Kye gives me a disparaging look. We’re the same age, but he has a funny way of making me feel younger. More like the boy I am than the captain I try to be.
“That’s the thing about risks,” Kye says. “It’s impossible to know which ones are worth it until it’s too late.”
“You’re getting really poetic in your old age,” I tell him. “Let’s just hope you’re right and the map is actually useful in helping us not freeze to death. I’m pretty attached to all my fingers and toes.”
“I still can’t believe you bargained away your future for a piece of parchment,” Kye says. His hand is on his knife, as though just talking about Sakura makes him think of battle.
“Weren’t you just telling me that risks can be worthwhile?”
“Not the kind that land you in unholy matrimony with a princess.” He says the last word like it’s dirty and the thought of my marrying another royal doesn’t bear thinking about.
“You make a good point,” I tell him. “But I’m going to offer Sakura a better prize than myself. As unlikely as that may sound. It’s the reason we’re going to Eidyllio in the first place, so don’t act so resigned to my fate just yet. I have a plan; the least you can do is have faith.”
“Except that your plans always end in scars.”
“The ladies love them.”
“Not when they’re shaped like bite marks.”
I grin. “I doubt the Queen of Eidyllio is going to cannibalize us.”
“There’s a lot of land between us and her,” says Kye. “Plenty of time for me to be eaten somewhere along the way.”
Despite his qualms, Kye doesn’t seem put out by my evasiveness. He never seems to mind elusive retorts and vague, almost flippant, answers. It’s like the thrill of the hunt might just be in the not knowing. Often, I’ve shared the sentiment. The less I knew, the more I had the chance to discover. But now I wish I knew more than what was written in a children’s book, tucked away in the desk of my cabin.
The text speaks of the very top of the Cloud Mountain, the farthest point from the sea, and the palace that was made from the last frozen breath of the sea goddess Keto. A holy place that only Págese royals are allowed to enter on their sacred pilgrimages. It’s there that they sit in prayer and worship the gods who carved them. It’s there they stay for sixteen days. And it’s there, in the center of this holy palace, that the crystal lies. Probably.
This whole quest is based on rumor and hearsay, and the only upside to any of it is that the missing necklace has prevented Sakura and her family from ever getting inside the locked dome. It’s not likely I’d be able to use the crystal if it was already in their possession. Just imagining the conversation with the Págese king makes me flinch. Would you kindly allow me and my pirate crew to borrow one of the world’s most powerful sources of magic for a few days? After I kill my immortal enemy, I promise I’ll bring it right back.
At least if I’m the one to find the crystal, it gives me the upper hand. But despite the small comfort that brings, Sakura’s talk of hidden domes and lost keys in the shape of necklaces makes things trickier. If I can’t find that necklace, then I’ve bargained everything for nothing. Then again, the fact that her family has been searching for generations without any luck doesn’t mean much. After all, none of them are me.
“You fancy a game?” Madrid looks up at me. “As it happens, Torik is a sore loser.”
“And you’re a mighty cheat,” says Torik. “She’s got cards up her sleeve.”
“The only thing I have up my sleeve is tricks and talent.”
“There!” Torik points. “You see. Tricks.”
From the floor, the assistant engineer looks up at them. “I didn’t see any cheating.” He threads a needle through a pair of patchwork socks.
“Ha.” Torik clips him around the ear halfheartedly. “You were too busy knittin’。”
“I’m sewing,” he disputes. “And if you don’t want me to, I’ll throw your lot overboard.”
Torik grunts. “Attitude,” he says. Then, to me, “All I get is attitude.”
“It’s all you give, too,” I tell him.
“I give my heart and soul,” Torik protests.
“My mistake,” I say. “I wasn’t aware you had either of those things.”
Beside me, Kye sniggers. “It’s why he always loses,” he says. “No heart and so no imagination.”