My own frown deepened as more guards lowered a rotten gangway for us to board the ship. “The only human entrance into Le Palais de Cristal,” Aurélien explained, prodding us forward. Tentatively, we followed the others atop the soft wood. It bowed beneath our weight.

A buxom melusine waited for us above, her silver hair elaborately coiffed and her gray eyes clouded with age. Fine smile lines crinkled the corners of her mouth. “Bonsoir,” she greeted us with a deep curtsy, her train sparkling behind her on the deck. She wore no forks or monocles, instead looking every inch the consummate human aristocrat. Even the color and fabric of her gown—aubergine silk embellished with golden thread—would’ve been the height of fashion in Cesarine. “Welcome to Le Palais de Cristal. I am Eglantine, the Oracle’s personal handmaid and lady of this palace. I shall be attending you during your stay in our home.”

With the same impeccable grace and innate confidence as Angelica, she turned toward the colossal doors to our left. By some miracle, water hadn’t eroded the structure beyond—perhaps the captain’s quarters?—as it had much of the quarterdeck. Some boards had splintered or rotted completely, leaving gaping holes through which candlelight flickered from below. Music too. I strained to hear fragments of the haunting melody, but Aurélien prodded me forward once more, through the doors and onto a grand staircase. Covered in moldy carpet and lit by gilded candelabra, the stairs seemed to descend into the belly of the ship.

I glanced at the crystal spires above our head. “Are we not going up?”

“Guests are not permitted in the towers.” Aurélien poked me more insistently now. “Only the Oracle and her court inhabit them.”

“Are you part of her court, then?”

He puffed out his muscled chest, a peculiar shade between white and gray. Like fog. “I am.”

I patted his trident. “Of course you are.”

Reluctantly fascinated, I followed Beau down the stairs. The walls had once been papered, but time and water had disintegrated all but scraps of the striped design. The carpet squelched softly underfoot. “When will we meet with Isla?” I asked, grinning as Leopoldine trailed a long finger through the candle flame. She drew it back sharply a second later, examining the fresh burn there with a frown. “Will there be food?”

Though the guards stiffened as if insulted by the question, Eglantine chuckled. “Of course there shall be food. As much as you could possibly eat.” My stomach rumbled its appreciation. “A special banquet has been prepared just for you. After you wash, we shall join Isla to dine.”

“Just her?” Coco asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion.