelling liquid inside the tree’s branches is deadly to the touch. The sand beneath them is volcanic, hot enough to burn through flesh. And beyond those plants, vicious creatures await. Vampire leeches, flies that feast on eyeballs, and snakes with venom that dissolves skin and bone.
These islands can be easily recognized by the orange ring of rocks around their coast, a pretty feature that often makes them more attractive to the unknowing. They are the exact inverse of an oasis and should be unquestionably avoided.
Treasures also pose risks. Many a golden coin has been misenchanted, injected with dark power. Pirates who have come across these cursed riches have found themselves stunned permanently, shrunken to the size of a grain of sand, or transported alone into the middle of the ocean. Those with cursesensory emblems are prized crew members, for only they can smell the bitter scent of misechantment. That is why treasure is often carried in wooden chests—for a smart pirate does not touch their loot until a cursesensor can be consulted.
It is also why thieves rarely survive long on pirate ships.
Perhaps the greatest warning of all: For those willing to steal from the sea, the consequences can prove deadly. Guardians lurk below, giant creatures that can swallow ships whole.
The ocean is full of ancient beasts who awaken when someone has taken a treasure they cannot keep.
12
Perla
Tor hurtled off the bed, landing on the floor. He heard steps on the stairs, then Melda burst in, quickly followed by Engle and Vesper.
Melda threw her arms around him and sobbed into his shoulder. “You—you were gone, Tor! You were dead, you were so cold and blue…”
Engle embraced him next, and Tor was shocked to see his friend’s eyes rimmed in red. Engle nodded gravely. “She’s right, Tor. You died. We all thought...” He straightened and nodded. Tried and failed to smile. “But you’re here. You’re okay.”
Tor didn’t have the heart or energy to tell them that they should have wished for the pearl. That maybe, that way, their mission wouldn’t be doomed.
Because the prophecy had been right.
One of them had died—only to be brought back.
Which meant that the other half of the prediction would also come true. They would fail on their quest to find the pearl.
Part of Tor had wanted to give up the entire journey, even as he sailed forward. But now, having seen the sacrifice his friends had made, he realized it wasn’t about him or his Night Witch abilities.
It was about them. And he would die a dozen deaths to make sure they never did.
All of Emblem Island was counting on them.
He turned to Vesper, who watched him, wide-eyed, from the other side of the room, arms across her chest. Her hair was still wet, forming a small puddle at her bare feet. “Thank you,” he said. “I know you didn’t have to help me, so thank you.”
None of them asked how Tor could have known how Vesper helped. She simply said, “I’m glad you’re all right,” before leaving the room.
Tor turned to his friends.
Melda sighed. “I don’t trust her for a second. But she’s not so bad, I suppose.”
Engle nodded. “And we need her, now.”
His friend was right. With the wish used up, they now had to use the compass the way the blood queen had intended—with someone from Swordscale holding it. Only then could the compass lead them to the pearl.
They just had to hope that the spectral, the Calavera captain, and the Swordscale traitor hadn’t found it yet.
Though grateful for Vesper’s part in his rescue, Tor couldn’t help but play back the night’s events, starting with the capsizal.
Why had Vesper taken the fortuneteller’s skull?
He rested through the night, sleep sweet like sapphire and thick as syrup. He slept all morning, too, almost through the afternoon. By the time he surfaced, Tor was starving, and they were nearing land. Ships passed by, leaving and entering the harbor in front of them. He thought it must have been a busy port.
“Tor!” Engle said, smiling wide. He ran down from the upper deck. “How did you sleep?”
“Well, thanks,” he said, his voice coming out raspy and cracked. He was thirsty—and had just realized it. “Are we stopping?”
Vesper appeared, holding the compass. “We’ve been going where it leads us.” She opened her map, and Tor frowned down at the markings running along the planks at his feet.
“The pearl is in Perla?”
Engle shrugged. “According to the compass, at least.”
“How did the ship sail without me?”
Melda strode toward him. “We didn’t think it would—but we explained the circumstances to the mermaid, and the ship listened. It was still tethered to you, of course, can’t sail without you.” She swallowed. “When you were gone,”—Melda shuddered—“the ship stopped moving completely. The sails went out. That’s how we knew.”
Tor felt very much alive, but could not fathom the moments Melda and Engle had thought him dead. If anything happened to either of them…
No. He banished the thoughts. He was saved, for them—to help the two people who had continuously risked their lives to be there for him, without question. Using the comb to save him was a debt he could never repay—but he could
