are making for some of the best entertainment in all of Visidia. You really ought to come and hear them.”
“I’ll be right there,” I say. “Give me a minute.”
“Of course.” She squeezes my shoulder in a way that seizes my heart and reminds me sharply of Father before she excuses herself. In her absence, I let the weight of her words sink in.
I had the help of my barracudas.
And I have my crew, but Shanty’s wrong. They’re frustrated enough with me and how I’ve had to handle my curse as it is. They’d never understand.
I stopped running from it.
But that’s not an option for me. My hands are stained with the blood of those who were killed on Arida the night of Kaven’s attack. They’re stained with the blood of my father.
If I stop running, it would mean accepting their deaths, as well as my curse. It would mean accepting that I only have half of my soul, and that soul magic will never belong to me or the rest of Visidia ever again.
Until I find the artifact—until I do everything in my power to repay Visidia for the damage I’ve caused—there’s no stopping. There’s no forgiving, no forgetting.
For now, I must keep running.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
With our course set, I head to the cabin Vataea and I are to share and set to work unpacking my chest. It’s with a heavy heart that I run my fingers over the fraying ropes of my hammock, remembering my first night lying here upon the sea. The start of a journey that would give me everything I’ve ever wanted, while taking away everything I loved most.
A quiet stomping of boots down the steps stills me, and I know they belong to Bastian even before he approaches with a second hammock in hand. Ours eyes catch, but he passes by wordlessly. I flinch at the sound of the first strike as he hammers the hammock into Keel Haul.
Staring at the tension in his body and the anger in his strikes, I know now’s the time to tell him the truth: that I’m here to find an artifact that can break our curse, not to take a husband. But as the words are nearly out of my mouth, Bastian breaks the silence.
“This would have been incredibly painful to do last summer.” Wiping sweat from his brow, he strikes another nail into the wood.
It takes me a second to understand he’s referencing his previous curse—the one that had his soul connected to Keel Haul—and I fold my hands as I take a seat across from him. “You must be glad not to be connected to a ship anymore.”
Gods. Small talk is bad enough on its own, but small talk with Bastian makes me want to chew off my own arm.
The breath he lets out sounds almost like laughter, but far too bitter. “I’d take my last curse to this one any day, Amora.”
Tell him, a voice inside me urges. Tell him the truth. But hesitation wins out, and I ignore the voice. “Is that why you never unpacked?” Inwardly, I curse myself for asking. I want to go on ignoring Bastian, just as I’ve tried to do since fall. But wanting and doing are something my mind and body wage a constant war between, especially now that we’ve been forced into such tight quarters. “You hardly had anything for the soldiers to load onto the ship.”
He continues his hammering, gaze never straying from his work. “It was in case I had to leave.”
I stiffen, biting down my surprise. “You can’t leave. What about our curse?”
“We’re not going to be cursed forever.” Another hammer strike. “I was getting ready for when we found a way to break it, and you decided you no longer want me on Arida. It’s impossible to get comfortable in a place I might not be welcomed to stay.”
My fingers still their anxious tapping. “Why would you think I wouldn’t want you there? I thought you wanted Arida to be your home.”
Finally he drops the hammer to his side, but the look Bastian cuts me is one of exhaustion, so unlike the assured arrogance he displayed on the shore this morning. “How can I feel welcome when you go out of your way to avoid me? When you flinch if I try to touch you?” He finishes Vataea’s hammock and takes a seat to test it, dragging his hands down his face. “Zudoh is my home. If you’d take the time to listen to