The ship turned toward the sea, and Emilie moved to the stern. On the pier, Skya stood stock-still and staring, her pale blond hair whipping in the wind. She looked so alone. Too alone. No one should ever be that alone.
The gulf between them widened. Ten yards. Twenty yards.
Skya watched her go, and Emilie watched her watching.
All right. She would give her sister something to watch.
She ran up to the side of the boat and dove off into the water.
The sea was warm, but it still wasn’t easy swimming fully clothed back to the pier. But nothing was going to stop her from getting back to her sister. Luckily, Emilie had spent twenty summers in St. Croix with her mother. She swam with all her might and reached the pier, where Skya was already kneeling down on the rocks to pull her up.
“Have you lost your mind?” Skya demanded, gray eyes blazing blue and red.
“Sorry. I forgot Fritz.”
“What?”
Emilie pointed at Morgan. “I left Fritz’s pouch in Morgan’s saddlebag. Oops.”
“Oops? That wasn’t an accident. Don’t lie to me. What the hell are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking you’re my sister, and I’m not going to let you go into that place all alone.”
Skya grabbed her as if to shake her, but instead she hugged her so hard it hurt.
“At least if something terrible happens to you,” Skya said, “nobody can say I didn’t try.”
Emilie laughed softly. “You tried. You can’t defeat a baby sister with her mind set on something.”
“All right, Brat. Let’s go then.”
They started up the pier toward Morgan.
“I like being ‘Brat.’ Better than ‘Princess.’ ”
“Come on then, Brat. And don’t think for one second you’re getting a towel. You can air-dry.”
Emilie, because she had little to no ability to keep her intrusive thoughts to herself, said, “Was that a test? Did I pass a test? Were you testing me? I think that was a test.”
“I wasn’t testing you. But if I was testing you, it’s safe to say you passed.”
“You were totally testing me.”
“Hush, Brat. If you’re coming with me into the Ghost Town, there are things you need to—”
A loud, piercing caw alerted them both to Aurora’s return. The red crow landed on Morgan’s saddle horn. She cawed again, and Skya’s shoulders slumped.
“What?” Emilie asked.
“Aurora says Rafe and Jeremy snuck out of the palace and are going into the Ghost Town on their own, which is the exact opposite of what I wanted them to do.”
“Well, shit,” Emilie said.
Skya nodded. “Exactly. Time for a new plan.” She got into the saddle and held her arm out for Emilie.
“New plan?” Emilie asked as she settled in behind her sister. “We didn’t even have an old plan.”
“I’ll think of something,” Skya said. “I always do.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
In the almost-light of the hour before dawn, Rafe and Jeremy rode through fields and glades and into wild ivy-thick ravines, then traced the edges of a high ridge that overlooked a verdant green valley. Jeremy pointed west.
“Granny Apple’s orchard is over there. You see?”
Rafe looked into the sunlit valley filled with row after row of apple trees. A whitewashed stone cottage was half-hidden under ivy.
“That’s her house,” Jeremy said. “Pretty small. She might put us in the barn. Can you handle that, Your Highness?”
“You’ve seen my cabin. I can handle it.”
“I like your cabin. It’s rustic.”
“That’s a nice way of putting it.”
“I can be nice.”
“When?”
