Rae Carson - The Crown of Embers

“I really think you should start taking the lady’s shroud. Just in case.”

I straighten, take a deep breath, look calculatingly at the figurine in my hand. “Ximena wanted him to promise not to form an attachment with me.”

She wraps an arm around me and hugs me tight. “Ximena is a wonderful woman, and she loves you very much, but she is a meddlesome fishwife.”

I choke on surprise and laughter.

“You have to be the one to decide, Elisa. Not Ximena. What do you want?”

“I want Hector.” There. I’ve said it.

“Even if it means you can only have him for a short time?”

“I don’t know.”

“Fair enough.” She scoots behind me and reaches for my hair to put it in its sleeping braid. We sway a little as the wind picks up and rocks the ship. It’s comforting, like being rocked in a cradle.

“You said you brought two,” I say. “One for each of us.”

Her fingers on my hair still. “Yes. Belén and I . . . He is so handsome. And capable. Quiet and fiery, both at once.” She sighs. “We’ve both changed a lot. He’s scarred too, now. So maybe he won’t mind that I . . . even after everything that happened between us, I thought . . . maybe . . .”

“Just in case,” I say.

“Just in case,” she agrees.

Tonight, I decide not to take the lady’s shroud. But I wrap it carefully in my spare blouse and stash it in my pack. I lie awake a long time, wondering which would be more foolish, to prepare for something that may never happen, or not to prepare for something that might.

THE waves grow playful. They toss the Aracely about, and I clutch the rail as I descend the stair on my way to the passenger cabin to visit Storm.

I knock, and I hear what might be permission to enter, but I can’t be sure. I open the door anyway.

The scent of stale vomit makes me gag.

“You really need to let some fresh air in here.”

“Go away,” he mutters. He lies on the bottom bunk, one long leg dangling over the side, his arm over his eyes. Footsteps patter across the deck above us. A single fly executes lazy circles around the slop bucket near the head of his bed.

“Maybe you should go up on deck. At least you’d be able to throw up over the side instead of in that bucket.”

The ship tilts on a sudden wave, and he groans.

“I sensed the zafira, ” I tell him. “We’re heading toward it now.”

He lurches to a sitting position. “You’re sure?”

“It feels like it’s calling—”

He heaves into the bucket. It hasn’t been dumped in a while, and a bit splashes over the side. I jerk my feet away just in time. “Ugh,” I say. “I could get someone to clean that up.”

He wipes his mouth with a sleeve. “No. It keeps Hector and the captain out of my room. They’ve been sleeping in the hold.”

I’m torn between laughter and disgust.

“You’ll be tested,” he says. “The closer we get, the harder it will be.”

“That’s what I came to talk to you about. You said something to Mara about a gatekeeper.”

He nods. “I did, yes.”

I sigh, exasperated at how he makes me work for every bit of information. “Tell me everything you know about the gatekeeper.”

He lies back down. “Fetch me some water. Throwing up is thirsty work.”

“Information first, water later.”

I catch the faint hint of a smile before he says, “It’s an ancient Invierne legend. The gatekeeper was selected from among the animagi. Only the most powerful applied. There was a contest of sorts, and the winner was sent to watch over and protect the zafira .”

I frown. “You’ve never mentioned any of this before.”

“You never asked. Also, I’m not sure he really exists. But I am certain that my people would have erected some kind of defense around their greatest resource. Why not use the most powerful animagus in our nation to do it? And since the zafira conveys life and power, someone in close proximity could live a very long time.”

I stare at him in disbelief. “But your people have been cut off from the zafira for so long. He’d have to be hundreds of years old.”

“More like thousands.”

I laugh. “Not that old. After God brought humans to this world, it was a long time before we split off into separate nations.”

He gapes at me. “You’re a very stupid girl,” he says.

“What? Why?”

The ship lurches, and he covers his mouth as he gags. I ease away from the bucket before repeating my question. “Why do you think I’m—”

The ship’s bells peal, starting high and faint at the top castle, gaining strength as the other bells pick up the signal. A voice booms down the hallway. “All hands! All hands!”

Crewmen hurry past Storm’s doorway. “I’ll be back!” I say to the Invierno before rushing out after them. Have we been hailed? Have we sighted land already? Has someone gone overboard?

I burst onto the main deck and into blinding daylight. Sailors mill about with tasks I hardly understand. Two scurry up the rigging, daggers in their teeth. Why would we be preparing to cut the sails?

“Elisa!” It’s Hector. He stands at the bottom of the stair leading to the beakhead, gesturing for me to hurry.

I jog across the main deck. He grabs my hand and yanks me up the stairs. Captain Felix is already there, staring southeast. I follow his gaze.

A blue-black cloud bank curls along the horizon, a rolling darkness in an otherwise crystal sky.

“It’s a huge storm,” Hector says. “Maybe even a hurricane. We’ll know more in a few hours.”

The air feels different. Charged. Like it holds its breath.

“It’s too early in the year for hurricanes,” I protest, even as the storm bank flashes, turning the clouds a sickly green. Please, God, not a hurricane.

“By a month at least,” Felix agrees, staring out to sea. A gust of wind lifts his hair from his temples. “And from the wrong direction. In all my years on the water, I’ve never seen one come from the south. It’s unnatural.”

His words chill me. “Can we make for land?” I ask, even as I realize that we’ve been sailing away from the coast. We’d never make it back in time.

He shakes his head. “There’s no port for days. The Aracely has ridden out some rough storms, but a hurricane would swamp us. If we can last long enough, we may be able to harness it, get it to push us onto the reefs. We’d wreck her for sure, but some of us might be able to get to shore.” He skims his hand along the railing, caressing it like a lover. “She’s been a good ship,” he says quietly. “The best ship.”

I squeeze my eyes closed, unable to face his brave resignation. As I do, the zafira lurches into focus, pulling me forward like I’m a fish on the line. I have a sudden urge to dive off the prow and swim in the direction it bids me, straight into the roiling storm.

I open my eyes to find the clouds bearing down on us, already larger and darker than moments ago. And as the rising wind presses my garments against the shape of my body and my Godstone begins to twitch with telltale cold, I decide that Captain Felix is absolutely right. The swelling storm is unnatural.

To no one in particular, I mutter, “Storm said I would be tested.”

Hector raises an eyebrow. “You think God is sending a tempest to test your mettle? Surely he knows you better than that by now.”

I appreciate his attempt at humor, but I can’t bring a smile to my lips. “Not God. The gatekeeper.” The most powerful animagus in the world. Someone who has lived maybe thousands of years. “And Father Nicandro said I would have to prove my determination. He said there would be a test of faith.”