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“I’m coming, I’m coming,” said a voice from within the thick green foliage. A clutch of palm fronds parted and Kohara hobbled out. “I’m not as quick as the little ones.”
The older woman tried to smile—for the children’s sake, Riella supposed—but her bottom lip wobbled and her brown eyes were awash with grief.
“How is he?” she asked the siren in a hushed tone.
Riella glanced at the children. “He’s alive. They’re bringing him to camp. Are you hurt?”
She waved her hand and started down the path to the clearing. “Only my heart, dear. Only my heart. I’ve known Artus since he was a lad, you know.”
Jarin and the rest of the crew crowded the camp. They’d cleaned up one of the ground-level huts, its ruined contents heaped in a pile on the sand. Jarin’s low, reassuring voice came from inside, murmuring something to Ferrante, who cried out periodically.
Kohara disappeared into the hut while Riella hung back with the children, unsure what to say to them. Ulyss barreled into the clearing, wild-eyed and searching. As boatswain, he’d been below deck when they dropped anchor, and hadn’t been on the first rowboat ashore. Ruslo and Nuri ran into his arms and he hugged them tightly, tears wetting his cheeks.
When he finally set them down, he spoke in a strained voice.
“How would you two like to swim in the rock pools with me?” he asked them.
The children nodded eagerly, and he led them away down one of the jungle paths. Riella was glad they’d be distracted while the crew tended to the camp and Ferrante. Children were not supposed to witness such horrors.
Riella helped with the cleanup in subdued silence. Ferrante’s cries rang ceaselessly at first, but gradually quieted. She prayed it was because his pain was being eased, not because he was dying.
The camp resembled something habitable when Jarin finally emerged from the hut, ashen-faced and dark-eyed. His hands and the front of his shirt were stained red.
He beckoned to Riella. She followed him a short way to a secluded pocket of the jungle, where they would not be overheard.
“He’s alive,” said Jarin. He went to rub his sweating forehead with his hand, then caught sight of the blood on his palm and grimaced. “He’ll be crippled, though. I’ll try to convince him to come to the mainland, but he’s a stubborn man, and Kohara’s a stubborn woman, and I believe they wish to remain here. He went right down to the beach to meet Artus. He sacrificed himself, so that Kohara and the children would have time to hide.”
“He’s brave,” replied Riella in a soft voice. “What did Artus want?”
“The map. He must’ve found out we had it, or at least strongly suspected.” A muscle worked in his jaw. “Ferrante told them what the map said. Not everything, but enough to sound convincing. Artus knows the full moon is significant, and that a siren is involved. They tortured it out of him. Artus threatened to go looking for the children.”
Riella groaned. “What terrible luck, that Artus came while we weren’t here to defend them.”
“It wasn’t bad luck.” Jarin flexed his blood-stained fingers. “The deserters from yesterday went right to him. Artus knew he’d have an easier time getting information from Ferrante than me. Why torture a man who can’t die when you can just find out secondhand from a frail old man? And you can bet he didn’t want to fight you head-on. Not if he didn’t have to.”
Riella rubbed her temples. “This is a disaster.”
“Artus would still need a siren’s Voice to access the amulet. And a way to dive deep enough. He doesn’t have those means.”
“And Polinth? He has a siren’s Voice.”
“But he knows nothing of the map’s contents. He doesn’t know where to look for the amulet.”
For now, thought Riella. How long would that last?
“Then, we find them both,” she said, determined to rally. She was going to die soon. This wasn’t the time to accept defeat. “It won’t be hard, will it? We know Polinth will be in Klatos for King Leonid’s wedding. At the very least, I can save Seraphine. And if we can kill him before he can locate the amulet or wreak any havoc, all the better.”
Jarin nodded thoughtfully. “Every pirate in the kingdoms will be drawn to the celebrations, like flies to honey. All those drunk wealthy noblemen and docked foreign ships make for easy pickings. I bet Artus’ll be there.” He frowned. “Unless he’s out to sea, looking for the amulet with the bits of information Ferrante gave him.”
Riella chewed the inside of her cheek. “Pirates talk, don’t they? For better or worse, word travels fast between you all. Can’t you plant a seed with your crew that a sorcerer in possession of a siren’s Voice will attend the king’s wedding celebrations? To bait Artus into showing himself?”
“I bet that’d work, but it’s a huge risk. What if Artus manages to actually steal your Voice from Polinth?”
“He won’t steal it. We’ll stop him.” Riella kicked at the sand with her battered boots, tense and frustrated. She couldn’t let these horrible people win. Either of them. Why else would her death be prophesied? She was meant to do more with her remaining life than wait around and dread that Polinth or Artus would succeed. “And I don’t have time to sail the seven seas searching for our enemies. That could take forever. We have the opportunity to bring both of them to us, in Klatos for the wedding. Let’s do it.”
“You’re right.” He touched her arm. “I’ll send my men with the biggest mouths to the mainland to spread the word.” He paused. “Ferrante wants to talk to you, by the way.”
A jolt of alarm traveled through her. “Me? Why?”
