Winds of Fate [Books I-III]

Chapter 115: Fría

Scrunch!

The leaves littering the courtyard crumple under their boots. Eleanore glances at the empty tables and barrels, devoid of drunk pirates and their checkerboards. Thibaud walks beside her. Aggy keeps on wandering around, with her hands tucked in her pockets.

Soon, they slip into the shadow of Fort de Rocher - her gray slabs resembling mishappen boulders dangling by crags and weathered by elements. Today, the doors are closed, left barely ajar. Nevertheless, it is a warning to stay out.

Oh, am I a desperate fool, indeed. Eleanore grasps her waist and twists the corner of her mouth as she inspects the sides, the stillness of the compound. Better desperate, than complacent. She frowns, stepping on the stone slab and holding out  a palm to shove the door open.

A long, grating squeak from the ancient hinges pierces the silence.

Thibaud winces.

"Man," Aggy stops beside Thibaud. "You suck as a spy, Nellie."

Eleanore chuckles and pushes the door open, a little too hardly that it slams on the wall. The grand foyer is still, too. Not even Brodie is there.

Too quiet. She squints. Like a trap.

No.

He needs me at the Gathering. Eleanore taps her boots at the edge of the threshold. Or else, he would've killed me last night before Papa Legba could even get to me.

"Seems they are preparing for tomorrow..." Thibaud looks around, pointing a finger above. Eleanore and Aggy follow his direction. Aggy gasps and points with glee.

A shiver courses through her, however.

There, among the many banners of the pirates in Tortuga, is a reproduction of the Queen of Sparta's black flag: the crossed swords, the skull with the crown, and the heart beneath it---

Bleeding.

"Welp, they got that wrong." Aggy scowls, fists on her hips. "Seriously?! They'd just copy and they can't do it right."

Because it's a warning for us, Aggy. Eleanore shakes her head and wets her dry throat by swallowing. A warning. She tries not to think of Abram, her own personal assassin who no doubts awaits in the shadows. She tries not to think of the Dutchman and the undead, about to be awoken once more by the curse of the gods...

Along with the sirens.

And yet, even as she walks aside to inspect the rest of the black flags hung above the rafters, the dripping red paint from the heart on Sparta's flag still nips at her like a gnat.

She embraces herself. Without anyone else inside, the Fortress is frozen - cold air bounces off the smooth gray boulders, oddly soothing her. To her left, lay a barren hallway lined with open square windows that allow light in. It is opposite from the one she had walked through months ago. Eleanore stops by the corner of the archway and faces the other side.

At the end of that hallway is the Grand Hall. Grand Hall. Tomorrow, she'll be entering that chamber once more. Her brows furl as she scours her memory of how the Hall had looked like... A circular table...

Fernandez assembling a ship inside the bottle.

That blasted Isabelle pouring herself a wine from a crystal carafe by the window.

Levallois encircling me as we complete the rite...

Before the map of the world.

"This is good." Thibaud nods at them. "We can roam around without---"