Perhaps she’s dead, the whispers cackle. Good riddance. Now you can finally be free of her torment.

Fat drops of rain have started to fall. I shake my head, trying to push away a blur of uncontrollable illusions, and turn around to head back down the ladder. As the air becomes heavier, the whispers grow louder, escalating until they shout in my ears. The fear of my crew hangs in the wind, feeding my energy until I feel like my chest might burst. In the corner of the ship, my father leans against the wooden railing and stares at me with wild eyes. I swallow and look down. My illusions cannot overwhelm me now, not here.

The early raindrops turn into a torrent. From the crow’s nest, one of our crew cries out, “Tie yourselves down!”

As I stumble toward the ladder leading below, I catch a glimpse of Raffaele’s ship pitching against the waves, nearly lost in the spray. I can barely even stay on the ladder itself. On the lower level, lanterns swing in the narrow corridors and I think I hear shouting coming from the floor beneath me. I pause. The whispers in my head are restless—but this sounded real. Still, I can’t bring myself to be sure about anything. I walk farther down the corridor until I reach my door. Here, everything seems muffled and distant, aside from the howl of the wind outside and the crash of ocean against wood.

I make it to Violetta’s door, knock once, then step inside.

She stirs on her bed, but does not look up at me. One glance is all I need to know that she’s feverish, her eyelids fluttering, her dark hair damp and matted against her head. Her markings stand out prominently along her neck and arms, blue and purple and black. She mutters something under her breath. Even in unconsciousness, she shifts uneasily when thunder rolls outside.

She is getting worse, I realize as I stand over her. Raffaele had thought that perhaps my nearness would slow her deterioration . . . but now she looks even frailer than when I first saw her in Tamoura. I look on for a moment as she turns in bed, her forehead slick with sweat, and then I sit down and brush her hand with my fingers.

What if she can’t even make it to the origin, to help us complete our journey?

You’re wasting your time here, say the whispers.

A loud thud shakes the floorboards. I startle and look back at the door. It sounded like it came not from above deck, but from our corridor. I wait to hear the passing of Inquisition boots, of a group of voices—but instead, the ship falls back into silence again.

I frown. For a moment, I want to ignore it, but then I rise and leave Violetta’s side. I step back into the hall of swinging lanterns.

No one else is in the corridor.

I clutch my head and steady myself against the wall. Everything around me seems to be moving, and despite my attempts to concentrate, the walls blur into the floor and the floor blurs into the air, the lantern lights smearing together into faces and shapes. The whispers turn into screams. I press a hand against one ear, as if that might shut them out, but it only makes it worse, blocking out the sound of the crashing ocean and emphasizing my illusions gone mad.

Think of Magiano. I remember his hand on my wrist in that dark hallway at the palace, the light reflected against his skin in the bathhouse. Then I force my breathing to steady. One, two, three. The hooked claws in my mind still, if only for a moment, and the floor and walls sharpen again. The sound of waves and shouts of men return from above deck.

Then, another thud.

It comes from the deck below. Where we are keeping Teren.

A sense of dread creeps into my stomach. Something has happened—I can feel it. I hesitate for an instant, wondering if my illusions will spiral out of control again. The world seems steady enough, though, and the whispers have lowered into a rumble. I make my way toward the lower-deck ladder, then start heading down. The ship pitches violently, making me trip on the last rung. A muffled thunderclap sounds outside. The storm is quickly worsening.

The end of the corridor is pitch-black, and as the ship rolls, an extinguished lantern tumbles along the planks, its glass broken. I reach out tentatively with my power. There’s fear here, the fear that comes with pain. As I walk closer, I realize that there are two shapes lying on the floor, one of them motionless, the other moaning softly. The guards stationed to watch Teren.

Teren’s door is swung wide open.

My heart leaps into my throat in terror. He is loose, I think, right as a deafening clap of thunder shakes the ship. I whirl around and hurry toward the ladder. The back of my neck tingles, panic rising as I wonder whether Teren is hiding in the shadows. But I know he’s no longer down here.

I climb up the ladder in a rush and run along the corridor of our other quarters. “Violetta?” I shout as I go. “Magiano! Teren is gone!”

No one answers. As the ship careens, making the lanterns along the walls swing wildly, I rush to the ladder leading to the deck and start climbing. Where would Teren go, in a storm like this? We can’t lose him. We need him on this journey. We—

I hear the whoosh of a blade through the air before I even see it. Something—fate, my instincts—saves me, and I duck at the last instant. A dagger buries deep into the wood of the ladder. I look back to see one of my Inquisitors charging at me, teeth bared. A rebel.

I throw my arms up and fling an illusion of invisibility over myself. I vanish from sight and dart out of his way. The Inquisitor stabs down at empty air, then blinks in confusion and whirls around. He is afraid now too, and his terror feeds my strength. “Show yourself, demon!” he shouts.

My heart pounds against my ribs. So—another rebel—just like the one who had attacked me during our battle. I grit my teeth and throw an illusion of pain at him. But my concentration flickers, and I shudder into existence for a fraction of an instant. It is enough for the Inquisitor to see me. He swings another dagger at me again, even as he howls in pain at my illusion.