The Girl Who Belonged to the Sea

by Katherine Quinn

  Bash steered her toward the vessel’s starboard, and, with a prod to her shoulder, he pointed across the thundering waves. Silently, she followed his gaze.

  Azantian came closer with every rocking swell. A thick band of smooth stone ringed the island, held aloft on beams of burnished silver. Ships sat moored at various posts along the outer band—grand vessels worthy of a king. Connecting the surrounding docks to Azantian’s beaches were four bridges constructed of the sheerest blue glass, their strategic locations reminding Margrete of the points on a compass.

  “How did we get here so quickly?” she asked.

  “Another thing that doesn’t concern you,” he replied without emotion.

  “Of course, it doesn’t. Why ever would it?” She gestured around them and then back at herself. “Apparently none of this is my concern, even though it seems to have everything to do with me.”

  “Just because you’re involved doesn’t mean you have a right to know. You are, after all, his daughter.”

  “And that means what, exactly?”

  Bash ground his teeth, his lips a thin line. “It means...I don’t trust you.”

  “And I don’t trust you, so it appears that we have one thing in common.”

  He didn’t respond, not that she expected him to, but she glimpsed the subtle way his mouth twitched at one corner, as though repressing a smile.

  Ignoring the mercurial pirate, Margrete turned to the dock where men in crisp amber uniforms—with the same moon and star symbol—stood patiently at the ready, waiting to catch the coiled ropes set to be tossed overboard by the sailors on approach. But it was what laid just beyond the scurrying men and their shouts that stole her attention. Every sea glass building gleamed like a colored mirror, as alive as the waters dancing just out of reach. Margrete’s heart ached at the sight. Prias was dull and dreary in comparison—a copper penny set against a glittering diamond.

  “It’s the most breathtaking thing I’ve ever seen.” She thought of Birdie, who would, for once, be speechless had she seen such a place.

  Bash responded with a satisfied smirk. His hand, while still clasping her elbow, loosened as the vessel’s gangway lowered.

  Bash eyed her with interest before releasing her elbow, only to slip his arm through hers and link them together. He motioned to the gangway, where sailors bustled down the planks, carrying heavy trunks and barrels. “Let’s go.”

  Avoiding the swerving and dodging sailors and workers storming up and down the planks, Margrete descended, only to pause before the final step. The dock glimmered with an unnatural glow, silver and gold flakes mixed in with the deep wood. Bash led her through throngs of people who watched her with hauntingly vivid eyes. At her side, Bash motioned in the direction of a sheer blue bridge, one of the four that crossed to the city’s towering center.

  “Hope you’re in the mood for a short hike,” he said, seeming to enjoy how her eyes widened at the sight of the bridge. It was longer than she’d believed.

  “Of course,” she replied, but that was a lie. She was in the mood for a hot bath. One taken as far away from the pirate and his band of rogues as possible.

  Margrete’s boots thudded across the glass, the material clear enough to see to the waters below. A dolphin frolicked in the depths, chasing playfully after a wave. It reminded her of one of Bash’s tattoos, and she turned to him then, hoping to get a better look.

  It was no longer there. The shark was missing as well.

  Margrete squinted in the bright sun as strands of ink morphed and took shape below Bash’s right elbow. The shark returned, but it was far from immobile. The magnificent predator of the deep swam gracefully up and down his arm, settling back into place when he reached Bash’s wrist.

  “Incredible.”

  Bash glanced at his arm, shrugged, and then ignored her stares as if it wasn’t out of the ordinary for living ink to swim across his body.

  “They didn’t move before,” she pointed out.

  “Let’s just say they come alive on these shores,” Bash replied, taking in her obvious wonder.

  “Well, that certainly answered all of my questions, thank you.”

  “Always eager to be of assistance,” Bash said. “Now, if you’re done staring, I have a schedule I need to keep.”

  Turning his back on her, he marched ahead, the guards at her heels prodding her to follow. “I’m going,” she muttered.

  As the city, with its many domed glass buildings and lush, green vegetation, grew sharper with every step, Margrete considered the other legends swirling around Azantian. Namely, those that spoke of the monsters locked below the island itself. The sea’s wicked children. The depths had been free of them for centuries, though sailors still recalled harrowing stories of men braving the seas when the waters ran red with blood. She prayed it was just that—another myth—but she shuddered at the thought.

  When they reached the sandy shores on the other side, Margrete’s muscles were screaming, the sun’s brutal rays heating her every inch. Of course, Bash wasn’t even sweating.

  With the sun beating down on them, their small group abandoned the beach and started down a curving pathway of indigo stones. Not far from the shore stood a gleaming tower with a domed roof, the tallest structure in the city that she could see from this viewpoint. It was wide and circular, made of cerulean glass. Bright yellow and blue flowers overflowed from vine-covered balconies that extended from every level, the tightly-woven tapestries tied to the railings fluttering in the wind.

  Beyond the imposing tower, Margrete could only glimpse a hint of the colorful rooftops in the distance, the tips of the pastel dwellings encased in burnished silver. It was almost too much to take in all at once, and her eyes fell back to the trail where she let out an involuntary gasp.

  Solanthiums lined the pathway, bulbous honey-colored flowers she’d only read about in one of her books. They were said to have been eradicated ages ago. Unable to help herself, Margrete bent down and brought a bud to her nose. It smelled of fresh apricots.

  “I’d make a quip about stopping to smell the flowers, but I’m not sure you’d appreciate it.”

  Straightening, she turned to Bash with a furrowed brow. “I thought Solanthiums were extinct?”

  He gave her a quizzical look. “They can only be found on the island now. This was where they originated, after all.” With narrowed eyes, he added, “I wouldn’t have taken Captain Wood’s daughter for a naturalist.”

  She arched a brow. “Perhaps you don’t have me as figured out as you believed.”

  Wordlessly, he beckoned to one of the guards at her back, his eyes fixed solely on her as he whispered into the man’s ear. A moment later, the guard rushed ahead of them, scurrying for the tower.

  “Let’s continue on,” Bash commanded without further explanation, though his eyes lingered on her for a second longer than necessary.

  She wondered what he told the guard, but she wasn’t about to ask.

  Margrete turned her attention back to the nearing tower as a set of arched doors opened. The most fetching woman she’d ever beheld stepped through. Her skin glistened as if it encased its own personal sun, her vibrant red tresses falling to the flare of her hips. An intricate sea star tattooed her shoulder, frozen in a careless spin below her sharp collarbone.

  Her physical beauty was breathtaking, and her eyes were as blue as sapphires—depthless and brilliant and all sorts of sly. Opening her elegant arms, she trained her eyes on Bash.

  He leaned into the woman’s embrace, his arms encircling her tiny waist. Margrete wasn’t sure why a sudden pang of annoyance sprang up inside her, but it was there, igniting like a sparked ember in a hearth.

  “Shade.” Bash dropped his act of teasing indifference like a discarded cloak. Scooping her up, he spun the woman around three times before placing her back on solid ground. She withdrew but only just enough to peer into his eyes.

  “Miss me?” she asked.

  “Of course,” he offered, though his smil
e dipped at the edges. “I needed you here, though. What would we do without your brilliant mind?”

  Shade cast her gaze to Margrete. “Bash, please tell me you haven’t frightened the poor girl!” she scolded. Without waiting for his response, she came to Margrete. “Shoo.” Shade waved the guard away, and he surprisingly complied. With a smile that lit up her face, Shade wrapped her hands around Margrete’s. “My name is Shade. Welcome to Azantian’s palace. I’m the court treasurer, though I have many roles here.” Lowering her voice so that only Margrete could hear, she said, “And if any of these men give you trouble, come to me. I’m sure all of this has been alarming but know you will not be harmed.” She dropped Margrete’s hands, stepping back to Bash’s side. “Well, shall we?” Shade asked the group.

  Margrete caught Bash stealing a questioning glance her way before offering Shade his arm, and the rest of the guards fell into place. She wasn’t sure what to make of Shade or her offer of protection. Either way, the woman was more welcoming than Bash had ever been.

  The guard nudged Margrete forward, but she hesitated, debating how much of a fuss she should make. Bash must have felt her heavy glowering on his neck. He twisted back to face her, a silent warning trapped in his eyes.

  Fine. She would play nice. For now.

  Shade and Bash passed through the stunning archway, inches apart as they conversed in hushed tones. Margrete knew they were likely talking about her.

  With her chin lifted, she entered the palace, her boots scuffing the polished marble floors. It was beneath the domed ceiling of silver and speckled pearl that the weight of where she was came crashing into her. She was on Azantian. A whole new world no story from her childhood could have ever prepared her for.

  She couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d never leave its shores again.

  Chapter Eight

  Margrete

  They entered an expansive throne room where a chair of woven sea kelp and netting cast out of polished metal sat raised on a marble dais. Tiny gems littered the throne’s arms, a delicate vine of sapphire and opal stones. They spiraled up and around the arms to encircle an empty bezel of silver and gold.

  Margrete’s skin buzzed. She felt compelled to close the distance, to take a closer look at the otherworldly throne. To touch it.

  She took an involuntary step forward, driven by some foreign need she didn’t understand. It was the sound of Bash’s deep voice that stilled her movements.

  “This way,” Bash commanded, forcing her gaze toward him. When she twisted away from the throne, everything quieted, and an unsettling numbness replaced the hum vibrating on her skin.

  Bash ushered her past the dais with a lazy wave over his shoulder. She hurried after as he entered a winding corridor, leaving the strange room behind. Even still, the sense of unease didn’t dissipate.

  She shivered in the warm air, the prickling sensation of being watched constricting her throat. It was a feeling she couldn’t shake, not even when the corridor finally came to an end.

  Sunshine chased away the darkness of the hall, and Margrete let out an involuntary gasp of relief. The warm rays filtered through colored glass windows, designs of mighty sea beasts and crippling waves cast upon the stones.

  Up ahead, a silver staircase spun, the metal fashioned to resemble coils of rope. Margrete paused at its bottom step, though Bash was already climbing the stairs. She placed a hand on the railing only to flinch, the metal icy beneath her palm.

  It felt alive. As if the metal moved at her touch.

  She began the ascent, telling herself to keep calm, but the farther they journeyed, the more her knees trembled, and the steps beneath her feet swayed as if she were aboard a ship. Soft hisses seemed to echo all around the stairwell, raising the hairs on the back of her arms.

  Margrete was thankful when Bash exited on their desired floor, some four levels up. The moment she stepped into the dimly lit hallway, the voices vanished, though goosebumps still pimpled her flesh, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that the walls themselves watched her every wavering inhale.

  At the end of the hall stood a single door with silver and gold whorls etched into its metal casing, a guard posted just outside. They were undoubtedly bringing her to her cell. The place she would be kept until they understood her father would never trade anything of value for her. What would they do with her then?

  About ten feet from the door, Margrete realized her door was moving.

  No. The closer they ventured, the more she grasped it wasn’t a door at all. It was a dark cloud. A cloud trapped within an ornate sterling frame. She halted a few feet behind Bash and Shade, not sure her eyes could be trusted.

  She took a step back, hands fisting at her sides, uncertain of what she could possibly do to avoid this. A guard stood behind her, and even if she somehow made it past him and ran back down the stairs, he would be on her in an instant.

  “I’m…I’m not going in there.” It was all she could think to say.

  Bash stiffened, and an annoyed sigh left his lips. “Ah, but you see, you are.” The shark tattoo on his arm twitched its tail as if in warning, and then clamped its deadly jaw shut. Bash peered down at the inked beast with a raised brow, then brought his eyes back to Margrete. “You’re invited to dinner of course,” he added, his voice less severe. “I’ll send for you tonight.”

  Bash lifted his hand, pressing his palm against the barrier, and the smoke scattered at his touch.

  Margrete opened her mouth to argue one last time but was unceremoniously shoved from behind and thrust into the unknown.

  This wasn’t the cell she’d been expecting.

  Much like nothing so far had been what Margrete could have ever imagined, the room she was brusquely pushed into didn’t appear at all like a cage.

  Curtains of sheer blue fluttered around a massive bed cloaked in tones of gray and silver, the mattress raised on a platform of steel. An onyx armoire was the only other piece of furniture in the room, flecked with pearls and adorned with silver handles. But it was the walls that stole Margrete’s attention. They’d been carved with depictions of the sea’s mighty children—all the monstrous beings that would make even the heartiest sailor tremble. She trailed a finger across an image of what appeared to be a half-woman, half-fish. Long claws poked from blackened fingers, and her eyes were a shade darker than a cloudless night.

  A nymera.

  Margrete knew from stories that nymeras were the most feared of all the sea’s spawn. They were cunning and deceptive and sucked the soul from their victims with a single inhale.

  She dropped her hand and walked back to the door—or, no, the portal. She breathed in sharply before reaching out to the swirling smoke, her skin tingling with anticipation. Rather than a fine mist tickling her hand, her fingers collided with a chilled barrier of glass.

  Margrete let loose a frustrated huff and lowered her arm. That exit certainly wasn’t a viable escape route. She’d just have to find another. Every palace or keep had them—the servant’s entrance at her father’s keep was the least protected.

  As there wasn’t much to explore in her barren chambers, Margrete walked to the set of double doors leading to a covered balcony. She pushed down on the mother-of-pearl handle.

  Unlocked.

  What a pleasant surprise.

  The breeze picked up as she grasped the railing and peered over the side of the palace to the jagged cliffs below. That wouldn’t be an agreeable fall.

  “Everything meeting your needs?”

  She spun around. A broad-shouldered man with golden brown skin and hair the color of midnight stood at attention near the doorway. She held his eyes, which were a striking shade of jade, a color that was soft and gentle and altogether soothing. He wore glossy trousers dyed kelp green and a linen shirt with pearl buttons tucked loosely into the waistband. A shark’s tooth tattoo marked his lower forearm, the creature it came from poking out beneath his rolled-up sleeves. All she glimpsed were two pectoral fins and an open jaw full
of sharp teeth.

  The man was beautiful, as everyone here appeared to be.

  “I’m Adrian, Bash’s commander,” he said. “He sent me to check on you.”

  “I see,” she replied coolly.

  Check up on her. Of course. What was unexpected was that he assigned a high-ranking official to do so.

  Margrete assessed her latest warden, hoping to find something displeasing about him, but his smile was genuine, and his stance, while at attention, was unthreatening and effortlessly serene.

  “I’m Margrete, but I’m sure you already knew that.” She lifted her chin. “What will happen now?” She wasn’t in the mood to play games.

  Adrian sauntered to the railing, his movements unhurried and easy. “Now, we wait.”

  “I’m assuming we’re waiting on my father?” For him to return whatever precious gem or treasure he stole?”

  It had to be something of immense value for Bash to go to such lengths.

  Adrian scrunched his brow. “Bash didn’t say anything else to you?” he asked, as if surprised.

  “Was he supposed to?” she retorted. “He was probably too busy smirking at his own reflection.”

  Adrian choked down a chuckle, clearing his throat while his eyes laughed instead. “That sounds like him all right.” He shook his head, a smile blooming. “I’ll speak to him tonight.”

  His jaw ticked, a slight tell that something was amiss. “Perhaps tomorrow I could take you for a tour about town. I’m sure Bash won’t have a problem with you getting some fresh air.”

  Margrete nodded, but she hoped that by the time the sun came up tomorrow morning, she would be long gone.

  Adrian bowed. “I’ll be right outside if you need anything. And…” He glanced from side to side as if making sure no one was in earshot. “Don’t let Bash give you too hard of a time. He’s not as awful as he lets on.”

  With that, Adrian drifted to the portal, lifted his palm, and sent the mist scattering to the edges. He stepped through, and the clouds swirled chaotically before settling back in place. Margrete wondered how that worked—the door. How it could tell one person apart from another. It was but one more mystery on an island full of secrets.