“No more sea voyages for me,” Adelaide said when he was gone. “If my husband wants to go visit his family in Osfrid, he’ll have to go alone.”

   “Make sure you state that up front when the suitors come calling.”

   She laughed, and it felt like years since I’d heard that sound. I grinned back, feeling a thousand times lighter. We’d made it. Somehow, against all odds, we’d made it. Adelaide drifted in and out of a restless sleep as the night wound down, but all I could do was count the minutes until morning. I needed to go outside and see for myself that it was really over. When I was certain the time was right, I beseeched Miss Bradley for permission to go up.

   Others followed, uncertain of what awaited us. We emerged to a pale, misty morning. A little sun shone, feeling as though it too had taken a beating in the stormy fray. Pieces of debris littered the deck, and every part of the ship was soaked. The sailors and a few passengers, like Adelaide and me, had clearly been drenched as well. I’d mostly dried off overnight, though it left my dress stiff and wrinkled.

   We all stared in awe, and it was hard to say what was more wondrous. That we’d survived? That the waters could be so calm now after last night’s fury?

   I felt a familiar presence next to me and almost wilted with relief. Grant. “Look,” he said. I followed where he pointed, off toward the western horizon. Usually, we could expect to see the sky and sea meeting in a faint gray seam. Today, they were separated by a swath of dark green and brown.

   Land.

   “I could’ve sworn that storm blew us to the ninth hell—but if so, it apparently blew us back. That’s Cape Triumph.”

   I gave Grant an incredulous look and earned a smile back. I turned my hungry gaze back to the west. I’d expected to be at the bottom of the sea, and here we were, facing our future instead.

   “Adoria,” Adelaide murmured, joy filling her face. “Adoria!”

   An excited titter ran through some of the passengers, but not everyone shared our enthusiasm. Cedric and Jasper stood together with matching, somber expressions. It was the most alike they’d ever looked.

   Adelaide noticed them too. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

   I saw the sailor before she did. He’d come up beside Cedric and held a piece of splintered wood carved into the shape of a woman’s face. I heard Grant swear softly in Balanquan. Or maybe it was a prayer. Adelaide leaned toward the sailor and blanched when she recognized what I’d already identified. The Gray Gull’s figurehead. I’d seen it up close when we’d boarded in Osfrid and from a distance throughout our journey, barely discernible on our sister ship.

   But the Gray Gull wasn’t beside us anymore—at least, not as we’d known it. All I could see of it now were fragments floating in the water.

CHAPTER 10

   THE FACE THAT STARED BACK AT ME IN THE MIRROR couldn’t be mine. And it wasn’t because of the carefully applied makeup or elegant chignon. It wasn’t the glittering garnets on my throat and ears. It wasn’t the red satin dress embroidered with gold.

   It was the look on my face—the look of someone who felt nothing. That couldn’t be me. It wasn’t possible that I’d just lost one of my best friends and was now about to parade through Cape Triumph as though I had no care in the world. That couldn’t be me.

   I envied Adelaide. When Jasper had told us we’d still carry on with the Glittering Court’s procession into Cape Triumph, she hadn’t concealed her emotions. She’d raged at him and then run off with tears spilling from her eyes. I’d nearly gone after her, but Cedric had been faster. “I’ll take care of it,” he’d said as he rushed by me.

   Adelaide hadn’t been afraid to let her grief show. I was. I knew that if I allowed even a tiny piece of it out, there’d be no stopping the rest. It was all or nothing. And I couldn’t let the others see that. I couldn’t let them see that tough, levelheaded Mira was falling apart inside. That I was disintegrating.

   Mira, you will never lose me. No matter what else happens or where we go in this world, I will always be there for you.

   So Tamsin had said. But she was no longer in this world.

   And for a short time, I worried I might lose Adelaide as well. When she’d stormed away, she’d threatened to return to Osfrid and fulfill her contract in a workhouse. She took so long to return to our cabin that I began to wonder if she’d been sincere. Finally, she crept through the doorway, and I swiftly pulled her into a hug.

   “I don’t want to go back,” she assured me, a catch in her throat. “But it’s just . . . I don’t know how I’m supposed to . . . we can’t possibly . . . I don’t know. You have no problem doing this?”

   I had a lot of problems doing this. I wanted to curl into a ball and cry until I had no tears left. I didn’t want to mark Tamsin’s death by dressing up. I didn’t want to smile and flutter my lashes at our admirers. But this was what we were stuck with, and I had to take care of Adelaide now.

   “Of course I do,” I said, trying to sound brisk and pragmatic. “But getting shipped back to Osfrid isn’t going to accomplish anything. I need to go forward, get to the next stage. And you do too.”

   “I know. And I mean . . . I really do understand what I signed on for. I want to do it. But Tamsin . . .”

   I knew what she couldn’t say. She felt guilty. She thought she was responsible for Tamsin being on the other ship. But I had failed them both. I should have been the peacemaker.

   “I know,” I told her. “I feel the same way. But it’s not your fault.”

   Miss Bradley was calling for everyone to assemble, and I quickly helped Adelaide change into her gray and silver gown. I painted kohl around her bloodshot eyes and arranged curling tendrils to perfectly frame her face. When we were finished, she looked as flawless as I did—except that grief still filled her face.