Sea of Starlight (The Riven Kingdoms #2) - Shari L. Tapscott Page 0,65

around. But there’s nothing there.

A man lets out a startled cry from farther down the deck. And then another after him.

“They’re playing with us,” Lewis says.

“Just like tiraiths,” I answer.

Moments later, the rest of my men spill onto the deck. Morgan’s at the front, sword ready. Morbid glee glints in his eyes.

Aeron has his bow, Braith his sword.

“Cabe is with them,” I say, hesitant to let him join us.

“He’s old enough,” Lewis answers.

I turn to my friend. “Do you want to be the one to tell my aunt that another child has been taken from her?”

Lewis studies me. “You’ve been in Renove too long. It’s made you soft.”

My mind is no longer on the conversation. A small figure cloaked in black, too short to be human, walks across the deck unnoticed and enters the door my men just exited.

“Who’s that?” I demand.

As if hearing me, the cloaked figure turns back before it goes down into the belly of the ship, finding me immediately.

The creature’s eyes are unseeing and the same depthless black as the sky. Its skin is gray, and its hair is long and as black as its eyes. The creature is sopping wet, looking as if it crawled up from a watery grave.

Thin black lips tip into a smile as it turns toward the door that will lead it to Amalia. I’m already running down the stairs, yelling into the night.

It lifts its hand before it shuts the door behind it, and the remaining lanterns snuff out. The only light comes from the eerie glow of the sea stars.

I crash against the closed door, feeling for the handle in the dark, shaking with anger and fear. It’s after Amalia—they’re always after Amalia.

I find the handle, and then I scream a curse into the night.

The door is locked.

37

I yawn behind my hand, sitting cross-legged atop the captain’s bed. This voyage, which Rhys said was the most dangerous leg of our journey, has proven to be rather boring.

Not that I’m complaining, but I’ve stared at this same planked wall for so long, I could see the patterns of the knots in my sleep.

I’m not sure if it’s day or night, but what does it matter when the sky is always black?

Not that I’ve seen the sky—not for days. I’ve been here, in this little cabin, only allowed to leave to tend to personal matters.

If nothing else, it’s given me time to learn to braid my hair. I’ve tried it a hundred different ways, using the small corner mirror atop the vanity along the wall as a guide. It’s up now, held in place with a ribbon. I don’t have another mirror, so I can’t see the back of it, but I know it’s messy. I can feel the bumps when I run my hand over the plaits. Right now, that matters little.

I glance around, taking in the feminine touches in the room—the mirror, the soft rug, the embroidered pillows—and wonder for the hundredth time if the captain once sailed with a wife.

Is she back in Talbin? Or did the sea claim her on one of their voyages? What was her name, what was her story?

I’ve had too much time to think.

I’ve thought about slipping onto the deck, just for a few minutes. But the memory of the voice in the night is too close. I shudder as I remember it, wondering if time will ever obscure its tone and pitch.

I’m afraid I’ll live with it forever.

I lie back on the bed to stare at the ceiling—another view I’ve had more than enough of. I’m just counting the rings on a piece of timber when I hear a yell abovedeck.

Startled, I sit up, listening.

Then I hear Tryndon’s voice. He yells at Rhys’s men, and the command is followed by the pounding of boots rushing past my door. I reach for the dagger Rhys left for me, turning the hilt nervously in my hands.

Suddenly, the door flies open, and I jump, automatically extending the blade in front of me.

Braith’s eyes move to the dagger, and he gives me a grim smile. “There’s a situation abovedeck, Your Highness. You best lock your door.”

Gulping, I leap off the bed. “All right.”

He closes the door, and I immediately reach for the lock. Once it’s secure, I step back and stare at the doorknob…waiting for it to move.

“The crew sails this sea twice a month,” I say aloud. “They’re prepared.”

I’m not sure I believe myself.

There’s scuffling above me, followed by more yells. The once silent ship