Page 2 of Quarter Labyrinth

I tried to forget the heartbroken boy beside me that would soon watch his best friend leave. My heart might be protected, but he’d been foolish enough to open his when we both knew how this ended.

The waves crashed against the island with a vengeance tonight, while the skies continued to tip toward black. Father was late. And with each coming wave that didn’t bring him, I thought less of Clark and grew more and more anxious.

Father would come. His skiff would make it past the rocks. Soon, he would be here. I’d repeated those words to myself all morning as Mother and I packed our belongings into bags. My Father was coming for me. He’d given his word, and he wouldn’t let us down.

He loved me.

He loved Mother.

He would be here.

Except…

It’d been two years since his notes stopped coming. Mother and I didn’t speak of it, but worry ebbed at our confidence, leaving us frayed at the edges. We were living on blind hope at this point, and a great deal of stubborn determination that all would be well.

Clark said nothing, but I knew that for Mother and me, the air grew shallower by the minute.

It didn’t help that I had no memory of Father to make Mother’s stories real, nor did she have any proof of her word. We had letters signed with an alias, and for two years, we hadn’t even had that.

I am the heir to the Shallows and the future captain of the Silver Wings,I reminded myself. By tomorrow morning, the world would know that. Then the flicker of doubt in my head could slumber.

“Rough winds tonight,” Clark finally commented.

“I’m sure that’s it.” I tightened my grip on Father’s last note and willed the storm in my belly to be still.

The breeze howled against pale rocks, the air pitching colder as constellations came out. I teetered on the thin line between excitement and unease, leaning further to one side as time snuck by. The muscles in Mother’s cheek feathered, but she only took her eyes off the sea for a brief moment to tie back her sandy-blonde hair, then refocused herself, her eyes almost silver as they pinned themselves on the distance.

I didn’t acquire any of her light coloring. My skin came in a dull shade of tan, my hair the hue of imported chocolate, my eyes dark green like murky waters. Exactly like my father, according to her.

It pleased me to think that Father would spot me and know I had his blood in my veins. I wouldn’t have to say anything. He’d justknow.

But first, he had to appear.

I’ll come for you, Serenity, on the eve of your sixteenth birthday. Wait for me as the sun sets.

The sun had set all across the Hundred Islands by now, the skies painted indigo and waters stained black. Moonlight flickered off seas that sparkled like shattered glass. And still, no sign of my Father. Where was he?

“Ren, look!” Clark grabbed my arm. My gaze whipped to the left as my heartbeat ratcheted.

“No,” Mother said before my hope could soar. “That’s not him. Gerald doesn’t have any caravels in his fleet.”

The narrow caravel sliced through the pass, its single-masted triangular sail bearing the sigil of Callahan. A wolf with verdant eyes. It aimed for the docks in the gulf of the island, while men rowed out to meet it. This time of year was the only time one of Callahan’s ships came as far as Haven, but everyone always wanted a glimpse of the ships belonging to the richest man in all the Hundred Islands.

We all knew what it journeyed for. The caravel brought no cargo and no passengers for us. Only a message about the coming Quarter Labyrinth.

“I almost wish I could be here to watch the island go crazy when that scroll is opened at midnight.” I squinted to try to see as the scroll was passed from the caravel to the rowboat. Someone received it, and they’d guard it until it was opened in the square tonight.

Clark brushed his scarlet hair away from his forehead. He might be a year older, but the smattering of red freckles across his cheeks kept him looking boyish, even as his hands grew calloused from working with the blacksmith. He always smelled like a fire while I reeked of the sea.

“I’ll write to you about everything that happens,” he said. “I hear Bjorn already packed his bags to find the labyrinth.”

Bjorn would have a beastly time finding it without a clue to the location, which I knew he couldn’t afford. But if he happened to find it, he had the grit to get in—and maybe get out.

“Think you’ll ever attempt the Quarter Labyrinth?” As I asked the question, the crowd by the gulf cheered. The rowboat must have reached the shore. A few more hours, and they could read about what reward awaited whoever reached the center of the labyrinth first. An hour later, those who had paid for clues would receive theirs, and the race would be off to find the labyrinth before its gates closed.

Clark shook his head, his brown eyes almost black in the scant light. “Unless it appears here on Haven—not my ocean, not my tide.”

A saying we had that meantI couldn’t care less.

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