“If we have to fight, it’ll either be pirates or valkerax,” I say.

“Ugh,” Malachite groans. “I’d take a hundred valkerax over a ship of pirates.”

“They smell equally bad,” Fione agrees.

“How would you know?” Malachite raises one white brow. “You’ve never been out of Vetris in your life.”

“That doesn’t mean I haven’t met pirates,” Fione argues. “I paid scores of them for information on Varia when she went missing. I’ve sampled all their revolting scents.”

We meander back up deck to find Lucien waiting for us at the railing.

“How long will the voyage be?” I look at the prince. “Malachite and I want to know exactly how many death-duels we can squeeze in between then and now.”

“Four days, allowing for fair weather,” Lucien says, and then judiciously pauses. “Please don’t break anything.”

“Nothing but each other’s hearts.” Malachite makes a swear-on-his-heart motion, then points to me. “Or lack thereof.”

“What do we do if there’s an emergency situation?” Fione asks. “You can’t teleport us far again, like on the airship.”

“Unless we need to take a bath,” I chime.

“Or brine ourselves to make us tastier for the valkerax,” Lucien agrees with a smirk, then fixes Fione with a serious gaze. “We stay on the ship. Defend it with everything we have.”

“No magically desperate teleporting,” I warn. “Promise?”

He sighs and rolls his eyes. “I promise.”

The anchor finally begins lifting, Malachite jumping in on the ring of men to help winch it up. The ship backs out of the harbor, the gentle bobbing of the water becoming harsh lashing the farther out we go. Soon, the town of Dolyer fades behind us, nothing more than a gray collection of shapes on a foggy horizon.

The Western Sea is brutal.

Maybe I knew that, once upon a time. But it’s new information to me now. And to my stomach.

“I wasn’t aware Heartless could get seasick.” Fione rubs circles on my back comfortingly as I heave nothing into the water.

“New God’s toe skin—” I stop, lurch, and try to breathe deep. “Why am I—I didn’t get airsick!”

“Air and water are two different fluids with entirely different currents,” Fione assures me. Unlike her stint on the airship, she looks completely composed and non-nauseated. “No wonder witches don’t live near the sea. Cavanos witches, anyway.”

“What’s the difference?” I choke, desperate to think about anything other than the roiling in my guts.

“You know.” She shrugs lightly. “Cavanos witches rely more on Heartless than others.”

“Do you think—do you think there are Heartless outside the Mist Continent?”