She tipped her head. “No. I do not suppose she will forgive us. Were she among us, I would offer this choice to her. But as she is not, the honor is yours to choose his fate, Camden. Will it be a traitor’s death, or will you be merciful?”
He looked back to Njal and saw only hatred in the man’s eyes. “A traitor’s death.”
“The blood eagle is an execution we reserve for only the most heinous of crimes,” she continued, murmuring. Excitement danced in the eyes of the onlookers and spectators, for they seemed to know what was coming, even though Camden remained in the dark. “As this is your honor, you must now stand and sentence him, Camden. Rise and say these words. ‘For your treachery against the High King and Queen, Njal, son of Ole, you will be denied a seat in Valhalla at the All-Father’s table.’ And then it will begin.”
He stood and repeated the words. While he had no idea what a blood eagle meant, the crowd raised their voices as one and called out to Odin in prayer. The beat of drums filled the air, thundering with enough power to feel the rhythm in his chest.
Another royal guard approached and shoved Njal down over the stone table, and then a third removed a hand axe from his belt. Cam still didn’t comprehend what was happening until the cutting began. To Njal’s credit, he didn’t utter a word when they etched the shape of wings in his back with a knife and peeled back the skin. But when the axe landed in his ribs, he shrieked.
No one moved. No one cheered. They just continued their chanting call without flinching at the nauseating display. Even Brynhildr remained impassive at the butchery, so Camden did his best to keep the contents of his stomach in place.
The screaming didn’t last much longer, and Cam didn’t know if it was because the man had died, or if he couldn’t breathe to scream anymore. The chanting reached a crescendo in their native Ridaeron tongue, and the death was dedicated to Odin. That much he knew, only because he recognized the god’s name and fleeting phrases repeated throughout the prayer.
“Now he will be hung from the Great Tree as part of his sacrifice to the All-Father.”
Her men carried away the corpse. Then one row at a time, the witnesses then the drottin filed out.
“That was…” Horrifying. Nightmarish. Powerful. Camden swallowed back the lump in his throat, torn by his conflicting feelings. He’d never wish such suffering on anyone, and yet there was a grim satisfaction in knowing the man suffocated, like Joren drowning in the Viridian.
Brynhildr rose from her seat last, after the outdoor hall was emptied of all others, even the guards. “I know our ways are not like yours, Camden, but we are people of honor and loyalty.” She glanced at the stone table still smeared with Njal’s blood. “Most of us are. When I say something, my word is my oath. I do not lie.”
Chapter 18
Since Joren knew the patrol routes by heart and which ships they’d encounter from both Creag Morden and Cairn Ocland, they traveled as far south as he was willing to risk until they encountered a warm ocean breeze and escaped Eisland’s chilly northern climate.
Four days alone at sea with Coral granted all the time he needed to explore her body, but it wasn’t nearly enough time to overcome his fear of scaring her off with a proposal. Every time he considered bringing up the subject, he shied away, unable to voice the deepest desire of his heart.
It would be better, he thought, to ask when he actually had the ring. What mattered now was that he knew he wanted her to be his.
Confident in his resolve, Joren set out to enjoy their remaining time together. During the days, they fished and chatted—Coral writing on paper for her contributions—but their nights were devoted to stargazing and dining by candlelight or before the enchanted hearth. And they made love enough times during any point of the day that Joren figured it would never grow old.
The last thing he wanted was to return, but duty called.
“You’re quiet today,” Coral wrote on her pad while they stood behind the wheel together.
“I wish we had longer, is all. I’d like to sail around the realms with you. This has been so nice.”
“I’ve enjoyed this, too.”
He wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her closer, taking a moment to tuck her shawl in around her throat. The cold bite of impending Eisland winter had turned the air frigid again. “I’m glad. Perhaps, when this is all over, you and I can do exactly that. Set sail and see where the tides take us.”
Her pen hovered over the paper in hesitation and Joren held his breath. Then she began to answer, writing out each word slowly, and with care.
“If I am still here, I would like that very much.”
“Still here? Coral, why wouldn’t you be?”
“You are taking me home.”
“Only because I wouldn’t put you anywhere near Ridaeron,” he assured her. “I wish you with me when I sail, but I won’t endanger you by bringing you to a war. Besides, I thought perhaps you might wish to get your things or say hello to your family. At least let them know you’re all right.”
“No family to care, remember?”
His heart hurt for her. “Then they don’t deserve you.” He took her free hand and kissed her fingertips, lavishing each one with his attention. “You are wonderful, clever, and kind. If they can’t see that—if they can’t forgive the past—then they truly don’t deserve you. My gain.”
* * *
Three days after their return to Eisland, Joren received the finished product from the jeweler and committed to springing the question on Coral, or rather, he decided when to propose. It seemed cruel to ask a woman to marry him mere days before he was due to engage in sea battle with an enemy kingdom.
He decided to wait until their victorious return. In the meantime, he gazed down at the slender box in his hands and flipped up the lid. Vibrant turquoise stones shone up at him, a choker incorporating the stone from his grandmother’s engagement ring as the central jewel. The twenty-karat blue diamond glittered with countless prismatic colors no matter which angle the light hit it.
“Joren?” Rapunzel called, opening his bedroom door. She stepped inside, swaddled in fur around her shoulders and wearing one of her most voluminous dresses, plentiful lace and a lot of wine-colored velvet. “Are you ready? We’re going to be late to our own event.”
“Yes, of course.” He snapped the box shut, but not before his sister caught a glance.
“Is that…?”
“Yes. I’ve decided to ask Coral to marry me. I don’t know yet what we’ll do if she agrees—if she’ll sail with me or live on the island—but I know I want to enjoy the rest of my life looking forward to her next smile.”
“I’m so happy for you, brother. Absolutely thrilled,” Rapunzel said, hugging him tightly.
“Thank you.”
“We’ll do whatever we can to make Coral feel at home should she choose to live in the palace. I imagine she’d want to remain with her people, but something tells me she won’t leave your side.”
“You think so?”
Her impish smile gave him hope. “I know so. She gazes at you as if you hung both the sun and the moons in the sky, Joren.”
“I’m not that special.”
Rapunzel punched him in the chest, hard enough that he stumbled back.
“What was that for?” Joren demanded, rubbing his pectoral. “Gods, you violent woman.”
“Because I find nothing funny about your self-deprecation. You are an amazing man, and you deserve to be loved by someone. You’ve spent your entire life studying or in the service of others, training for the navy, training as a mage. Now, you’re preparing to set sail to recover our lost countrymen.”
“We don’t know what we’ll encounter,” he murmured. “We’ve never laid siege to Ridaeron’s shores. I may not return.”
“You will.” Rapunzel took him by the face, cupping his cheeks in her gloved hands. “I have every confidence in you, brother. You held out when M—Gothel did her worst to you. You survived the influence of an evil goddess.
You’ll survive this, and you’ll bring our men home.”
“I hope so. I truly hope so.”
“I believe in you, as do those who will be sailing under your command. Everyone knows the risks involved, and they’re all willing to take them. It’s high time we let the Ridaeron Dynasty know we will no longer be involved in their schemes. That we will not suffer them taking our people, or our allies.”
Her confident words bolstered his resolve and reaffirmed what he already knew. Confidence restored, Joren kissed her brow then took a step back to straighten his jacket, tug his sleeve cuffs, and stand tall.
“I’m ready. Let’s get this show underway.”
The entire city came out for the spectacle. Crowds lined the streets all the way from the palace to the docks. People tossed flowers into the road and called out blessings. Others, those with family and friends lost in the attack, stood with tears in their eyes. For them, Joren vowed to bring home whomever he could—and if he couldn’t, to make Ridaeron pay for their loss.
Coral waited on the pier with Muir and the naval officers for the new ship. Gods, he missed Camden. His friend should have been there, wearing his usual cocky grin and waiting to help christen their vessel, Cara at his side.
Sailing without them wouldn’t be the same.
“We’ll get them back,” Baptiste said, seeming to read Joren’s mind. He saluted, and the crew lined up at the railing followed his example.
“What will you name her, Joren?” Rapunzel asked
“Me?”
“Yes, you, silly.” Rapunzel’s widening smile crinkled her eyes. “As this ship is a gift to my dear brother, the honor belongs to you, not the Queen of Eisland this day.”
A priest from Triton’s temple stepped forward and offered Joren a bottle on a silver pillow. The liquid inside glimmered, shining through the cobalt glass.
Good gods. He hadn’t been prepared, as centuries-old traditions called for the reigning monarch to name all new ships on the day of their launch and smash the bottle of blessed seawater against the hull. He blinked his stinging eyes a few times and gazed up at the beauty.
“After grandfather perhaps?” he asked.
She chortled. “Remember his fondness for cannons?”
“I do. The man was obsessed with them.” He gazed at the ship and the enormous, magic-imbued carronades on the forecastle. “I’ve got the perfect name in mind.”
“King Matthieu’s Cannon?”
“Yes. And I do believe we’ll take her to blow a hole through the Ridaeron Dynasty’s defenses. One so large they won’t want to come within fifty leagues of any Eislandic ship.”
He had no idea what he’d do to recover their sailors, but he’d sail up and down their coastline laying waste to everything they loved until his countrymen came home.
* * *
Ships from Creag Morden met up with them on the fourth day of their voyage, adding to their war fleet. Another two from Cairn Ocland, including the Scarlet Brigade, joined them a day later. While none of the ships matched the King Matthieu’s Cannon in size, they all had experienced crews and had survived for years on the Viridian.
Joren found it both amusing and ironic that three of the greatest pirate vessels ever to sail the Viridian Sea—hunted by his own kingdom no less—were now under his command. He’d found Captain Amerys Vandry of the Twilight Witch to be an amazing, trustworthy woman, and James had always been a close friend until Gothel wrenched them apart.
Looking out at the various sails filled him with pride. For the first time, all the kingdoms of the Compact were coming together. In only a few short days, they would reach Neverland to await the arrival of the Samaharan ships, and their armada would be complete.
Coral moved up beside him, taking her usual place with her head leaned against his arm.
“I’m a little afraid, you know,” he admitted in a quiet voice. “Afraid it will be too late to save my people.”
She slipped her hand into his and squeezed.
“It’s been months and what knowledge we have of their country is long outdated. They could have taken my crew anywhere,” he continued, staring out at the setting sun. “Will you think less of me if this whole thing is a failure?”
Coral’s warm palm cupped his cheek. She turned his gaze to her face and shook her head, then lifted on her toes to kiss him. Such sweet assurance lifted some of the weight off his heart, but it couldn’t banish his unease completely.
“Thank you,” he whispered when they parted. “I miss them, you know. Camden and Cara have been with me for so long, always watching my back. Always keeping me out of trouble.” He paused, then dropped his head and chuckled. “Or getting me into it.”
He ran a hand through his hair and turned away from the watercolor sky. On any other voyage, there would have been music and laughter to keep spirits high. Instead, a solemn air shrouded the ship.
More than anything, Joren prayed that the blow they struck against their enemy would be enough.
Chapter 19
The islands of Wai Alei came into view as the sun reached its zenith, appearing as emerald specks against the shifting shades of blue. The closer to land they sailed, the lighter the water became, morphing from deep navy to bright turquoise.
As certain islands were off-limits to them—viewed as sacred by the Wai Alei—the fleet approached from the west and sailed through a narrow channel with the active volcano to their portside bow. They wouldn’t encounter another island without sailing another fifteen or twenty miles southeast.
Joren stood on the forecastle and dragged in a deep breath. Meditation had become key to calming his nerves in the face of danger—integral to be an effective admiral. Too many people counted on him, both his crew captive in the Ridaeron Dynasty and their loved ones at home. He included Coral in that number, though she was below deck in the hold milking the goats to assist the crew. He hated the idea of leaving her behind but he refused to bring her into the perilous series of sea battles ahead of them on an untested ship.
The past week had been a strategic exercise in time management, Joren devoting every moment of his free time to her since the Cannon’s launch from Eisland. He’d held her close each night, dined alongside her during supper, and watched her charm his crew while he conducted his daily duties. Not once did she complain about their sporadic moments together or that their courtship had been reduced to hurried kisses during daylight and the quiet hours together after dark.
She’d make a good shipwife, Joren thought. Though he couldn’t bear to propose to her when the uncertainty of a war with Ridaeron loomed before them, Coral was already the ideal future matron of an admiral’s ship.
Just two days after the Cannon set sail, she took charge of their fishing crew and taught them to spear the yard-long flying drakes that skipped over the water, scarlet scales glittering like dragon hide. The males spit fire when removed from the water, making them a risky catch if they weren’t speared in the combustion sac that manufactured the flammable fluid. After a couple days of her instruction, there wasn’t a single burn among his men.
She’d helped in other ways since then, volunteering in the hold with the farm animals if she wasn’t assisting Lucky in the galley. Wherever Coral went, she thrived and brightened the vessel like a ray of sunlight.
As much as he wanted to commit to a betrothal, he loathed the idea of making her the ultimate promise then dying at sea. A more romantic man would ask the question anyway, posing it as a vow to return. Superstition told him to hold on to the choker instead, to make the proposal both a celebration of a successful rescue and their budding love.
“Do you smell that?” Faolan asked, jarring Joren out of his thoughts. The griffin and two of his clansmen had volunteered to join the crew for this particular mission, eager to help.
“Smell what? I don’t—” The wind changed and brought a fleeting whiff of smoke and burning wood, flying up his nostrils and stinging his eyes with the acrid odor of ash and the sweet scent of wood s
ap. Burning wood sap.
“Something’s happened on the islands!” Kenneth called down. “Something huge, Admiral. Look at all the smoke coming from the east!”
While Joren scaled the mast to the crow’s nest, the crew hustled across the deck at his command to drop anchor and pass word to the other ships. He took Kenneth’s scope and peered out from the higher vantage. What he saw beyond them to the east, at the very edge of the horizon line, was absolute devastation. Flames still raged across one of the small islands and all its structures had been razed to the ground.
“Ridaerons,” he growled. They were famous for their slash and burn tactics, ruining anything they couldn’t take on their ships. “Faolan, can you do a fly-over and see what we’re dealing with? I need to know if there are enemy ships hiding in the archipelago.”
“On it.”
He shouted something to his clansmen in their native tongue, then the three transformed and lifted off.
The griffins called to one another from time to time, shrieks and whistles piercing the still evening and echoing over the skies for miles in each direction. A tense ten minutes passed before the shifters returned, Faolan landing on the deck but not retaking his human shape. Like their draconic counterparts, griffins could speak in their animal forms.
“There are no enemies concealed in the islands, lad. Only terrified people. I passed a fair number of blond corpses on the eastern shores, rotting under the sun. Cait and Kian say the west and south appear virtually untouched.”
“The Ridaerons.”
Faolan nodded. “Aye. Must have come about two or three days ago. Many of the sugar orchards are still burning. You can still see the embers when you soar overhead.”
“By Triton’s scales,” Joren muttered, scrubbing his face with one hand. “Sugar orchards?”
“Aye, the sweetwater trees. The ones they harvest for their syrup and sugars. Whole fields of them reduced to burning husks. Is Tiger Lily the lass who wears the orange face paint?” Faolan asked.
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