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.”
“What exactly are you saying, Your Majesty?” says Felix in a cold voice.
I loose a breath that is nearly a sob. It’s one thing to be God’s chosen, to be put in danger at every turn, made to fulfill some nebulous destiny. It’s another thing entirely to endanger a ship full of good people to do it.
I do my best to explain, even though I know it won’t be good enough for Felix. “I am the champion, according to Homer’s Afflatus. And I must not waver. I’m sure you’ve heard it? ‘He could not know what awaited at the gates of the enemy, and he was led, like a pig to the slaughter, into the realm of sorcery.’ The passage promises that if the champion stays the course, he will be victorious by the power of God’s righteous right hand.”
Hector pinches the bridge of his nose and groans.
“What?” Felix says, looking back and forth between us. “What am I missing?”
I point toward the storm. “We need to go through that. Straight through. No wavering in our resolve.”
The captain gawks at me. “You can’t be serious.”
Instead of answering, I place my fingertips to the Godstone and allow its warm pulse to comfort me. It’s so familiar. I can’t imagine being without it.
My faith has been greatly shaken in the last year, but not broken. I have this conduit, after all, this constant reminder that someone or something listens to my prayers, grants me strange power in trying circumstances, warns me of danger. So I know to trust where it leads.
Hector turns to Felix and says, “Not two weeks ago, I was hit with an assassin’s arrow.” Hector pulls up his shirt and twists around to reveal a thin white scar just beneath his shoulder blade. It looks like the injury happened years ago. Felix studies it with interest. “The arrowhead nicked my lung,” Hector says before letting the hem drop. “I had to fight through it, so I bled everywhere. By the time I got help, it was too late. I was a dead man.”
Though I know how the story goes, I’m intent on his every word, hoping for a glimpse into his mind.
“Elisa healed me,” Hector says. “With the power of her Godstone. It was sore for a few days”—he curls his arm and straightens it again—“but it’s fine now. Not even a twinge.”
Now he looks at me, dead-on. “She saved my life,” he says. “It took a lot out of her, more than she’ll tell me, but she did it. So if she says we must steer into the storm, I believe her.”
I could almost forget about the storm, about my Godstone, about everything, when he looks at me like this, like I’m the only thing in the world.
Felix says, “You’re asking me to risk more than twenty lives. Not to mention my ship. If we ran aground on the reef, I could at least salvage part of her. Maybe a lot of her. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Majesty, but your country is in shambles. Good work is hard to come by. This ship means life for a lot of families—not just my sailors, but the coopers who make our wine barrels, the seamstress who mends our sails every year, the pig farmer who sells salted meat for our long hauls.”
I tear my eyes from Hector’s with reluctance. “Oh, I know,” I say to Felix. “I know all that and more. There were four riots in Brisadulce during the last month alone, thanks to a tax increase I was maneuvered into. The people are right to be angry. The Wallows is in more desperate condition than ever, mostly because the blue marlin ran so poorly last season. And did you know the output of the tanners’ guild was reduced by thirty-one percent? My fault, you see. I let Basajuan secede, and now we don’t have access to their sheep hides until we work out a trade agreement with Cosmé.” I turn my back on the storm and lean against the railing. Felix regards me with undisguised alarm. Maybe he’s worried I’ll commandeer his ship after all. Maybe I will.