Spirit of the Sea

by Keith Walter

  “Please, Talmer. He would have killed you if I didn’t,” Grace offered, barely above a whisper.

  “I would have rather died!” the dark-haired man yelled, his entire body still trembling with fear. A silence seized the deck, but Talmer continued. “And more, to suffer this indignity. How could you?” The question was desperate, filled with the taste of betrayal. “How could you?” he repeated in a whisper.

  “I’m so sorry,” Grace responded, standing to her feet. “Please,” she paused. “I’m so very sorry.”

  Talmer was too vulnerable. The others had seen his terror, and he would never be able to live that down. Grace, whom he had offered his worst fears, had used them against him. Whatever feelings he may have had burned away under the hatred overtaking his heart. She would never love him, he realized, and he could never love her. Without a word, he marched away from the rest of the fey, his legs carrying him faster with each step.

  Grace moved to follow, to beg for his forgiveness, but was held fast by a hand around her bicep. “Let him go,” Charles advised. “He’s not in any state to talk right now. Just give him time.” Grace spun on one heel and buried her face in Charles’s chest. Tears spilled freely. Charles managed to look back, eyeing Serin and Barclay behind. “You were saying?” he tossed back.

  Barclay held a stern expression, but nodded sharply. “I don’t know what that’s all about,” he stated, “but you did good, Grace. I wish you would have told us the truth, earlier, but I shouldn’t have doubted you.” That was all the apology he had to offer. He turned to Serin and quirked an eyebrow.

  In the span of the moments it took for Talmer to get to his feet, Serin had slid around her bond, practically hiding behind the taller woman. Her face had turned white, shame snuffing out the flames of anger in her eyes. When the captain addressed her with that directed stare, she blanched visibly. “I, um, Grace. I didn’t mean that. I think…I think I was projecting a bit. I’m sorry.”

  Serin waited for Grace to pull her face from Charles’s chest. She tried to meet Grace’s eyes with as much sincerity as she could, but all that stared back was pain. She wanted to take back her words, truly, but she knew already it wasn’t the words that hurt Grace so badly. It was the fact she had believed them, the ease with which she could accept Grace being a monster simply by being related to the Entregon. In her own heart, Serin realized it was the same unthinking prejudice she faced from her family, and it drove the spike of shame deeper. She couldn’t keep contact with Grace’s gaze, dropping her eyes to the floor and leaning her forehead against Leslie’s arm.

  Leslie stood still, eyes closed in thought. Her bond’s greatest strength, an indomitable will, could also be such a great weakness. She had tried to temper that, but Serin was too far gone. She knew Serin was likely in pain right now, but she couldn’t bring herself to try to soothe it away. Her bond needed to learn this lesson on her own. Still, she took a step forward, leaving Serin on her own but blocking her bond from the eyes of the others. “It seems everyone jumped to conclusions prematurely. We are all sorry.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN:

  The Regent

  As difficult as this all is, we need to table it for now,” Barclay declared. “The regent expects Grace and her companions soon. We can’t dilly dally. If we take too long, the regent will consider it an insult and we’ll lose whatever good will we have going for us.” He raised an eyebrow to the gathered crew. “We need to figure out some form of payment, and fast.”

  “Payment?” Charles asked, slowly rolling the thought in his head.

  “The regent is Union but also not,” Barclay continued. “Story goes he was a loyalist up until the end of the war. He switched sides when the Ancients were getting holed up in their capitals, something about rather being on the wrong side than getting stuck in one place. Course, the Union took him in. They couldn’t afford to let a noble go. But when the war ended, they banished him here as regent, because they never fully trusted him.”

  “So he’s not exactly on good terms with the people chasing us,” Charles pondered aloud.

  “No,” Barclay agreed, “but he’s not against them either. He built up the black market here to ensure he still gets all the best news and can extend his reach. He pays off the government and important parties, like the Entregon, as needed.” Taking a breath, Barclay added, “He has built this place into such an attraction that everyone who’s anyone comes to him. The more the Union cracks down, the more money he makes.” He sighed, looking at Grace. “My guess is, he originally planned just to take the crew and barter with the Union, but he didn’t count on Grace standing up to him. Now that she has, though, he won’t want to screw up business with the Entregon.”

  “So can we use her clout to get us out of here?” Charles tried.

  “Grace alone won’t be enough. He won’t touch her, he knows her mom is looking for her and might see that as a chip to bargain with, but we’re just furniture right now. It wouldn’t be bad faith to treat Grace like a queen and steal us away at the same time. We simply don’t count in noble negotiations.” Barclay sighed. The regent would negotiate, but they didn’t really have anything to offer.

  “So what else do we have?” Leslie wondered.

  How many times had it come to this, Charles wondered. After all that lecturing from Grace, all that growth he liked to think he’d made, it always came back here. “Me,” he stated firmly.

  “What’s that mean?” Leslie asked. At Charles’s silence, she repeated the question to the captain. “What’s that mean?”

  “It means Grace isn’t the only noble on board,” Barclay answered cryptically. He gave the young man a questioning glance.

  Charles sighed. “Cat’s out of the bag. And with what just happened, I supposed it’s only fair I come clean, too.” He took a deep breath before staring at Leslie. “My names is Charleton LunaNocta Gaspris.”

  Serin furrowed her eyebrows, sticking her head around her bond as though the name seemed familiar. “So…what’s that mean?”

  Leslie straightened up stiffly, staring wide-eyed at the man standing in front of them. “Charleton Gaspris was the name of the Glorious General of the Union armies. His victories practically won the war.” Serin stared at her bond in shock, but Leslie continued. “He also tried to start a coup afterward and take total control of the Union for himself.”

  “That second part isn’t true,” Charles admitted.

  “Ho-ly shit!” Serin cried out. “You’re the reason the Union is going nuts!”

  “Yeah,” Charles replied softly. He smirked suddenly. “So you can bet I’d be one hell of a trade chip.”

  “Behemoth, you’re…” Serin stopped herself. She’d already put her foot in her mouth enough today. This was still Charles, the man who drove a limo into their enemy and who saved Grace when she was dying of magic deprivation. Collecting her thoughts, Serin continued, “You’re some kind of Union superhero, right? Why can’t you just fight the regent or the Entregon yourself?”

  “I am not what I once was,” the man admitted begrudgingly. He grabbed the edge of his collar and stretch it down far enough to show off a nasty black scar spreading in multiple directions. “My energy is sporadic at best. If I ever tried to access it all, enough to stand a chance against someone like the regent, I’d burn up or explode before I took a step.”

  Serin continued to stare, but Leslie regarded this information skeptically. “That’s not the whole story, though, is it?” Leslie asked. “How could you survive in this state?”

  “It almost sounds like you don’t believe me,” Charles joked. Noting the serious expression on the tall woman’s face, he asked, “What do you know about the end of the war?”

  “Charles, this is dangerous,” Barclay interjected.

  The younger man shrugged his shoulders. “Just enough. Now, Leslie, what do you know about the end of the war?”

  “Union forces had surrounded the southwestern capital of Lodeen. After a decade of fighting, the Lodeen l
oyalists were on their last legs. The Union mounted a final push with its greatest warriors and routed the loyalists. Once Lodeen fell, the remaining capitals surrendered rather than be annihilated. Those who surrendered were shipped off, and the Union took over the entirety of the northern and southern continents.” Leslie spoke as if reading directly from the texts at her local library.

  “For a history buff, you seemed to have missed the most important part.” Charles raised an eyebrow in question. “We didn’t just beat the loyalists at Lodeen, we beat the Ancient One that was living there.”

  “Bullshit,” Leslie replied immediately.

  “Come again?” Charles asked. “I’m pretty sure that’s in the books.”

  “It is,” Leslie admitted, “but it’s bullshit.”

  “Why?” Serin asked. Even as little as she read, the defeat of the Ancient One at Lodeen was primary school stuff for any fey with even the most modest education.

  “The Ancients are gods,” Leslie stated. “Saying the Union killed one of them is like saying you killed Behemoth. The gods are beyond our very sight, beyond our realm.”

  Charles sighed dramatically. “You don’t have to believe, but it’s the truth. I know, I was there.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Leslie challenged. “Then how did they do it?”

  “There is a reason Barclay said this was dangerous. I can’t tell you exactly, only that it took over ten thousand soldiers and a weapon of unparalleled power. It nearly killed me,” Charles gestured to the scar again. “When the Union found out I was damaged beyond use, they tried to kill me so the truth of that weapon would never be found out.”

  Leslie glanced to Barclay, who nodded in agreement. Charles saw that she couldn’t believe this. She knew enough of her history to understand that Behemoth, Leviathan, and the other gods were almost certainly based upon actual Ancient Ones. Charles could see the struggle on her face, could tell that she that she must be wondering how—if the Ancients were not all-powerful gods, if they were just another step up from the nobles—how could they possibly fulfill the divine roles they played in the scriptures? “I cannot accept that,” Leslie added.

  “Then don’t,” Charles offered, “but it’s the truth.”

  “So wait,” Grace began, “after everything we’ve been through, you still want to give yourself up?”

  “No,” Charles stated firmly. “I’m not throwing myself off the ship again. But let’s look at this logically. The regent isn’t going to just let us walk away for nothing. He might let you go, but he definitely won’t let the rest of us. If I trade myself, he might let you take the others with you.”

  “I won’t let you,” Grace stated harshly. “He’s only going to negotiate with me, and I’ll never offer you.”

  “Grace, please,” Charles started.

  “She’s right,” Barclay cut in. “Just offering yourself doesn’t get us anywhere. I said before, the regent won’t consider the rest of us part of good-faith dealings. If he finds out who you are, with your injuries, he won’t negotiate with you. He’ll just take and ask more from Grace to get you back.”

  “You know, he seemed nice, but I’m beginning to think this Regent isn’t a good guy,” Leslie offered sadly.

  “Good and bad don’t really apply to nobles,” Barclay muttered. As an aside he added, “Present company excluded.”

  Movement on the dock caught everyone’s attention. Another decadent carriage had pulled to a stop below. The driver dismounted in a single leap. With cautious steps, he walked up the branching walkway to Grace’s deck. He stopped at the end of the walkway and waited. A small gold box was held firmly with both hands.

  “We’re running out of time,” Barclay stated. He took two steps toward the walkway before he noticed the scowl on the driver’s face. Turning, he addressed Grace. “It’s for you.”

  They watched as Grace straightened before walking in smooth, regal steps to the gate. The driver smiled politely before crossing the walkway and presenting the golden box with an exaggerated bow. “His majesty, the Regent of Wolfe Island presents you with this Alter Key. So long as you remain within his borders, you shall be invisible to prying eyes.”

  Grace took the box in both hands and turned around without a word. If she addressed the driver, or worse thanked him, it would appear as a sign of weakness and the regent would certainly be informed. When she was two paces away from the gate, she stopped pointedly. The driver scurried back to the carriage. Once the driver was far enough away, she deflated, mentally fatigued from keeping up appearance already. She returned to the group. “I will need to set this in the bridge. Once I do, the regent will expect us to board his carriage. What are we going to do?”

  “I could threaten him,” Charles offered.

  “Are you an idiot, boy?” the captain asked, only half joking.

  “Hear me out,” Charles soothed. “The power I keep under wraps is highly destructive. I said before if I really let it out I either burn up or explode. Well, if I really tried, I might be able to make the explode side more likely.”

  “You do realize we’re all going to be there, too?” Serin asked.

  “Yeah, of course, but it’s just a threat. I can offer myself as payment, and threaten that, if he doesn’t accept, I could blow this whole island out of the water. He may not care about my noble blood, but he’ll care about not dying, right?” Charles watched the stunned faces of his companions.

  “And what if he calls your bluff?” Barclay demanded.

  Charles rubbed the back of his head nervously. “I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

  Grace slowly lifted the gold box in front of her face. She smiled at her own reflection as Charles mumbled something about a plan B. She lifted the box higher, above her own head. Her smile turned into a hard line and she slammed the box into Charles’s head. The unsuspecting man fell like a cloth sack and held his hands to his head gingerly. “I told you already,” Grace growled, “I won’t let you be bargained.” She swept her eyes over the rest of the fey. “That goes for everyone. Now, I’m going to take this to the bridge. I suggest you try to figure something out before I get back.”

  She walked off slowly, dragging out the moments for her companions. Charles rolled to a sitting position and felt the beginning of a bruise under his hair. He watched Grace saunter off and kicked himself. “So does somebody have a better plan?”

  No one did, but Leslie couldn’t let the situation slide. “Smooth move, Romeo.”

  Charles got to his feet and gave Leslie a sardonic look. “You do realize those two both died in the end, right?”

  Serin stepped forward, patting Leslie’s hand as she did. “She’s been doing that lately. But she’s right. If this is the last time we see each other, wouldn’t you rather go out on a high note?”

  “What do you want me to do?” Charles sighed. “It’s the only idea we have right now.”

  Serin looked down apologetically. “Look, both of us already stuck a foot pretty far in our mouths here. Grace is sensitive, and she doesn’t deserve the crap we’ve given her.” She smiled. “But of the two of us, one has an unusual penchant for making her smile. She deserves to smile. So go after her, apologize for being yourself, and find a way to make her smile.”

  “You make it sounds like so simple,” Charles whispered.

  “It can be,” Leslie cut in, “if you let it.”

  Charles smiled, then looked over at the captain. “What about you, Captain, any advice?”

  “No,” he replied gruffly. “Leave me out of this.”

  ◆◆◆

  Grace had tuned out the conversation of her friends before she entered the bridge. She placed the box on top of the frontmost console and lifted the lid. The regent’s Alter Key was made from pure gold, with jewels in the hilt and a diamond dusting down the shaft. She got the feeling everything the regent owned was extravagant.

  Activating the relic, she felt a magical presence surround her. Pushing out her senses, she couldn’t register th
e driver at the end of the dock. It was similar to the pocket dimension around the Union portals. She sighed, staring out over the water. She hoped this wasn’t the last time she saw her friends. And knowing her mother was still on their trail, she hoped this wasn’t the last time she roamed free.

  A quick knock at the bridge door stole Grace from her thoughts. Charles stepped inside tentatively. He fiddled with the door handle nervously before catching her eyes with his own. “Um, hey,” he tried.

  “Did you come up with a better plan?” Grace asked tersely.

  Charles just walked through the bridge, stopping right behind the woman he’d tried so hard to keep at arms length, who despite it all had made her way into his heart. “Not really, no,” Charles admitted.

  “Then what are you doing here?” Grace demanded, eyeing Charles’s reflection in the front windows.

  “Well,” he began, hand rubbing the back of his head, “I came to apologize.”

  “For getting my hopes up that maybe you’d changed?” she asked rhetorically.

  Charles let out a long breath. “Everything I said in the engine room is still true. I want a future where I can do something, where I can make things better. More than anything I want to be with…” his voice trailed off as he fought for the words. “But I want that future for the rest of you, too. I know it sounds the same as before, but it’s not. I can really help this time.”

  Grace spun around, startled by how close the man was. “But that’s not fair. You said so yourself. You can’t try to do everything for everyone.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed, “but this is one of the few things that I can do for everyone.”

  “Don’t you realize that even if we get out of here, if I don’t have you with me—” she caught her own words and corrected, “if we don’t have you with us, we won’t have won.”

  “I haven’t thought about winning or losing in a long time. If I were to sit on it, though, I would say that as long as you got your freedom, that would be a win for me.” At the disapproving frown on Grace’s face, Charles amended, “This isn’t me giving up the person I am, this is me striving to become the person I want to be.” He turned away. “You gave me hope, hope for a future I’d given up on a lifetime ago. I don’t deserve to have met you.”