Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 930

Chapter 930: Chapter 930

The watchers shimmered. One drifted forward and touched the basket. Blue light pulsed into the slips, then withdrew. The watchers faded back.

The wives exhaled. Relief, joy, worship pervaded. They embraced. Laughed with husky tones. Grace kissed Jude deeply, their lips tasting of smoke and earth and offering.

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Night fell with gentle hush. The orchard glowed faintly with candles, ribbons, symbols. The watchers stood just beyond, silent guardians. Jude walked out to the boundary line alone, Grace following after a moment, steps quiet.

He looked at the watchers. "Thank you," he whispered.

They remained still.

He exhaled, an offering of breath.

Grace came to his side. "Do you think it worked?"

He touched her waist. "Yes. It deepened something. I feel it." He paused. "Tomorrow, they may come closer. Or speak."

She pressed her head against him. "We’ll be ready."

They stayed until midnight, until each watcher had drifted away in mist. When they returned inside, the wives were lying against one another, limbs sprawled, mouths quiet in slumber. Even the children slept in little bundles.

Jude watched over them for a long moment, touching each face. Then, silently, he made his way back outside.

Under a moon striped with clouds, Jude knelt before the sealed offering basket. He reached in and pulled out a slip: When you taught me to plant, I felt rooted for the first time. Thank you. The handwriting was Emma’s. He smiled and read it again. It glowed faint blue.

He stepped outside the boundary and held it aloft.

"Mist of watchers," he called. "Take this truth."

For several heartbeats, nothing happened.

Then mist drifted forward. A watcher materialized, blue light pooling in the air. It extended a pale shape , like a weigh scale , and touched the slip. The paper glowed white-hot and dissolved into mist. The watcher tilted its ephemeral form, then withdrew into the mist and vanished.

Jude stood. His chest soared. God never covered that sense of awe.

Grace emerged from the night behind him.

He turned and took her hand without words.

Behind them, the orchard glowed. Beyond, the watchers pulsed and shimmered like stars just out of reach.

Jude pressed his forehead to Grace’s. "We spoke. It listened."

She smiled. "Now the hard part. We wait."

He nodded. And felt the world settle around him like an embrace.

The island was waking. The watchers too. And he was at the heart of it , bridge between flesh and spirit, love and myth. And tonight, nestled in Grace’s arms, he understood that whatever came next, they would face it with offering, trust, and the unbreakable bond of twelve women who believed in him.

And thirteen hearts, beating together under mist and moonlight, would answer whatever stirred beneath the earthen cradle of their home.

They would not falter.

Under the low-gold light of morning, Jude stirred beneath the canopy where vines curled into gentle spirals above their sleeping area. Scarlet shifted beside him, her warm breath fluttering against his collarbone as she tightened her arm around his waist. Her red hair spilled like fire across his chest, and her fingers absently traced the scars on his ribs, lingering over the healed bite from years ago, a reminder of how close they had come to losing him. He watched the ceiling, listening to the quiet rhythm of breathing, his other wives still tucked in nests of blankets, bodies tangled from the night’s closeness. The orchard just beyond their home sang softly with the rising day: insects chirping, birds warbling, the distant rustle of wind.

Jude kissed Scarlet’s forehead gently. She murmured something incoherent and rolled to her side, her bare shoulder brushing his thigh. He slipped away carefully, tugging on his trousers and moving past the soft huddle of limbs, Sophie curled against Grace, Natalie and Layla murmuring to each other even in half-sleep, Zoey sprawled across Stella’s lap, one leg sticking off the bedding. They had all grown so used to sleeping together, bodies forming constellations in the dim flickering of their lanterns. It wasn’t just closeness anymore, it was security.

He stepped out into the orchard barefoot, the dew slick and cold between his toes. Trees around him stretched lazily, their leaves trembling in the early light. The mist clung lower today, as if unwilling to rise. Jude paused near the fig-glyph tree, fingers brushing the knot where he’d left an offering ribbon two nights before. Still untouched. Watchers weren’t here this morning. Or perhaps they were watching silently.

Behind him, someone stirred, he turned to see Rose approaching, hair braided back, a soft green tunic tied at her waist. She smiled sleepily and handed him a cup of hot root tea.

"You’re always up first now," she said.

"I like seeing the orchard before it wakes fully."

Rose sipped her own tea. "Scarlet’s going to miss you this morning. She didn’t stop clinging to you all night."

"I noticed."

They shared a quiet smile, one of a thousand small comforts now so natural they passed without thought. Jude leaned into her side briefly, their foreheads brushing.

"We’ll explore the northwest path today," he said. "The watchers don’t move there much. I want to know why."

Rose nodded. "Do you want me with you or staying back with the little ones?"

"Laurel wants to try weaving again with Lucy and Zoey. I think she’ll be fine. I want you beside me."

She tilted her head, brushing his knuckles with her fingers. "Then I’ll bring the charcoal inks."

By mid-morning, the house was fully awake. The smell of toasted rootcakes and wild mint filled the air, and the women moved with soft voices and busy hands, Lucy organizing baskets of thread, Susan and Emma boiling herbs, Serena hauling water from the spring. Scarlet was still curled up inside, wrapped in a quilt, but waved sleepily when Jude peeked in. "Be careful," she said.

"Always," he murmured, brushing his fingers across her ankle.

Their exploration group, Jude, Rose, Stella, Emma, and Serena, moved through the orchard’s outer perimeter and into the northwest stretch, where trees thinned and gnarled roots curled out of the earth like sleeping beasts.