Page 62 of A Princess, Stolen
“We’re at sea. How can you be sure? All you have is Isaac’s word.”
“I just know.”
“But…”
“Wake up already, Willa. Your father is not the saint you believe he is.”
“I never said he was a saint!” I wanted to shake him, but at the same time, it bothered me that he looked so damn good in his turtleneck. My stomach did somersaults. I felt so strange every time I faced him, full of feelings that didn’t fit inside me because they were so great. They made it almost impossible for me to betray him. It would be easier if he were angry with me again.
Maybe that was why I folded my arms across my chest. Or maybe because I didn’t want to leave this cutter without knowing his secret. “Tucekilemeur,” I blurted out. “Why can’t I say it without you freaking out? What does it mean?”
He closed himself off as if on cue. “You already know.”
“What do I know?”
“It’s French,” he replied, and I could literally feel him shutting himself off inside, blocking any feeling and hiding it behind anger. “Tous ceux qu’il aime meurent. Everyone he loves dies.”
I swallowed and looked at him.
His eyes sparkled. “Are you happy now, princess? Can you buy yourself something nice with that?” With those words, he stalked past me, leaving me completely perplexed.
Everyone he loves dies.
The words sank in as if they had to settle. It sounded cruel and infinitely sad. Heavy on the soul. Was that why he always wore black? Because he was grieving? And what dideveryonemean? He once said that my father had taken everyone he loved from him, but I hadn’t believed him, or at least, I hadn’t thoughtDad could. But regardless of whether Dad was involved or not, it would mean that he had also lost his mom and dad. And Lea, his sister.
Something dark enveloped me like a shroud.
How did one survive that? How did one continue to live with such losses? Mom’s death had shattered me emotionally. It had taken away my ability to speak for weeks and turned me into a bit of a zombie. I felt like the living dead. Empty. Aimless. Like a person abandoned alone on an alien planet.
How did he feel?
For a few seconds, I stood there stiffly, realizing the force with which he suppressed his grief with anger. His grief operated like a breaker against a stone wall without ever razing it. It must have been eating him up inside. And, at the same time, I understood something else entirely.
His brother was the only one he had left. The only one remaining.
That was exactly why Nathan would never turn against Isaac. And he claimed he didn’t care about me. But, even if that was a lie, he had known Isaac all his life whereas he had only known me for a few weeks. As bitter as that was, I understood that he would choose his brother if he ever had to choose. So, another reason to leave the Agamemnon and as quickly as possible.
By that afternoon, I still hadn’t managed to speak to Sparta alone, so I hung around the bow where I’d last seen him. The water was choppy and I braced myself with one hand on the man-sized anchor winch. A dark roar filled the air and the wind blew whitecaps off the waves.
The weather was bad for my plan. With or without a raft, I couldn’t imagine how it would be possible to get away from here.
With a feeling of menace, I stared at the churning ocean when I heard footsteps and turned.
“You’ve thought about it.” Sparta was standing in front of one of the yellow fishing cranes that flanked the bow. He didn’t seem ready to travel or prepared in any way, but I nodded anyway, although weakly enough that I could have denied it if necessary.
“Tomorrow morning,” he said, watching me as I approached, “we’ll pass relatively close to the Outer Banks.”
“We’re near North Carolina?” I asked far too loudly, stunned.
“Quiet!” Sparta hissed and glanced about, but no one was around, and the roar of wind and waves muffled every word like a pillow. He nodded toward the railing and we stood under the roof, invisible to the men on the bridge. “We traveled this route beforehand with the transponder switched on so we could assess the ship traffic. There are loads of excursion boats near the Outer Banks, fishing trips for tourists, especially in the early morning hours.”
“So, how do you imagine the whole thing? Should I jump overboard on a whim? What if none of the tourist boats spot me?” I thought of my daring plan with the trawler, which, in retrospect, seemed like a suicide mission.
Sparta looked at me as if I was mentally retarded. “I’ll pass on our position to the Buxton sea rescue team beforehand without anyone noticing. And I’ll send out an SOS.”
“And how are you going to do that? Nathan is always on the bridge.”
“I’ll make sure he won’t be there, besides, he also sleeps now and then.”
