by Adalyn Grace
“I would never wish what happened to you on my worst enemy.” Mother folds her hands before her and as far from my shoulders as possible. Distracted as I am by the ghost of Father’s touch, her words are distant. If I focus hard enough, it’s almost like I can smell him—a familiar scent of sea and sandalwood. I can nearly feel the lingering warmth of the sun on his skin as he returned from a day out on The Duchess.
If only he were still here.
The sound of Mother lifting herself off the chaise stirs me, and Father’s ghost slips away once more, out of reach. “I’ll leave the crew to you, and you leave the planning and the fanfare to me. You’ll set sail in two days’ time.” She bends to kiss the top of my head. “Sweet dreams, Amora.” And then she’s gone, the door shutting quietly behind her. Only then does Aunt Kalea lift her head to look at me fully. I stare back, smothering my resentment.
“You need to take care of her.” I am a snake with venom so lethal that even my words are deadly. “I don’t care what you have to do, or what it comes down to. You’ll protect her with your life.” With Mother gone, I no longer care about civility. My aunt flinches but doesn’t protest. She deserves every ounce of my anger and more.
“Keira’s strong,” she says. “Focus on yourself instead of worrying for her.”
I have to bite back the laughter as it roils deep and vicious within me. “Let me worry about fixing my kingdom. That’s what you always wanted, after all.”
Again, she takes the insults in stride, which causes something within me to sear and fester. I want her to bite back, to fight me. What happened is as much her fault as it is mine, and there’s nothing more I want than for her to know it. To scream it at her over and over again, and bury my anger so deeply within her that she feels every last drop of it.
But she doesn’t fight me, nor does she bite back. Kalea takes my punches one after another, snuffing the blazing fire right out of me. When I speak again it’s no longer with wrath, but with the coldness of facts. “I’ve no intention of returning until my people are willing to fall on swords for me. In my absence, I’m entrusting my mother with caring for Arida. But I swear upon every last god, Kalea, if anything happens to her while I’m gone, I’ll have your head. I will not lose another parent because of you.”
And with that, I return to the tomes on my lap and dismiss her without another look.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I find a freshly bathed Ferrick in his room the next morning, droplets of water dripping from his trimmed hair. Back turned to the door I crack open, he’s in a fighting stance with his rapier raised before him. One hand is behind his back as he lunges, backs away, breathes in deeply, and shifts his feet into a new position.
I lean against the frame to watch, fascinated by how he doesn’t waver. By how the muscles in his bare shoulders and back flex and tighten, stronger now. Without his coat, it’s easier to see how much he’s filled out since the summer. Though he’s still lankier than Bastian, his shoulders and arms have swelled to nearly double the size since he took up weapon training with Casem.
Behind him, shelves of herbs and plants take over an entire wall, with bottles and glass jars stuffed full of moss and other things I can’t make sense of.
“What are you doing?”
He practically yelps, jolting so fiercely that the rapier drops from his hand and falls to his toes. I grimace when he curses, stumbling onto his bed. Grabbing a discarded tunic from the open luggage he’s got beside it, he hugs it to his chest to cover himself.
“By the gods, Amora, don’t you know how to knock?” His cheeks flush such a vibrant red that, despite everything, I can’t hold back my laugh.
“Queens don’t have to knock,” I tease. “What were you doing?”
“What does it look like I was doing?” He crumples his shirt in his hands, huffing. “I was training.”
“Wet and half naked?”
“I’m not half … You know what? You never know what the conditions are going to be like, all right? Gods know you find trouble everywhere; if I’m going to be your adviser, I need to be the best.”
“Right. I feel much safer knowing you can fight under these conditions.” Stars, I missed Ferrick. “But you might not want to unpack. We’re heading out again first thing tomorrow.”
His freckled face falls. Looking at him now, clean after half a season out at sea, I see that his cheeks are glaringly sunburnt, and that there are thin wrinkles around his eyes from spending too many days squinting into the sun.
“No way” is all he says at first, turning away. After another moment, he groans. “Please tell me this is a joke.”
When I say nothing, he runs his fingers through his hair and tosses the shirt he’s been holding back into his travel chest. “This is a cruel punishment, Amora. I have feet. Feet are meant to be on land.” His hand drifts to his stomach, and I don’t need to read minds to know he’s thinking of his seasickness. “Do I need to procure a ship?”
“It’s already done. We’ll be taking The Duchess, with a crew as small as we can get it. I’d like you as our healer, Vataea to command the waters, and Bastian … because he’s a requirement.”
Slowly, Ferrick’s lips curve upward. “It’s our old crew.”
I wonder if that warms his heart as much as it does mine. Our crew, back together again. But it’s little more than a dream, because our crew is a ghost of what it once was, and it’s my fault; I’m the one who can’t manage being in the same room as Bastian.
“Our crew and then some,” I say eventually. “I’m adding Casem, to use his affinity toward air to help with the sailing, and because Mira’s been teaching him mind speak and Mother insists I stay in communication with her and the islands. There’s one other person I might add as well, if they’re up for it.”
“What’s our mission?” He takes a seat across from me and offers his hand. I don’t hesitate to take it, letting him cup his hands around mine.
“I’m to make the kingdom adore me.” I flash my most practiced smile before explaining our strategy to tour the kingdom and meet its eligible bachelors. Something in Ferrick’s expression has cracked by the time I finish, though I can’t tell whether it’s curiosity or disbelief that wars in the creases of his forehead. “You’re going to get married?”
“Again, you don’t need to be married to have a—”
“I know how it works.” He cuts me off, skin flushing pink. “I just figured you’d want to break your curse with Bastian and try things with him, first. You know, considering how hard you were fighting against marriage and all that when we were engaged.” He screws his brows tight and squints at me. “You’re being serious, right? Still not a joke?”
“Still not a joke,” I echo. “That’s what everyone wants for me. But … that’s not what’s really going to happen.” I wait until his curiosity piques before quietly adding, “I may have found a way to break my family’s curse. While the kingdom thinks I’m courting, we’re going to have a different goal.”
To this, Ferrick’s shoulders ease. “Ah, yes, that sounds much more like you. For a second there I thought some wicked sea spirit must have possessed you.”
I laugh, jabbing him in the arm, but Ferrick swats my hand and ignores it. “You know we’ve looked everywhere for that charm, right? We’ve done everything but physically tear Zudoh apart looking for whatever Kaven might have used to create your curse, and we haven’t been able to find anything. What makes you think you’ll find it in Kerost?”
“I don’t,” I say. “I’ve no doubt whatever object Kaven used is lost forever. This is something new.”
“Something that Blarthe told you about?” Ferrick’s too smart for his own good. He exhales hard, my lack of an answer enough of a confirmation. “And what happens to Blarthe once you find this rumored object?”
“Then I’ll proceed with him as planned,” I say easily. “He has no power; I just need to keep him around until I see whether his lead goes anywhere.” And for his help with time magi
c, though Ferrick doesn’t need to know that.
“He wouldn’t have told you unless he has something up his sleeve, Amora. He’s too self-preserving for that.”
It’s a thought that’s been eating at me, too. But when Ferrick says it, I’m immediately defensive.
“If he tries anything, we’ll be ready. For now, he’s in the prisons, bound and gagged. We have time.”
Leaning back on his hands, Ferrick nods. Though still skeptical, he doesn’t fight me or say that he knows better. Whether he agrees with me or not, Ferrick’s stepped into his role as my leading adviser, and is backing my decision.
My appreciation for him is warm enough to burn a hole through my heart. For a fleeting moment, I get the urge to tell him everything—not just about the long night I spent awake, reading up on legends, but about what’s been happening every time I shut my eyes—how all that waits for me behind them is death.
I think to tell him how I see a mass of Visidia’s fallen, with Father standing between a sea of dead bodies. Of the blood that falls like a river from his stomach, and smoke that shrouds his face and body, but never the hand that’s always reaching out for me, begging me to save him. I think to tell him of how breathing is more painful than ever now, and that it sometimes doesn’t come at all.
I want to tell Ferrick that I know how ridiculous it sounds, because I’m meant to be the one protecting Visidia. I’m meant to be restoring it. But that sometimes I worry these nightmares will stay with me forever. Bodies woven in red, soaking in seas of blood.
I want to tell him that I am willing to risk anything—everything—to make up for my family’s past and send these memories to the bottom of the sea where they belong.
Instead, I take the easier route, the safe route. Because the last thing I need right now is anyone’s judgment. Especially his.
I give his knee a quick pat as I stand and make my way for the door.
“Tell Bastian to pack too, all right?” I add quietly, not ready to share the news with him myself. “But … Just tell him when to meet us on the docks. I need to be the one to tell him the rest.”
You won’t be able to ignore me forever, Princess.
I shudder at the memory of Bastian’s words. He’s right—come tomorrow, I won’t be able to ignore him any longer. Come tomorrow, we’ll be forced on the same ship for gods know how long.
Ferrick runs pale fingers through his damp red hair. “Of course. I want to be clear that I absolutely hate this idea and am totally against every part of it … But of course. I won’t say anything until you talk to him, but what about Vataea?” There’s a hopeful edge in his voice. A gleam in his eyes. “She and I … I mean, I know we’re taking it slow, but I’d like to see where it could go. You’re asking me to keep a huge secret by not telling her about Blarthe.”
“And I’m sorry to do it. But you know as well as I do what will happen if Vataea knows we have him. Until I find the artifact, I need Blarthe alive.”
“But—”
“Ferrick.” I turn to him fully now. “It’s an order.”
Surprise flashes in his eyes before he rights himself, bowing his head. “All right then, Your Majesty. I won’t say a word.”
* * *
Once Ferrick and Casem have both been alerted, and a request for another crew member made, it’s time to see Vataea.
The mermaid lounges on her balcony, long legs and smooth stomach exposed as she tries to summon the sun to tan her skin. She sprawls the fingers of one hand out in front of her, each of them topped with a miniature amabon that’s skewered into her nails. She pops one of them into her mouth as I enter, her smile turning toothy when she spots me. Waving me in, she kicks her feet onto the chaise longue she’s dragged onto the balcony.
My cousin Yuriel has been making the most of her presence at the palace. The two have been practically inseparable. Even now he lounges beside her, sipping from a deep goblet of sangria as though we’re in the middle of summer. Though Vataea was set to leave Arida weeks ago to set out exploring the kingdom, she’s grown accustomed to the lavish life of a royal guest in the palace. But after everything she endured with Blarthe, I’m glad she put her travel plans on hold to settle for a while. To stay somewhere she could feel safe and comfortable.
“You know it’s freezing, right?” I cross my arms around myself and pull my coat in tight. The sapphire satin curtains around Vataea’s open window buckle in the heavy breeze, and yet she remains unbothered, wearing just enough not to expose herself. Yuriel at least wears a glimmering coat that’s been enchanted to look as though it’s made from lilac fox fur.
“Sangria keeps you warm,” he says lazily, not bothering to look up at me. He turns the page of an Ikaean parchment, laughing at one of the moving images. I nearly bristle until he turns it to Vataea and I see that it’s not the same parchment Lord Garrison shared with me, but one of a seemingly drunk man whose bubble pants took a turn for the worst at a party. Vataea leans over Yuriel to snatch the parchment. One look, and she dissolves into wicked laughter.
When I clear my throat, she rolls her eyes and sets the parchment and its moving images aside.
“It’s much warmer out here than it is at the bottom of the sea.” She pops another amabon into her mouth and dips her head back against the chaise. “Would you like wine? As the honored guest of the palace, all I have to do is ring a bell and we’ll be brought as much as we can drink.” Another amabon, and then a toothy grin. “Put away your serious face, Amora. Come, eat and drink with me for one night.”
“Another time.” I cross the floor to pluck an amabon off her finger and pop it into my mouth. The deliciously fluffy bun practically melts on my tongue, filled with a sweet plum paste. When I groan, Vataea laughs and finishes off the last two. She looks entirely too relaxed, and I try not to let that make me feel guilty. If she knew Blarthe was in Arida’s prisons as we speak, this would be an entirely different afternoon.
“How do you feel about another adventure?” I lick the last of the sugar from my lips. “A proper one, this time. Not just to the buoy and back.”
Vataea’s eyes narrow into slits as she turns to assess me. Within them, I swear I see the glimmer of dark delight. “How proper are we talking?”
“I’m to sail the kingdom. There will be bachelors, a chance to tour the other islands, and most likely far more food and drinks than we could ever want in our lifetimes.” When Yuriel perks up, I quickly add, “But we need to keep the crew as small as possible. I’ll need your help sailing.”
She tosses her legs over the chaise and stretches her arms wide. Some time on land has done her well—her skin is warm with the sun and her belly’s full and healthy.
“Who am I to deny an adventure?” Though she speaks wistfully, there’s mirth in her eyes as they meet mine. “Where to first?”
Guilt is a piranha, devouring me whole as I force out the truth. “Kerost.”
I don’t want to ask her to return to the place we rescued her from—one of the several places she was held captive by Blarthe and shown off like a trophy. I understand fully the vengeance Vataea seeks on him, and once he’s served his purpose, Vataea can have her turn with him. But for now I’m to follow his lead in Kerost and find Ornell Rosenblathe. “You can stay on the ship, if you’d like. You don’t have to come ashore.”
She flashes her teeth, sharp and dangerous. “I refuse to let that man keep me from enjoying my life. I will go. I take it the boys are coming with us?”
“Of course they are,” I nearly growl, reminded sharply of Bastian and his outburst in the throne room.
The more I think about Bastian, the more I think about my curse. And the more I think about my curse, the more my resentment grows and my mind crawls into itself. The edges of my vision darken, tunneling. Tunneling. Tunneling. Until I see smoke. Fire. Blood. Bastian writhing on the floor. Father dead, a sword between his ribs. I search for his face in the smoke that shrouds it, but all I find are the faces of a thousand dead spirits circli
ng behind him. Watching me.
“Amora?”
I inhale a breath at Vataea’s songlike voice. I focus on it, using it as an anchor to drag my focus back. There’s a tightness in my chest and a hollowness in my stomach, but I do everything I can to ignore it and focus instead on pushing my shoulders back and standing tall.
“Have your things packed before nightfall.” I make my voice firm, silently begging her to leave it at that. Because if she presses, I’ll surely waver. “We leave at dawn.”
CHAPTER NINE
The fur along Mother’s cloak billows behind her as we stand at the edge of the docks. She looks like a spirit, her expression no less haunted than the mist surrounding us or the wood that groans beneath our boots.
Her gaunt face is turned toward the roiling tides, creased with a concern so deep that it settles its way into her hands, which clench and unclench against her cloak in an anxious rhythm.
“We can postpone the tour until summer.” The squawking seagulls nearly drown out her voice. “It’ll be safer to travel, then.”
I follow her gaze, watching as thick sea foam thrashes against the shore, trying to claim scuttling crabs that seek refuge in the rocks. I understand Mother’s hesitation, but unlike that crab, I don’t fear the sea. The ocean holds my soul firm. Salt and mist settle against my skin like a coat, luring me into its comfort. I lean into the feeling, welcoming it.
“The sooner we get this kingdom under control, the better.” I keep my words devoid of the eagerness that stirs within me.
Freedom for Visidia is only an ocean away.
