His words threaten to send a blush creeping across my cheeks. Despite his gruff demeanor, Pheus has always looked out for me, more than my father has in the past ten years. And despite his desire to keep me safe, I know Pheus can’t come. Someone has to look after my father and the kingdom, to make sure Archduke Ralton doesn’t try anything. Pheus is the only person I trust.
“I have to be the one to go,” I add, pleading. “No one else can track it.”
“It could take two weeks or more to outfit the Royal Armada for such a journey.” Pheus’s eyes jump around as he makes calculations. He lowers his gaze, his shoulders deflating like my father’s always do. “Even if I let you go, you might not make it in time.”
My eyes land on Aris. Maybe we don’t need an entire armada.
“What about Ar . . . Duke Wystlinos’s ship?” I blurt out.
Aris’s face brightens as he steps forward. “My ship is much faster than anything in the Royal Armada, and I could have it ready to sail with tomorrow morning’s tide.”
“Yes,” I practically shout. “And his crew has experience dealing with thieves and pirates.”
“Indeed,” Aris replies. I can already see the adventurer in him rising to the surface. It’s like seeing one of the heroes from my books come to life. “With your ability to locate the gold and my crew, we’ll have no trouble getting the cursed items back.”
Pheus paces the length of the room several times. I watch him, saying nothing. It’s always better to let him think than to force him into a quick decision, and this decision could mean my father’s life or death.
I rub my fingers together to keep them from shaking.
“We could pass it off as a suitor taking the princess out sailing for a few days,” Uncle Pheus says slowly, “since that’s something she’s always wanted to do.”
If I wasn’t so nervous about what happened the last time I touched a person in this room, I would hug him. “Thank you, Uncle Pheus. I promise, I won’t let you—or Father—down.”
“Then it’s settled,” Aris says with a nod. “We leave in the morning.” He gives me a reassuring smile, which I return, even though the reality of what I’m about to do starts to sink in.
The three of us depart from the tower, and the golden table sends its flashing shadows chasing down the winding steps after me. It’s only when we reach the hallway below that I feel I take my first real breath since stepping into the room.
The guard’s body is gone by the time we reach the stairs, but I can’t help but overhear one of the other guards say that they haven’t been able to find the head.
My stomach clenches.
Maybe the rumors about Captain Skulls are true. Or maybe it is a copycat. I pray it’s only a coincidence. But it doesn’t matter. I’m still going to have to face whatever twisted soul is capable of doing that.
CHAPTER 5
I’m frozen. My father’s shapeless, faceless form comes at me in the night. His arms snake out toward me and coil around my body. He grasps me so tight I can’t breathe. My lungs burn. Tears escape down my cheeks. When he releases me and recedes back into the darkness, I watch helplessly as liquid gold slithers up my body. My flesh crusts over with a thick golden coating.
I claw at the gold before it can reach my arms. My fingernails screech against the metal glaze, but it’s no use. The gold continues on unhindered. It constricts across my throat, crushing it so I can hardly breathe. Gold pools in my mouth, further choking me as it slides down my throat. It heads straight into my lungs and weaves its way toward my heart. It always ends at my heart. One beat. Two beats. There are no words to describe the agony of feeling your own heart stop.
I bolt awake. Beads of sweat dot my brow. Morning dawns through the window, but I don’t feel rested at all, having dreamt of gold and thieves and headless corpses all night long.
My skin glows ever so softly in the darkness, and I hold up an arm to inspect it. Where freckles should dot my skin, a metallic sheen shimmers. It looks like someone has taken golden flour and doused me in it. I drop my arm back down and get out of bed.
I dress myself in a simple green dress—no maid wants to touch a cursed girl, so I’ve never had the luxury of wearing complicated outfits. That’s also why the dress hangs limply on my slim form, since no tailors will get close enough to measure me. They just guess and send over their best estimates. Unfortunately, their estimates aren’t very good.
I look around my room, wondering what else I should bring on my trip. Haphazardly, I toss a few more dresses into a trunk, followed by shoes and cloaks in case we run into bad weather. I linger over my bookshelves, running my fingers over the spines of the thick leather books I’ve taken from the palace library. The ones like Captain Corelli’s Account of the Sea. After I’d forgotten what the real sea smelled like up close, the ocean smelled like the ink and mustiness of its pages.
A few seashells sit in front of the books.
My mother had come from Sunisa, a country known for their seafarers. Before she died, she would take me to the shore to collect seashells, and after she was gone, I imagined every shell that tumbled out of the surf at my feet was sent by her. I’d look at my reflection in their glossy surfaces and for one second pretend that it was her looking back at me.
My trips to the seaside stopped after I turned to gold, but that was all about to change today.
I go back to my preparations, tying my waist-length golden hair into a thick braid. I’ve always wondered if I shaved it all off, would it grow back its original color—a deep brown like my mother’s?
Once I’m fully dressed and packed, I pull on my gloves, but my hand lingers on my veil. For once, I want to feel the breeze wash across my face. I want to see the streets of Lagonia. But that means leaving so much of my skin exposed. It’s not just the ridicule I fear, but the knowledge that if someone touched my skin, they could be hurt. Killed. Turned to solid gold.
I must be feeling brave or crazy because I leave the veil where it sits. Praying I don’t regret the decision, I pull out a cloak and tie it around my neck, yanking the hood low over my face.
My stomach is in knots while I direct a servant to take my trunk outside, to where I hope Aris is waiting. The servant tries his best not to look at my face as I speak, but he chances a few furtive glances. When he finally sets about his task, I linger in the hallway outside my room, debating whether I should go to my father’s room to say good-bye. My stomach twists even more, and I decide against it. He can’t bear to look at me on a good day. I don’t want to make him worse. He’ll need all the strength he has left to survive until I can bring back the gold.
The palace is quiet as I make my way through the halls, and once I’m outdoors, I find a small wooden cart waiting. Not exactly a transport fit for a princess, and I smile slightly, knowing Hettie would throw a fit if she were asked to ride in it.
My heart pinches slightly when I see Aris hasn’t come to escort me himself; instead, Uncle Pheus waits next to the cart, looking as nervous as I feel. To my surprise, he pulls me into a hug.
“Be safe,” he says. “My brother’s life is in your hands.”
His words pierce my heart, and I nod numbly as he pulls away.