The Emerald Sea

by Richelle Mead

  “Why are those the things you notice?”

  My reflection suddenly grew blurry, and I had to blink a few times to see clearly again. “Because I have to fix them before I go to Cape Triumph. I have to look my best. I have to be beautiful.”

  Again, my reflection went out of focus, but when it sharpened this time, I wasn’t looking at Tamsin in the stone chamber. Jago’s gifted clothes were gone, and I now stood in the off-the-shoulder green dress I’d yielded to the Balanquans. My skin was smooth and soft again. An emerald the size of an egg hung around my neck, and smaller ones sparkled in my hair, which had been arranged into an artful cascade of curls. It was exactly the same way Adelaide’s had been styled when we first met, and I’d been so jealous of it.

  Something moved behind me, and I spun around. Couples in silk and jewels of their own danced across a ballroom, underneath the glow of crystal chandeliers. The air hummed with conversation and laughter. Waiters offered champagne flutes. A string quartet played a waltz, and a cluster of men in expensive suits gathered around me, though all of their faces were shadowed.

  “Has anyone ever told you that green is your best color?”

  “I was going to tell her that!”

  “No, I was! And I was going to ask her to dance!”

  “You were not—because I was going to!”

  “Gentlemen, gentlemen,” I said, laughing. “No need to argue. I can dance with you all.”

  I glided around the room, moving from one set of arms to another. Each of my partners raved about my beauty and intelligence and swore he’d never know happiness unless I was his. “What will you give me?” I asked them.

  “A carriage made of gold.”

  “A hundred servants.”

  “A new gown for every day of the year.”

  “A castle on a hill.”

  As the offers grew increasingly extravagant, my eye was caught by the sight of two small feet sticking out from underneath a tablecloth. Ignoring my admirers’ entreaties to return, I darted across the room and knelt down by the table. I lifted the cloth and found Merry sitting behind it in a white muslin dress, her red hair curled identically to my own.

  My heart sang at the sight of her, and I pulled her against my chest. “Why, Merry, what are you doing under here?”

  She squirmed in my embrace and looked up at me solemnly. “Why won’t you take anything?”

  “What?”

  “Aren’t there things you want?”

  “Loads. And we shall have them.” I pointed at the shadowy suitors. “Didn’t you hear all the wonderful things I’ve gotten for us?”

  “You’ve done wonderfully, Mama, but isn’t there something you covet for yourself? Some small pleasure? Some comfort?”

  The words came out of my daughter’s mouth, but they were like an echo. Where had I heard them? I tweaked her nose. “Are you encouraging me to be selfish, my love? You’ve been taught better.”

  Her serious expression remained unchanged. “It’s not the same thing, and you know it.”

  “Why are you so saucy tonight? Come out from there, and we’ll see if we can find you a cookie. There must be one at this party. If not, I’m sure I can coax some gentleman to go and get one.”

  Merry scooted forward with me and stood up. But she wouldn’t follow when I gently tugged her hand. “What happens when this is all done?” she asked.

  I put my hands on my hips. “When what is all done?”

  “When we’re all safe and secure. You and me and Granny and Grandpa and Uncle Jon and Aunt Livvy. When you have everything you want for us, what will you do?”

  “You just said yourself that I’d have everything I want. I won’t need to do anything.”

  “Then you won’t be anything.”

  “Meredith Wright!” I exclaimed. “I don’t know what’s gotten into your—”

  The room darkened. The music stopped. Looking up, I saw the candles on the chandelier go out one by one as though snuffed by some invisible hand. People cried out in alarm and searched frantically for an exit. Scattered tabletop candelabras provided the only light now, and multiple guests scrambled to snatch one. Collisions occurred, fistfights broke out. Some people gave up on light and ran blindly to the room’s bare sides, groping around for a door. I scooped Merry up and held her close.

  “Let’s get out of here.” I took a few steps forward and then paused, trying to recall if I’d seen any doors tonight. There had to be at least one.

  People kept bumping into us in their panic, and I struggled to keep my footing and protect Merry. At one point, I found myself off balance—but no one was next to me. A rumbling filled my ears, and I realized the floor was shaking. The screams grew louder; glasses crashed and shattered. Someone who’d won a candelabra suddenly lost it when he tripped and fell. It flew up into the air, the light bouncing wildly, and then there was another mad dash to seize it. In that brief moment of illumination, I saw a spiderweb of cracks spreading across one of the walls. It began to collapse, crumbling away to reveal a night sky full of stars. But the cracks didn’t stop there. The floor was breaking up too, and as chunks of it fell away, so did guests and furniture. There was nothing underneath this ballroom except a wide, dark chasm, and I watched in horror as people were swept away into unending blackness.

  The hole kept advancing, the floor kept disintegrating. I turned and ran, but someone bumped into me, knocking Merry out of my arms. She tumbled over the edge, crying, “Mama! Mama!” I dropped to my knees, ready to throw myself into the depths after her. To my astonishment, she was still there, clutching at a broken plank that was only barely attached to the ballroom’s crumbling floor. The shaking had stopped and with it, the floor’s destruction.

  “Hold on, love. I’ve got you.” I reached toward Merry, but my arms weren’t long enough. I scrambled to my feet and peered around. “Help! I need someone to . . .”

  What remained of the room was empty. Everyone had either fallen or found a way to flee, including my devoted suitors. I got down on the floor again, lying on my stomach. Merry still clung to the splintered board, her face deathly pale. I squirmed out over the edge as far as I could manage. One inch more, and I’d go down too. A cold wind blew up from the chasm, pushing all those fine curls into my face. I shook my head and extended my arm.

  “I can reach you this time. Take my hand.”

  “I can’t,” Merry called. “I can’t.”

  “Of course you can! My hand’s right there.” The floor shifted, and her plank wobbled precariously. I could see cracks forming in it. “Hurry! Grab hold of me!”

  She reached out, but her little hand passed right through mine. “I can’t grab hold of someone who isn’t anything,” she said. “There’s nothing there.”

  Crack! The board she held on to broke and plummeted off into the night, taking her with it. I screamed as the darkness closed around her, screamed as my heart and my soul and everything that made me were ripped out of my body. The agonizing pain of it tore through me, destroying me, but what did it matter? I could not exist and draw breath if she didn’t. I stepped forward, giving myself over to the darkness as I fell . . .

  And I kept screaming until Jago gripped my shoulders and gently shook me. “Tamsin, Tamsin! Tamsin! Wake up!”

  I didn’t recognize him for a few seconds, and even after I did, it didn’t calm me down. What could, after losing my daughter? I fought his hold, even hitting out at him.

  “Let go of me—let me go to my child! We have to find her! She could’ve survived!”

  “Ow, stop it! Tamsin, you’re dreaming. No one’s in danger.”

  “I saw her! I saw Merry go over! We can still get to her if—”

  Four Icori burst in through the door. A small pine door, in a plain room with a river rock fireplace and stone walls. There were no chandeliers or dancers. No mirrors. No Shibail. And certain
ly no Merry.

  I took in the Icori; I took in the room. And the more I did, the more the remnants of the dream fell away. My heart still pounded, and grief still burned in me, but I accepted that it had been a dream. This was my reality, not the crumbling ballroom. Slowly, slowly, I dropped my hands. Jago nodded at the Icori and said something in their language. They left.

  For a long time, the only sounds were shifting logs and my ragged breathing. Jago settled back, watching me closely. We sat on a bed that rested in an elaborately carved wooden frame. The pillow and blankets looked damp, and I put a hand to my cheek. Sweat dripped down it, and I felt like my skull had been ripped apart.

  I rubbed my eyes. “What happened? After the mirror?”

  “What mirror?”

  “The wall in Shibail’s chamber. She asked me to look at it. And then everything turned . . .” I looked around, still trying to grapple with my circumstances. “I don’t know. But you were there. You must know.”

  He handed me a mug of water. “She didn’t say anything about a mirror or a wall. You took the drink and then passed out while you were coming back down the stairs.”

  “No . . .”

  “I didn’t realize how fast it’d affect you, or else I would have been ready. I wasn’t able to catch you before you bumped your head.”

  I ran my fingers along my left temple and winced at a large lump. “So that’s why my head hurts so much.”

  “Well, I think that drink gives you a headache regardless.”

  I lay back on the pillow and stared up at the beams on the ceiling. After such blindingly intense panic, my emotions had burned out, and now I just felt numbed. “What was it?”

  “Not sure. I never asked.”

  I looked back at him. “You’ve had it? What happened?”

  “I made it down the steps before I passed out and fell face-first into the pool.” A brief, chagrined smile flitted over his features before they took a more troubled turn. “While I was knocked out, I dreamed about risk. I had all these choices, and the safe ones led nowhere. It was right around the time I was deciding whether to spend all that money on Felicia.”

  “What did we see? Is it . . . something she does? Something from the angels or . . . Icori gods?”

  “I think it’s what she said—stuff pulled up from our own head.”

  The images of the dream—or vision?—flashed through my mind’s eye, and with them, the searing emotions returned. I shuddered. “Did Shibail ask me about wanting something for myself? A small pleasure or comfort? Or did I dream that too? Six, I’m not even sure what to believe now.”

  “Yeah, she asked you something like that.”

  “Merry asked me that in the dream too.” I rolled to my side, resting my cheek against my hand as I watched the fire. I felt drained and numbed. “I suppose you heard me mention her.”

  “Yeah.”

  Let go of me—let me go to my child!

  I sighed. “And I suppose you figured out that—”

  “Your business is your business.” He ran a hand along my back. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

  A log shifted, sending up sparks. I followed their flight and waited for more from Jago. If not judgment, I at least expected questions. But he stayed silent, and the longer he did, the more I felt the need to fill the space. “She’s in Osfrid—or was. She’s about to turn four and is on her way to Cape Triumph with some family friends. She’ll be there in two months.”

  “You must miss her.”

  My fingers curled, clutching the blanket. “It hurts so much sometimes, I think I’m going to die. I wanted to, in that dream.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “I mean it. It’s this terrible, clawed monster eating me from within, and one day, I’m sure it’s going to consume me entirely.”

  “If it hasn’t already, then it’s not going to. And it’s not divine favor, Tamsin. It’s just you.”

  I didn’t realize I had a tear running down my cheek until he handed me a handkerchief. Somehow, that small kindness triggered a few more tears, and I hastily wiped them away.

  “I’m sorry,” he said fretfully. “I’m sorry if I said the wrong thing, which is weird for me.”

  I managed a small laugh and dabbed at my cheek again. “Oh, stop, or I’ll end up crying for real. What you’re saying, it’s . . .” His beautiful eyes were so earnest, so nervous as he waited to hear what I’d say. It overwhelmed me, and I had to look away. “Well. It’s . . . it’s not wrong. Believe me, I normally hear some pretty awful things when this comes up.”

  “You missing your daughter?”

  “No, me just having a daughter. People usually . . . well, think differently of me afterward.”

  “People are foolish,” he said. “I pretty much think the same of you today as I did yesterday. Except now I know for sure you aren’t moving mountains to get to Cape Triumph just so you can have your silk and champagne.”

  “Well, I won’t mind the silk, truth be told, but even the thought of champagne is making me sick right now, after that drink.” I peered around the room. “Where am I, and how did I get here?”

  “We’re back at Orla’s keep—this is the room she gave you. After you passed out, some of the Well’s attendants helped me carry you out. Just so you know, I did most of the work.” He straightened up and swung his legs over to the edge. “I should let you rest. Do you need anything else?”

  I caught hold of his hand. “Stay with me, Jago . . . I don’t want to be alone . . .”

  “Of course.” He kicked off his boots and stretched out next to me, gathering me into his arms. “I’ll stay as long as you want.”

  I rested my head on his chest and listened to the steady beating of his heart. As I drifted off to sleep, I tried to think of the last time I’d told someone about Merry without getting a shocked reaction. But I couldn’t recall any such time.

  CHAPTER 24

  IT WAS STRANGE BEING THE GUEST OF AN ICORI PRINCESS—which was what I kept thinking of Orla as, no matter the technicalities. She’d given orders to her servants to tend to anything we needed, and if it was in their power, they made it happen.

  After Jago slinked back to his own room the next morning, I found a servant and asked for water to wash with, explaining that I hadn’t bathed properly in days. Before I knew it, servants were in my room with a bathtub, hauling in buckets of hot water. When we went down to breakfast later, I was asked what I wanted, and a cook immediately prepared it.

  Of course, the fulfilling of my wishes had to fall within the Icori’s abilities, which certainly weren’t boundless. They didn’t have the manufacturing capabilities of the Osfridians and Balanquans, or access to a world’s worth of different ingredients. Little household items and techniques that I took for granted in daily life were missing. Between the Balanquans, Osfridians, and other Evarians, the Icori theoretically had access to almost anything—but limited means to acquire it. Their surplus resources mostly came from hunting and farming, and there wasn’t enough money there for the Icori to import on a grand scale from their neighbors. The eclectic mix of random imported goods I’d seen in Orla’s hearth room was pretty typical of well-to-do Icori. Those with humbler homes would have few or no outsider luxuries. And often, the Icori might not have things I was used to, simply because they had a different culture.

  So, I received biscuits and eggs as requested for breakfast, but the biscuits were denser than I’d expected, mixed with flour and an unknown grain. And I learned that the gauzy nightgown they gave me came from bark fibers, which I never would have guessed. It might as well have been silk, compared to what I’d had in Constancy.

  Although the servants were quick to accommodate me and even quicker with Orla, the fortress’s household still had an unexpectedly laid-back feel to it. Servants always acknowledged Orla and her sisters with at l
east “Danna” or a polite nod in passing, but no one fell to their knees, no trumpets blared. One servant laughed when I asked if Orla had the equivalent of handmaidens to dress her and style her hair. That would only happen on rare and very special occasions, the young woman told me. Otherwise, “the danna can take care of herself.”

  After breakfast, Jago and I were brought into a meeting with Orla, her two sisters, their advisors, and leaders of subordinate clans. We retold what we knew of the Osfridian and Icori skirmishes, what the colonists believed, and the conclusions we’d drawn about the Lorandians. They grilled us on details and regarded us with a mix of attitudes. Some, very conscious of the long and complicated history of my people and theirs, were wary and almost hostile. Other Icori officials didn’t seem to care and were far more concerned with how we could be utilized to help them.

  They dismissed us to continue their conversation in private, and Orla pulled us aside at the door. “When are you going back to Constancy to get the rest of your cargo?” she asked Jago.

  “Ideally, tomorrow. Within two days for sure. I’ll probably have to do two round-trips, and it’d be a good idea to keep a buffer in there for weather delays.”

  She nodded. “I understand. If you could wait those two days, I’d appreciate it. The others will have questions, and it’d be useful to have you around. I can send an extra sleigh with you if that’d help, and if there is a delay, we certainly won’t leave downriver without you.”

  Jago agreed, and that left the two of us in the incredibly odd position of having . . . free time. We had no responsibilities. There was no need to plot how to get to Cape Triumph, because that was settled. The council wanted our observations, not our advice. We were on our own.

  “Do you want to learn to ride?” Jago asked me, once Orla returned to her meeting.

  I leaned back against the hallway’s stone walls and crossed my arms as I looked him over. He’d had a bath too, and the morning light streaming through the windows made his sun-streaked hair glow with endless shades of gold. A guilty impulse to suggest we stay in my room reared up in me, but instead I said, “Sure. Looks like you managed to find the time after all.”