“He saved my life,” Sora interjected. “You were going to say it might have been better if he’d stayed in Elsewhere, but that’s not true. If he hadn’t escaped with you, I might still be trapped with her. She… she might have used me to destroy the world already.”
His hand moved from Aquira’s head and clasped Sora’s. He smiled—not the same as earlier, though. This time, it was distant, diffident, and she quickly realized why. Whitney Fierstown, as caring and thoughtful as he might be, loved receiving credit. Even more so when he actually deserved it. This time, it wasn’t some tall tale.
“You saved my life too,” she said. “I’d still be stuck in that awful place if not for the both of you and the others.”
Whitney perked up noticeably and chuckled. “Kazimir may have been a blood-sucking pile of undead shog, but he was my blood-sucking pile of undead shog. And now, because of me, his apprentice is…” He exhaled, grew serious, and said. “Six years, I was there with him, Sora. That’s a long time. It’s a long time to forget past… indiscretions.”
Sora wondered if he was referring to his actions when they were younger, and he left her. He’d told her he was sorry about a million times on that trip back from Brekliodad, and every time, she’d just stared at him.
Sora shook her head solemnly, thinking about her own time buried deep in her mind and couldn’t imagine doing it for six years. Then, she looked up. The sun was nearly tucked behind the Pikeback Mountains to the north, and Pantego’s moons could already be seen hanging in the sky. Then she looked south again, fighting back the irrational fear of night that she’d been feeling ever since Nowhere.
“What was it like?” she asked softly, trying to picture a world where the sun and moons didn’t exist. She’d been there with Whitney, but not for long, and most of that time was spent trying not to die from monsters and giant squids.
Whitney’s face scrunched up, and he followed Sora’s gaze to the horizon. “It wasn’t all bad,” he said.
His answer surprised her, and it must have shown on her face because he leaned in closer as if to comfort her.
“You were there,” he said. “Well, not you-you, but old-you. Not old you. Younger-you.”
“Me?” Sora asked, incredulous.
“And younger me, and my parents and, well, everyone. All I can say is it was the weirdest experience of my life,” Whitney said with another chuckle. “I relived so many things there. It was like being an outsider to my own life.”
Relived? Sora thought, wondering if that was why Whitney had brought up the bakery and had apologized so much. Had he seen her crying? Had he recognized how much he’d hurt her so many times? What about the time he’d left for good?
“You keep apologizing to me. I owe you an apology,” he said.
“You’ve offered plenty of those on the trip here,” Sora said.
“I wasn’t sure you’d heard me.”
“I was sad, not deaf.” Now it was Sora’s turn for a slight snigger, mirthless as it was.
“Well, all I know is that Little Whitney was a shog-headed triss,” Whitney said.
“And big Whitney isn’t?” Sora added. This time she chuckled. A real one.
“Point taken. But either way, it was me who abandoned you. I was an idiot. I never should’ve left. If I hadn’t—“
“You probably would have died right beside your parents in the plague,” Sora cut in. “Besides—and I can’t believe I’m saying this—Iam or the Pinyun tsu chahn ji duo, or whatever other gods there might be controlling things… they had a bigger purpose for you, Whitney Fierstown. World’s Greatest Thief or not… you helped saved Pantego more than once.”
“No one is controlling my destiny,” Whitney said, puffing out his chest. “Nor yours. And you know what? We did save the world once already. Together… and Torsten, I guess.”
“Iam’s shog—“
“Sora! Language!”
“Where… how is Torsten?” Sora asked.
“He’s in Yarrington, last I heard. Blind as a priest.”
“Blind? What? How?”
“Redstar. The same night you and I were together in Elsewhere… burned out his eyes. Tssssss, pop!” Whitney placed his fists over his eyes and spread his palms like they were bursting.
“That’s an awful thing to joke about,” she scolded.
“He’s fiiiiine.”
Sora had heard Freydis and Nesilia discussing Redstar’s death during the Earthmoot, which established Freydis as the new Arch Warlock. Though she wasn’t there when it had happened, when Sora tried to put her mind on Redstar’s death, she could see fragments of the very moment he’d died—the instant Nesilia left King Pi’s body and entered into hers.
“But Torsten killed him,” she said, low. “Drove a sword right through his chest after the Drav Cra killed Wren the Holy.”
“How did you know all that?” Whitney scratched his chin. “I don’t remember talking about that oversized knight on the sea.”
Sora’s chin dropped to her chest. “Because Nesilia knew.”
Whitney’s eyes went wide. “Do you know everything she knew?”
She shrugged. “I shared every memory with her… sometimes I think she’s still…” She couldn’t finish the sentence.
“Still what?” Whitney’s brow furrowed.
“Nothing… never mind. I think I need sleep,” she said. “I just want this to be over.” She went to stand, but Whitney slid in front of her and kneeled so she couldn’t.
“Still what?” he asked. “You still feel her, don’t you?”
Sora went quiet, stroking Aquira’s tail. She was exhausted just from having the conversation in the first place. She’d grown used to Nesilia merely talking at her. Telling Whitney that she believed Nesilia might still be in her mind somewhere, lurking… it was too much.
“It’s nothing,” she lied.
“It’s not nothing,” Whitney said. “I know you, Sora… Nothhelm… I know all there is to know.”
“Nothhelm… I—you—what?” Sora stammered. Her hand slipped off Aquira and banged against the bench as she went slack, stunned. Aquira flapped away to the crow’s nest. “How did you…”
“I have my secrets, too.” Again, he put on that mischievous smile Sora had practically been begging to see one last time, until now that she was a victim of it.
“Whitney…” she said, breathless. “I don’t know how you know that, but you shouldn’t.”
“I shouldn’t?” Whitney said, standing. “Are you kidding? Sora this is the greatest thing to happen to either of us. Do you know what this means?”
Sora tilted her head in question.
“You’re not just a princess—“
“No. Stop it now.”
“You should be Queen,” Whitney continued as if she hadn’t spoken at all.
“Queen? Are you mad?” Sora asked.
“You’re older than Pi. Smarter too. Definitely prettier. Plus… think of the gold!”
“Bastard princesses don’t get the throne,” she muttered. “Besides…”
“Well, at least a castle.” He extended his palm like a potion salesman. “Sora, Lady of New Winde Port.”
“Stop,” she said, stern. She looked back toward Yaolin City. “I don’t want to be a lady of anything. Whitney, you have to promise me you won’t tell anyone else. No one, do you understand?”
He blew out a raspberry. “You’re madder than the real Queen was.”
“I mean it. No one else knows, right?”
Whitney’s head rolled back. “I can’t believe you won’t even consider this.”
“Not even a little bit. Now, I’m serious. No one knows, right?”
Whitney put on a puzzled face, finger to his chin. “I don’t think Kazimir will be talking.”
“It was only him?”
He let out an exasperated sigh, leaned in, and said, “You could be something grand, Sora. Have the influence to do… well… something grand.”
“Promise me,�
� Sora said.
“Promise you what?”
“You won’t tell anyone.”
“If Torsten knew—“
“Especially not Torsten! Iam’s shog, Whitney. You aren’t thinking straight. If Torsten knew, he’d probably have me killed just to make sure no one found out his precious King was a whoremonger.”
“Or he might think you’re the better option over a sickly child,” Whitney offered.
“I mean it, Whit. No one.”
He sighed. “I promise not to tell anyone that you are the rightful queen of the whole yigging world. Happy?”
She crossed her arms.
The wind whistled as it passed through the many ropes hanging from posts and netting throughout the ship. Out there, on the Covenstan Depths, things had been quiet and peaceful beside the occasional grimaur attack. Even here in Glinthaven, it was like paradise. But it was just the calm before the inevitable storm, and Sora knew it.
“You don’t get it, do you?” she said.
“What don’t I get?” he replied.
“Queen of what? What’s going to be left? You’ve heard the rumors, same as I have, haven’t you? All throughout the docks. You can see what’s happening in Panping.” She pointed to the smoke and storm just barely visible now in the darkening sky. “You don’t believe that’s just her cultists. You can’t. Not after what we saw in the Citadel. We are out of time, Whit. First Yaolin City, then Yarrington, then the whole world. There’s no time to make people further doubt the King of the only Kingdom strong enough to stand against her.”
Still kneeling before her, Whitney held out his hand as if offering for her to take it. After a few seconds and a pleading look in his eyes, she did. “Yes, I’ve heard the rumors,” he said. “White hair, black eyes, pretty but terrifying, rides a sea-monster? Yeah, that’s obviously her.”
“So, what do we do?”
“I’ve got a plan.”
“Oh, do you?” Sora asked, skeptical.
“While you’ve been… recovering, we’ve been scheming. We’re going after her.”
“Just like that? There’s nothing to steal this time, thief.” She tried to be playful with the term, though she wasn’t sure it came off that way.
“Well, good thing I’m retired, then. I’m in the ‘saving damsels’ business now.”
Sora rolled her eyes.
Whitney’s features darkened. “She hurt you, Sora. You may not admit it, but I can see it in your eyes. And she hurt Kazimir, Gold Grin, Torsten—she’ll pay for all of it. So, before we worry about you taking your rightful place as Queen of the World, and me by your side—your dashing King—or even what’s happened while you were with her, and I was in Elsewhere, if you even think you might still have a connection to Nesilia, we need to talk with Lucindur right away.”
She stared at him, unblinking. She couldn’t stop herself. Whitney Fierstown, thief and braggart. Always out for himself, now willing to throw himself at Nesilia even though he’d already accomplished his mission, saving Sora—all for her and others. And as she watched him, hanging on with a dumb look smeared across his face, eager for her response, she knew. She could finally forgive him for leaving her behind all those years ago. Really, truly forgive him.
“Did you just propose marriage?” she asked.
Whitney waved her off. “Sora, stop messing around—“
His protest was cut short as she threw himself at him. His back hit the deck, and she landed on top of him.
Pinned beneath her, he said, “Sora, what are you…”
It was so long in the waiting—months, years, a decade even. She didn’t want to waste another second when any second could be their last. Her mouth found his, and for once in his life, he quit talking.
She pawed at his britches, unlacing them quickly with one hand as the other shoved back on his tunic.
“Ow,” he squealed.
She noticed the magical embers building around her hand as she lost control. “Get used to it,” she replied, pushing him harder. He stared into her eyes, then his hand tangled her hair, and he pulled her toward him, kissing her again.
III
The Knight
Sir Unger, I’m sorry,” Sir Lucas Danvels said.
The young Shieldsman rode beside Torsten, heading east on the Glass Road. Their journey so far from White Bridge had been mostly silent. After Nesilia’s arrival and on the battlefield, Lucas seemed particularly shaken. These were the first words he’d spoken.
“For what?” Torsten asked.
“For bringing her—the Buried Goddess—there. The blood pact Rand made… it was against me.”
“You did nothing wrong, Lucas. The fault rests squarely upon my shoulders—as usual.” Torsten went silent, watching creatures flying in the distance, too big to be gallers. Grimaurs.
“I kept Rand among us when he was clearly more damaged than any of us knew,” Torsten said.
“For a Shieldsman—even a former one—to unleash such wrath… It’s inconceivable.”
“If he knew what she would do, I have to believe he wouldn’t have done it. Not if anything of the Rand I knew is left in that frail form.”
“Maybe, but I should’ve stopped them. Him, at least.”
“Nesilia killed Muskigo Ayerabi like it was a game,” Torsten said. “Like he was a mouse caught in the grain bin. She would have killed us all if not for Dellbar the Holy—Iam.”
Torsten paused again. It seemed a dream that old, drunken Father-Morningweg-turned-Dellbar-the-Holy had carried the manifest presence of his God. Iam had been there, on that battlefield, protecting his chosen children.
Torsten cleared his throat. “There was nothing you could’ve done.”
Lucas exhaled. “And now, Rand Langley is in the wind again.”
“No, he’s not.”
“You know where he is?” Lucas asked, hopeful like a hungry child at the smell of bread.
“No, but I know him. He’ll be heading east, just like us. He’ll never stop believing his sister is still inside of whatever twisted thing Sigrid has become. He’ll go to her—“
“And she’ll kill him,” Lucas finished.
“Or he’ll serve her like a mindless beast.”
“Like he did with the Mad Queen,” Lucas offered.
“Don’t call her that.”
“Sorry, Sir Unger. I didn’t intend to speak ill of the dead. But it is true, right? The things she made Langley do will be nothing compared to the goddess’ desires.”
“In that, you may be correct.”
“I spoke with her, Sir Unger.” His voice was shaky, as if reliving a horrific memory. “There was nothing human about her. Sh… sh… she looked right through me. It was as if I weren’t more than cattle.”
“The Buried Goddess and an upyr as one,” Torsten said. “I can think of nothing more wicked.”
Thick clouds blotted out the sun, casting an eerie, gray blanket over the Wildlands. It felt like months since Torsten had seen the sun, a precise mirroring of his soul.
“You know, it’s funny, Sir Unger.”
Torsten glared at Lucas.
“Poor choice of words. It’s just that I didn’t even believe there was such a thing as upyr until recently. Like everyone else, I figured they were just stories meant to scare children from sneaking away at night. But now, every horrid nightmare has become a reality. It seems lately, nothing makes sense. What happened?”
Torsten knew precisely what had happened. “King Liam died.”
It seemed too simple a response, but often the truth was just that, simple.
“How do we stop her?” Lucas asked. His words no longer came out merely shakily. Now, he quaked, and the horror there was unmistakable.
Torsten felt it, too. That oppressive feeling of hopelessness latching onto every and all parts of him. He’d witnessed a miracle when Iam possessed Dellbar the Holy’s body, and still, he felt it.
“I have no idea,” he admitted. “But we have to try.”
&
nbsp; Torsten had to see the truth for himself. After what happened outside White Bridge, he thought they’d have more time. That Iam himself had provided a chance to collect themselves for what was sure to be the second God Feud, Torsten thought it to be a sign of ultimate victory.
Then, the rumors started flooding west. From Glinthaven and the Wildlands, the eastern dwarven kingdoms and even Brekliodad—Yaolin City had fallen, and darkness spread across all Panping like a plague. Torsten had sent messages east by galler and even horseback in efforts to confirm these tales with Governor Nantby and the garrison commander at Fort Wuxia.
They didn’t answer. Nobody answered. And none of the messengers had returned.
And so, Torsten and Lucas rode east, garbed in nothing but the rags of devout priests of Iam. It wasn’t long ago that Torsten had berated that dastardly Whitney Fierstown for posing as a priest—but Torsten had little choice. With the blindfold he already wore over his eyes, blessed to allow him sight despite his burns, the disguise fit.
Besides, they couldn’t very well wear glaruium Shieldsman armor. Torsten knew now that the enchanted metal mined in the heart of Mount Lister, from the place where Nesilia had been buried bent to her will. He carried only Salvation, tucked beneath his robes. Even the gorgeous, gilded, dragon-shaped hilt and the Eye of Iam pommel were shrouded by the folds of his hood.
Their horses whinnied and reared back as they crossed the boundary into the Panping Region as if somehow sensing the new dangers the land presented.
“Whoa!” Lucas exclaimed, struggling to calm his tawny mare. He’d grown up in Dockside, where horses weren’t a necessity, so he still had a lot to learn. Torsten trotted his sideways, the same chestnut he’d ridden for months. She was a faithful girl, and he swore to her many times over that he’d retire her as soon as they’d returned to Yarrington.
“You control him, not the other way around,” Torsten said. He grasped the mane of the young Shieldsman’s mount.
Lucas nodded, then leaned over to stroke his horse’s neck.
Then, together, they looked up. Panping’s border was unassuming. No wall or moat, just a gentle shift from the rolling plains of the Wildlands to Panping’s white rocks and lush jungles. The temperature was usually balmy, especially in these summer months, but not now. Clouds swarmed above, and it wasn’t fully snowing, but flakes drifted on the wind like ash.
The Nesilia's War Trilogy: (Buried Goddess Saga Box Set: Books 4-6) Page 114
