by Elise Kova
“What did you see?” he asked solemnly, kneeling down by her, ignoring the helm.
“I… I don’t know.” Vi rolled onto her elbow, just in case she was going to be sick.
“Vi—”
“I don’t know. I think it didn’t work right because I forced it. Or because I let Raspian’s power in me. Or because—”
“What did you see?” he demanded harshly, both his hands closing around her cheeks and jerking her face toward his. They were inches apart, his green-eyed gaze devouring her soul far more effectively than Raspian ever could.
“The scythe won’t work,” Vi whispers. “In the end… he wins.”
Taavin’s grip on her face relaxed. His eyes slowly widened as all tension left his face, his lips parting. He sat back heavily and breathed a soft, “No.”
“I fight him, and he wins.”
“No.”
“I saw it.”
“You saw wrong,” Taavin snapped.
“And if I didn’t?”
“Then we are headed to Risen, and we will find the information we need there to change this future. There’s still time, there has to be time…”
Taavin stood, grabbed the helm and turned east, but set his gaze westward toward the fading sun. That was the problem with her vision: she didn’t know what choice led to the outcome she saw. Was the scene she just witnessed the result if they chose to go to Risen, as Taavin wanted? Or if they headed to Norin, as she intended?
She rubbed her throat thoughtfully.
“For now, we stay on course. We’ll decide if we are off to Risen or Norin later. I’ll speak with my Father—” though Vi doubted she’d ever find the right words to explain that “—and make the best choice for us all.”
Vi eventually relented to the need for sleep, leaving Taavin at the helm. He hadn’t argued with her for hours, so she decided their plan was settled. Arwin was just stirring as Vi entered the cabin, but her father slept on.
As soon as she was horizontal, a deep and thankfully dreamless sleep overtook her as well.
When she woke, it was still dark.
Moonlight winked through the cracks in the curtain that closed off the cabin from the main deck. She blinked away the sleep from her eyes. Her head felt heavy and aching, but it was nothing compared to her body.
It felt as though a noru sat on her chest.
There was creaking and the sound of ropes straining… and voices. Her eyes widened and Vi shot upright, heart racing. More hushed voices than Vi could count lingered on her ears. She pushed off from the cot slowly, reaching over to her father. He was rousing as well with a soft groan.
“Father,” she whispered. “Father, do you hear—”
Vi never finished her thought.
“The bastard betrayed us!” Arwin’s scream cut through the night. “Vi—”
Vi bolted upright, grabbing for the scythe. But Arwin had been right—she couldn’t get it unwrapped fast enough. The curtain to the tiny cabin was pulled open with such aggression that it ripped clean off its pegs. Vi stared in confusion, her mind struggling to process the face that looked at her. He had a beak-like nose and short cropped back hair pulled tightly against his head.
He wore golden armor, embellished with mother of pearl, and a heavy sword strapped to his hip. The man’s bright blue eyes—almost steel-like in their iciness—peered down at her, shining in the moonlight. A terrible grin spread across his face.
“Aldrik Solaris, Emperor of the Solaris Empire,” he said to her father, and then turned to her. “Vi Solaris, Crown Princess of the Solaris Empire… I hereby place you under arrest by the order of her Holiness, the Goddess Yargen.”
It hit her all at once.
Vi was staring at the face of Ulvarth, Lord of the Swords of Light.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Vi knew what she saw. But it didn’t make any sense.
“You must be Lord Ulvarth,” she said, as if saying the words aloud could remedy the disconnect between the realms of what should be possible and impossible. How in the Mother’s name was Ulvarth staring her down?
“If you know who I am, this should go smoothly.” His voice was a light and airy tenor. The man was clearly so full of his own hot air that she was shocked he didn’t drift away. “I’m willing to grant you both the decency your stations deserve, assuming you grant me the decency of mine and do not resist capture.”
“If you know who we are, you should not be arresting us.” Her father tried to stand. But he was hunched in the small cabin. “Your queen sent for me. We are to discuss how the magicks of Meru could possibly be used to—”
“I was the one to send for you,” Ulvarth interrupted. Vi only wished she could be surprised. “And I answer to no queen. I answer to the Goddess.”
Vi balled her hands into fists. The scythe, still wrapped, was locked in her grip. If she swung it hard enough, she could cut straight through the cloth around it. But could a crystal blade cut through metal plate armor?
“What are our charges?” her father asked.
“You,” Ulvarth spoke directly to Aldrik, “are charged with destroying the Goddess’s confinement of Lord Raspian, and unleashing him—and the death and destruction he brings—back into the world.”
“Raspian doesn’t yet have a mortal form. He’s not truly returned,” Vi tried to counter. Even though she well knew that without a mortal form he’d still managed to kill countless people, thanks to the White Death.
Ulvarth turned to her and continued as though she’d said nothing. “And you are charged with kidnapping the Voice.”
“What?” Every word Taavin had ever said about Ulvarth and his wicked nature was turning out to be true—not that Vi had doubted him. “I did no such thing.”
“That will be for the High Counsel of Light to decide. Now, if you please.” He stepped aside with a swing of his arm, as though he was ushering them into a party and not onto the dark deck of a stolen pirate ship.
Vi shared a look with her father, but neither of them seemed to have any better ideas about what to do. So they both emerged from the cabin and onto the deck. Several other knights in heavy plate armor stood in a semi-circle. Vi fantasized briefly about pushing them each over the railing and watching them sink far below the waves, no matter how hard they struggled against the weight of their plate.
“Where’s Taavin?” Vi spun in place, looking Ulvarth in the eye. She was oddly satisfied by the fact that, even in his greaves, he was no taller than her.
With an emotionless expression and movement faster than she would expect of someone wearing such burdensome armor, Ulvarth slapped her across the face with the back of his hand. Vi was sent stumbling. She tasted blood in her mouth and knew from the instant throbbing it would leave a colorful bruise.
“That is the Voice to you, Dark Isle dweller.”
“How dare you,” her father snarled, fire crackling up his arm.
“Father, don’t.” Vi clasped her hand over his, extinguishing the flames and straightening. A smirk spread on Ulvarth’s lips.
“Listen to the girl and keep your head about you… or we may just take it early.”
“Where is the Voice?” Vi demanded, drawing up to her full height once more. He could not beat her into silence.
“We’ve already taken him aboard Light’s Victory so you could not beguile him further.” Ulvarth pointed over her shoulder and Vi dared to turn.
Not far from their own vessel was a large ship. Vi could hear voices drifting over the water and the creaking of its hull against the waves. Those must have been the noises she’d heard when she’d woken.
The whole situation finally began to come into focus.
“How?” Vi whispered. Certainly, they had been consumed with Adela and rescuing her father.
Vi hadn’t so much as spared a thought for the fact that she wasn’t the only one being hunted. For every step of theirs, Ulvarth had taken one just behind, following their tracks. She could imagine him casing the towns arou
nd the Twilight Forest—setting checkpoints on the main road. She could see him getting word from Toris that the pirates had been made fools of by a girl with a strange accent, accompanied by a morphi and an unknown Lightspinner.
It wasn’t hard to piece together their intended route. Mother, the Swords of Light had likely known Adela had captured her father. He’d been coming to Meru under their order, after all. Adela may have even tried to sell him back to them.
Her hands clenched into fists at her side. She’d been so focused on herself and her own missions that she’d forgotten to account for the other pieces in play. And now everyone she loved was going to pay for it.
“Your hold over the Voice would not last forever.” Ulvarth smiled, teeth shining in the darkness. “He was bound to call out to us.”
A pulse of magic drew Vi’s gaze upward. Arwin was perched on the stern railing. “There’s no way they found us in a dark sea. He betrayed you, Vi! Don’t trust him.”
“What?” Something wasn’t adding up.
“Archers!” Ulvarth shouted across the waves. Arrows peppered the back of the boat and water behind, but it was too late; Arwin had already taken flight again, disappearing into the dark night. “Keep your eyes on the morphi!”
Vi didn’t know how they could—she had already lost track of the nightwisp. But a second pulse of magic above the large warship gave away Arwin’s location aboard a mast’s crossbeam.
“Taavin,” Arwin shouted at the top of her lungs, so loudly that her voice was perfectly clear even over the crash of waves and creaking of boats. “I will not forget your promise to me. You will pay in full, and then some. I will have blood!”
The archers had readied another volley. But by the time they shot, she was off again. Vi watched as the nightwisp flew across the dark water, blending in with the sky and sea.
“Morphi scum,” Ulvarth muttered. “My work is never done.” Vi glared up at him and Ulvarth must have sensed it, because he locked eyes with her once more, an amused expression sliding across his face. “Do you have something to say, dark-dweller?”
Vi opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, Ulvarth continued.
“Consider your next words carefully. Come peacefully, use no magicks, and I shall not be forced to gag and shackle you.” Ulvarth took a step forward, trying to loom over them. But he seemed so very small in Vi’s eyes. To her, he was little more than a boy wearing too-big armor. “Come peacefully and you will receive an imprisonment befitting your station. Fight me, and you shall know the full spectrum of pain I inflict on all those who stand against Yargen.”
He said it like he was doing them some great favor. Vi wanted to punch him square in his teeth. No magic required.
“We surrender peacefully,” her father said for both of them.
As much as Vi wanted to object, she didn’t. She’d reached much the same conclusion as her father—there was no point in fighting this now. They were out maneuvered and outnumbered and their best bet was to keep as much ground as they could beneath them as they tried to plan their next advance.
Plus, her jaw ached at the mere thought of another gag.
“Take them to Light’s Victory,” Ulvarth commanded his soldiers. “And torch this dinghy.”
Vi looked back to the cabin. Her meager supplies. The journal with all her notes and maps. Once more she was ushered away from what little she’d managed to scrape together and claim as her own.
The knights directed them to the side of the vessel; Vi took a step forward. Ulvarth snatched the scythe from her grasp.
“Give that back,” Vi demanded, knowing it was both foolish and futile. But seeing the man holding the weapon was enough to curdle her stomach. Ulvarth opened his mouth and it was her turn to interrupt. “You don’t know what you’re holding.”
“You dare question me?”
“I will not fight you, but that is mine to carry.”
Ulvarth leaned forward, passing into her personal space with a sneer. “Get in the rowboat before I change my mind.”
Vi stood her ground, hands balling into fists.
“Daughter, come,” her father said sternly. But she still didn’t move.
“Listen to your father, girl.”
With one last glare, and one last look at the scythe, Vi moved forward. She was oddly reminded of the Dawnskipper and her last moments aboard that vessel. Life on the high seas was exhausting, and seemed always to end badly.
She and her father slowly climbed down into one of the two rowboats. They sat side by side, right at the front, as the rest of the boat filled with Ulvarth and his knights. The remaining men and women piled into the other dinghy and were off rowing in an instant.
“A farmer’s scythe, of all things to carry…” Ulvarth glanced at her from the corners of his eyes. “What a useless weapon.”
Vi bit the inside of her lip, keeping silent. Perhaps if she let him believe that’s all it was, he wouldn’t investigate further and peel back the fabric.
“Unless your determination surrounding it is something more?” She remained silent. Ulvarth chuckled. “You’ll talk eventually. They all do. Now, burn the boat,” he commanded his soldiers.
Three soldiers set their stolen vessel ablaze with circles of light. Vi stared at it, watching as what had once been Fallor’s ship burned into the sea. She wondered if she should feel something toward it, but she must’ve retreated once more into that dark place within her that Jayme had created. Arwin’s words echoed in her mind: He betrayed you.
It seemed like no time had passed at all before she was back on deck, but this time aboard a far more massive craft than even the Stormfrost. Light’s Victory was no doubt a flagship of the Sword’s armada. Its sides were riddled with cannons and a long ramming spear dominated its tall front.
“Take them below,” Ulvarth commanded to the knights still surrounding them, walking in the opposite direction.
Vi and her father obliged as they were led below the main deck. A long hallway with many doors stretched the length of the vessel before dropping off in another stairwell. Judging from the outside, the gun deck was beneath them now, which meant there had to be yet another subdeck for the crew to sleep.
“In here.” One of the knights opened a reinforced door heavy with various locks. “You will have a guard posted day and night. If we so much as get a whiff of magic, Lord Ulvarth’s patience and extreme generosity will run dry very quickly.”
“More generosity than they deserve,” one of the other knights muttered.
Vi and her father held their tongues as they walked into the small cabin. It wasn’t what she’d been expecting in the slightest. It was sparse, but comfortable enough. Certainly a very different type of confinement than what Adela had given either of them. The linens on the two cots looked clean, the bedding plush and fresh. Water sloshed in a jug on the shelf, threatening to spill with every sway of the ship. She was already trying to figure out Ulvarth’s goals in giving them this much comfort. What game was he playing?
The door closed behind them, and the sound of locks engaging brought her back from her thoughts.
“So much for a rescue,” Vi murmured.
“Far better than my last imprisonment.” Her father sighed heavily. He’d just been liberated and here he was, back again under lock and key. He sat on one of the cots.
“Mine too.” She went over to the small porthole—barred—and looked out over the sea. The last pieces of Fallor’s ship smoldered in the water.
“Yours?”
“Adela had me for a while, but I managed to escape.”
“You escaped her?” Aldrik said, wonder softening his voice.
“I nearly died doing it.” Vi looked back to the door. “I think if I tried to escape this imprisonment, I would die.” She had no doubt she could make a good run of it. But there were too many trained soldiers here. They’d get her, sooner or later.
“We’re not going to try to escape. It makes the most sense for us to get to Risen and
sort this there. Perhaps their queen will be able to assist.”
“I doubt it.” Vi put her back to the wall, sliding to the floor. “Ulvarth said it himself—he doesn’t answer to the queen.”
“But—”
“The Swords of Light are part of a religious order on Meru—the Faithful—and they’re trying to consolidate power. They’re using fear of the end of the world to do it.”
“Little good consolidating power does if you have no one to rule because the world ends.” Her father made a good point, one that brought a tired smile to her lips.
“The only hope we have is Taavin. As the Voice of Yargen, he technically supersedes Ulvarth.”
“Technically?” Aldrik must’ve heard the strain in her voice.
“Ulvarth will do what he wants, regardless of what Taavin says. And if Taavin doesn’t say what he wants to hear, Ulvarth makes his life a misery,” Vi said bitterly, not wanting to go into more depth than that.
“This Ulvarth sounds like a tyrant in the making,” her father said solemnly. He’d know; he’d seen tyrants. Some claimed his own father had been one.
The words left a heavy silence in their wake. Vi took a deep breath, tilting her head back and staring at the ceiling. Her eyes drifted closed.
“I’m sorry. “I really was going to take you back to Norin if you’d wanted to go.”
The floorboards creaked as her father stood, walking over to her. He slowly sat next to her on the floor and covered her hand with his. “Only me?” he asked.
Vi cracked her eyes open, tilting her head to look at him. She couldn’t manage words. She couldn’t hurt him with the truth, but she didn’t want to lie to him either. She settled on a small nod.
“If there’s even a chance I can save this world, I have to take it.” The memory of Raspian was seared in her mind, the dark god tearing into her flesh. “No matter what happens.”
Her father was deathly still. When he finally spoke, it was a repeat of words he’d said before. “This recklessness—you get from your mother.”
