Dance of a Burning Sea

by Mellow, E. J.

  “Well, it’s obvious that you two . . .” She waved a hand between them. “Share a history. As I am to leave soon, like you reminded all of us, it is not my intention to get in the way of past lovers.”

  A thick silence filled the room. The trickling of the sandglass on Alōs’s desk the only reminder of time passing.

  And then the quiet was drowned in laughter, from both Alōs and Kintra.

  “Lovers?” Kintra held her side as the word gasped from her. “By the stars and sea, can you imagine?” She looked toward Alōs.

  He had leaned back in his chair, regarding Niya with mirth and a strange spark of pleasure.

  “What?” she said, irritation flaring.

  “Niya,” began Alōs, “what in all of Aadilor gave you the impression Kintra and I were ever lovers?”

  “Well . . .” She looked from one to the other. “You said . . . you said Kintra was the exception. And it’s obvious you are close. Closer than any others on board.”

  “Because she is my second-in-command,” he said. “Kintra was one of the first to become a pirate aboard my ship. Our history runs long.”

  “And?” Niya frowned, an unwanted spark of jealousy overtaking her as these facts only fueled her theory.

  “And I like women, Red.”

  Niya blinked over to the quartermaster. “So?” she said. “I like women too.”

  Alōs tilted his head. “You do?”

  “Sure. Women have warmed my bed as much as any man.”

  “Well,” began Kintra, “I find many things not to like in a man. So many that I only take women to my bed.”

  Niya let her words settle. “Oh.”

  Kintra raised a brow. “Yes, oh. I am very fond of the captain, but not in the sense that, well, you might be.” She held Niya’s gaze. Yes, I know more than you think, the look seemed to say. “So no, my annoyance with you has nothing to do with my friendship with Alōs.”

  “Then what does it have to do with?”

  “Perhaps you’re just not that likable,” she challenged.

  Niya snorted her disbelief. “That’s impossible. Everyone likes me.”

  At this Kintra smiled. “Well, I am not like everyone. And you came aboard this ship with your own intentions, which were very different from all of ours. I would not be doing my duty if I became as charmed by you as everyone else.”

  “Everyone is charmed by me?” Niya perked up.

  Kintra rolled her eyes. “What I mean is, I’m the captain’s right-hand woman. I’m meant to distrust others for his best interest. You did not appear to be in his best interest.”

  “Me?” Niya jutted her chin out. “I fear you forget it was you all who kidnapped me and started this entire mess of a journey, not the other way around.”

  “Yes,” agreed Kintra. “But time has a funny way of changing intentions. And plans.”

  “Careful,” warned Alōs.

  His quartermaster met his hard stare, something passing between the two that Niya could not read.

  “But I’ll leave you both to figure that part out,” she said, glancing back at Niya. “If you’ll excuse me, Captain, I’ll inform the crew we are to sail to Esrom presently?”

  He gave her a nod, his eyes trained on her all the way out of his quarters.

  A new tension filled the room as Niya now sat alone with Alōs.

  She met his gaze, his contained power behind his desk palpable as he took her in.

  “How do you feel?” he asked. “Now with your binding bet almost paid?”

  The question stirred up a mixture of replies. Happy. Distraught. Proud. Confused.

  Niya felt it all but instead said, “I’m sure close to how you feel with being so near to returning the stone.”

  He watched her a long moment. “Yes,” he said. “Indeed.”

  “You did it, Alōs.” She gave him a small smile. “You saved Esrom.”

  “From a threat I created.”

  His quick reply had her frowning. Would he not give himself any reprieve of responsibility? Of guilt?

  “You did not create your brother’s sickness,” she said.

  Alōs did not respond, merely looked into his glass, which now sat empty in his hands.

  “What will you do after the Prism Stone is returned?”

  He gave a shrug. “Whatever my pirates want to do, I suppose. I owe them much after they’ve followed me through this mess of a voyage.”

  “Your actions may have served you, but they were always for another,” she reminded him. “You’re not as selfish as you might want others to believe, you know?”

  His turquoise gaze met hers. “And what do you believe?”

  That I care for you more than I want to.

  “I believe that I might actually trust a pirate now.” She smiled. “Despite what trouble that might land me in later.”

  His responding chuckle warmed her. “And it only took me nearly dying to finally convince you.”

  “I am not a prize won by simple favors.” She arched a brow.

  “No.” His features grew serious. “And even then, you are not a flame meant to be contained on anyone’s mantel but your own.”

  If Niya had not been sitting, Alōs’s words would have set her back a step.

  She held his stare, gooseflesh dancing along her arms.

  Dangerous, her magic whispered.

  This man was too dangerous.

  She did not trust herself to remain alone with him any longer. After everything she had done today, survived, she needed a moment alone. She needed to collect herself, away from the all-consuming presence of this pirate. She needed to figure out what she wanted. And perhaps more importantly, how much she could afford to want.

  “I should get cleaned up,” she said, standing abruptly. “And I’m sure you have to help Kintra get us to Esrom.”

  Alōs watched her back away toward the door. “Niya—”

  “I’ll see you topside,” she interrupted, nerves jumping to run, to flee, before he said anything to make their parting more painful.

  But as Niya strode from his quarters into the dark hallway of the ship, she knew this man already held the power to break her heart again.

  Yet this time, she also held the power to break his.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Alōs knelt before his brother in the Hall of Starlight.

  Guards surrounded him, blue-sparking spears aimed to kill. It had been the first time the Crying Queen had ever docked at Esrom’s main harbor. The first time in six years that Alōs had walked through the capital, Silver City, to enter the palace. Citizens had stared in disbelief; court members had thrown insults, many spitting at his feet. Alōs was the Betrayal Prince. The traitorous son who’d stolen their precious Prism Stone—a holy relic of the lost gods given upon their final parting. Had they known the true power it held, that it kept Esrom safely in its bubble under the sea, he no doubt would have been hanged as soon as he’d been seen placing boot to ground. Luckily that particular secret was kept tightly within the palace walls.

  Now here he was, bowing to their new king in an attempt to reverse time.

  His magic churned in anticipation, a cold veneer around his heart his last attempt to contain the coil of hope he dared allow slip in, the hope that all he had suffered would finally come to an end this day.

  “You have created quite a stir, showing up as you have after so many years,” said Ariōn from his white coral throne. He was flanked on either side by the six High Surbs. Alōs noted with satisfaction that Ixō stood the closest. “As well as bringing pirates to our shores, no less. A bold move for the most wanted man in this kingdom.”

  “My crew knows not to breach land, Your Grace. Though I cannot account for their actions if any of your guards attack first.”

  “My guards are trained in peace,” said King Ariōn. “A novel concept, I’m sure, for your lot. Now tell me quickly why you have shown your face here. My High Surbs tell me you have returned in the hopes of a pardon for your trea
son.”

  “I come seeking only a moment of your time, Your Grace. If my sentencing still stands afterward, so be it. I will not return to these lands again.”

  “If your sentencing still stands, pirate, you will be arrested and executed.”

  Alōs looked into Ariōn’s foggy eyes, and though his brother was blind, he felt the passing of understanding and excitement in the young king, despite his threat, to finally find his older brother kneeling here.

  Soon our past will officially be behind us, so we may start a new beginning.

  Yes, thought Alōs with a pang of longing. Let us hope.

  Though the silver drippings of his brother’s sickness stood out prominently across his brown skin, Ariōn filled his throne well, with his shoulders back and chin tipped up with regal grace. A spark of pride shot through Alōs as he took him in. Ariōn made a great king.

  “Yes, Your Grace,” replied Alōs, bowing his head once more. “I understand.”

  “It was risky coming here, knowing your possible fate.”

  “Suicidal,” added High Surb Dhruva, her ruthless gaze pinned to Alōs.

  “Which has me begging the question,” Ariōn continued: “What would grant such magnanimous forgiveness?”

  “I have brought back the Prism Stone.” As Alōs reached into his satchel, guards stepped closer from where they flanked him, spears poking into his back.

  “Stand down.” Ariōn raised a hand. “Let us see if he speaks true before we fill him with holes.”

  Alōs gently laid out each piece of the red gem on the tiled floor.

  They winked richly against the white marble, a whispering of their power churning in each of their centers.

  “Come, pirate,” sneered Dhruva. “You think us fools to believe your lies, your pirate tricks. My king, he has not brought back the Prism Stone. He lays at your feet useless shards of—”

  “Silence,” commanded Ariōn. “That is the second time you have spoken out of turn, High Surb Dhruva. I highly suggest it be your last.”

  “My apologies, Your Grace.” The old woman bowed her repentance. “I merely want to make sure you could see what—”

  “I see more than any of you do.”

  The hall filled with a chill of wind as the young king summoned forth what power he could afford.

  Alōs drew his brows together. He knew such an act would drain his strength quickly.

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Dhruva bowed low once more, lips pursed. “Of course.”

  Ariōn settled his cloudy eyes back on Alōs. “Hand me the stones.”

  The throne room swam with tension as Alōs approached his brother. They were a study in contrasts. Alōs wore shadows, his form large and imposing. Ariōn’s slender body was wrapped in delicate white spun fabric.

  Alōs met Ixō’s gaze, a gleam of relief in the surb’s expression, as he placed the pieces into his brother’s delicate hand.

  Ariōn closed his eyes as he felt over the shards.

  And then a small smile edged along his lips.

  “You have indeed brought us back our Prism Stone,” he said. “I feel the whispers of the lost gods within, but will it provide us with what it once did, broken like this?”

  Alōs held the young king’s gaze. “Let us put it back together and see.”

  They stood in the Room of Wells, a cavernous chamber deep within the center of the palace. Alōs remained flanked by guards, but he paid little mind to their spears at his back. His thoughts had tumbled to the past, to the last time he had been here, in this ancient room where hundreds of waterfalls poured from the rocky walls. He had been a young man, possibly still a boy, creeping onto the thin walkway that floated above a liquid abyss. His eyes had been trained on the dais at the end, where the Prism Stone floated like a red sun under the thinnest of the waterfalls—the Weeping Waters. It cascaded from an opening in the ceiling. The epicenter of their protective bubble under the Obasi Sea. As the water hit the stone, it refracted into rainbows, powerful magic filling the wells far below, veins threaded throughout Esrom. He had been told at a young age how the Room of Wells was the beating heart of his kingdom, where the air sparkled with healing wet mist. Where the pure energy of the lost gods could be felt.

  It had stolen Alōs’s breath then.

  Now his hung still.

  The Weeping Waters fell uselessly over an empty dais. No sparkle or refracting colors in the air.

  Alōs could only sense a thin veil of magic clinging desperately to fading power. A dying soul.

  “Even if this works, pirate,” whispered Dhruva at his side, “your sins against this land will never be forgotten.”

  “If this works, surb, then I am glad to have sinned, for my actions to save my brother were not in vain, when you and your holy order did nothing until I forced your hand. I will never forget that.”

  Dhruva’s lips thinned as she joined her council at the top of the walkway near the king.

  What a useless lot of hot air, Alōs thought, studying the group.

  Well, except one.

  “Ixō, will you do the honors?” Ariōn nodded toward the white-haired surb, who stood with him closest to the round dais at the end. Ixō was never far from the young king.

  “Of course, Your Grace.”

  Ixō stepped up to the dais, uncovering the three pieces of the Prism Stone.

  “Alōs,” Ariōn called to him. “Will you stand beside me?”

  “Your Grace,” cautioned one of the High Surbs, “I do not think that wise—”

  “If my brother’s intentions were less than honorable, he would not have come to us so openly. Now please, give us space.”

  Alōs ignored the surbs’ scathing glares as they backed away, allowing him to pass through and approach Ariōn and Ixō.

  “You have done it, brother,” said Ariōn with quiet triumph as they stood side by side, facing where Ixō waited before the single waterfall sifting through the dais.

  “Let us see what happens before you start congratulating,” replied Alōs.

  “Even if it does not work, the actions you’ve taken for our people have been noted. We will deal with the consequences together.”

  Our people.

  Together.

  Alōs could have reminded his brother that, no, it would only be Esrom’s king to bear the burden of this kingdom going topside. That if this did not work, Ariōn would have no other choice but to order his execution. A very public one, no doubt. But Alōs was tired of thinking of life’s cruel realities, so he said nothing. Let Ariōn have a moment to hope, he thought, for it had been so very long since he had been allowed.

  The Karēk brothers stood shoulder to shoulder as Ixō sent tendrils of blue magic into the air to lift up each shard of the Prism Stone and float them. The surb spun his hands and worked his fingers as if he held the pieces himself, fitting the three together before the thin trickle of the Weeping Waters.

  Alōs held his breath, the pounding of his heart an echo in his ears as the fate of his life and his brother’s kingdom hung on a slipping of red stones coming together.

  For a grain fall nothing happened. The Prism Stone remained a dull, dead red, hovering above the High Surb’s hands. Alōs realized then just how much he had been wrung dry by life’s disappointments, for a part of him was not surprised. A numb acceptance.

  And then—

  “Look, Your Grace!” Ixō called.

  Above him the seams within the jaggedly cut rock glowed red hot, fissures resealing what was broken, until the stone leaped high. It spun dizzily in place, and Alōs sensed what little magic was left in the room getting sucked into it.

  Wind whipped through the cavernous chamber, sending a few High Surbs toppling to the thin walkway behind them. Alōs pulled his brother close as the room shook, and Ixō quickly ran to them, wrapping his arms around the young king as well, becoming another layer of protection over Ariōn.

  Bits of moss and rock fell from walls as water soaked their clothes from the waterfalls bei
ng blown about. Alōs turned up his gaze to watch a liquid arm reach out from the central waterfall above the dais. It snatched the spinning, glowing stone from the air, pulling it into the Weeping Waters with a snap.

  Magic and colors exploded.

  The Prism Stone was finally home, and it screamed its relief, shooting out every thread of energy.

  Alōs crouched farther over his brother as magic spun hot, cold, rough, and silky across his skin.

  And then as quickly as the chaos had ensued, everything fell quiet, the final note a relieved sigh.

  Alōs felt Ixō’s hesitant release as he stood. Alōs lifted his head, blinking to clear his vision.

  And a gasp rattled from him.

  The room sparkled diamonds. The air turned sweet as it was filled with the lost gods’ misting magic. The Prism Stone was now wedged high above in the Weeping Waters, out of reach of any greedy hands. Rainbow threads poured from beneath it, once again bloating the water below, filling it with magic. The Room of Wells was restored. And thus, so was Esrom.

  Ariōn stood at Alōs’s side for a moment before leaving him to pass Ixō and step toward the dais.

  He wanted to reach out and pull him back, to shelter him from any other possible harm that still lingered. But Alōs remained still as the young king approached the end of the walkway, his silver crown reflecting the multicolored waterfall as he came to a stop before it, the Prism Stone pulsing bright above. Ariōn ran fingers through the cascading water and let out a breath of sensation.

  When he turned back to Alōs, his smile was radiant. “Now can I congratulate you?”

  Alōs shook his head, and though the moment was indeed a relieving one, he could not share in his brother’s grin. “I do not deserve praise in returning what I had taken.”

  Ariōn frowned at his words as he walked back to his side. “The burden of what you did sat with both of us.” He placed a hand on his shoulder. “But it is over now, Alōs. You’ve done it. And I am honored to welcome you home, brother.”

  How long Alōs had yearned to hear those words. He’d traveled to the ends of Aadilor in the hopes of one day being led back. Now here he stood, no longer hiding in shadows but openly beside Ariōn, both given a chance to make up for the years they’d lost.