Elodie of the Sea

by Shari L. Tapscott

  He’s striking in a terrifying, rough sort of way.

  A hush falls over the crowd, almost as if every person in attendance is holding their breath. His eyes scan the pier, and then they land on Pippa. Surprise flickers across his hard face, followed by a myriad of emotions that only the man could name.

  The princess stands frozen in place, looking very much like she’s seen a ghost. After several long moments, the dragon rider strides forward, straight for Pippa. Just the sight of her has consumed him, made him forget the reason for his arrival.

  Archer materializes next to his wife, setting his hand on her shoulder, looking as if he’s about to nudge her behind him—not that the fiery woman would ever let him.

  Still, she looks terrified.

  Who is this man?

  No one says a word, and the silence in this multitude is unnatural.

  “Philippa,” the dragon rider says from several feet away, his voice hard.

  She stares at him, lips parted, looking as if she’s going to cry. “Lionel?”

  Just as Archer reaches for his sword, the stranger pulls his own blade—earning a chorus of gasps from the gathered audience—and drops to one knee, resting the tip of the steel on the ground in front of him as he bows before the princess.

  A child cries out, and the ships move in their watery resting places. There’s not another sound, not for miles.

  “You saved my life, and for that, I am, and will forever be, eternally grateful.” The man looks up, meeting the princess’s eyes. “Thank you. Pippa.”

  Pippa manages a nod, but only barely.

  The man turns to Archer. “Master Archer.”

  Pippa’s eyes move to her husband. “Lord Archer.”

  The newcomer raises a brow but doesn’t comment. “I am deeply sorry for my savagery all those years ago.”

  Archer looks gobsmacked, as do most in the crowd.

  I scan the ship, looking for more familiar faces. Bran, Dristan, and Irving wear identical, shocked expressions. Galinor alone looks enigmatic. He catches the crowd’s attention as he walks down the gangplank, his eyes trained on the man.

  The men’s eyes lock, and it feels as if the shore cools ten degrees. Slowly, the dragon rider comes to his feet. Galinor’s hand plays at the hilt of his sword, but he does not draw it yet.

  “Galinor,” the man says, his voice like steel. After several seconds, he makes a show of sheathing his blade.

  The crown prince of Glendon stares at the man. “What are you doing here, Lionel?”

  The man looks to the dragons who accompanied him. “We have heard of unusual behavior of the dragons of the sea. We’ve come to investigate, lend assistance if we are able.”

  It takes me several moments, but the stories and rumors come back to me. This is the cruel prince of Vernow, the man who won Pippa’s tournament by breaking the dragon treaty and using underhanded methods of battle—the man who was carried away by dragons and never heard of again.

  He lives.

  “I ask that you forgive my actions all those years ago,” Lionel says. After several tense moments, the dragon rider extends his hand.

  Galinor stares at it for too long, and people shift. Pippa glances at Archer and then the dragons who accompanied Lionel into the city. The beasts watch, but they do not interfere.

  “You stabbed me with a poisoned dagger like a belly-dragging snake,” Galinor finally says, his words clear in the night.

  Lionel doesn’t flinch, nor does he lower his hand. “I did.”

  “To win a tournament for the hand of a woman you did not love or want—for glory alone.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you show up now, years later, extending your hand to me in friendship as if that’s enough to make up for your many wrongs?”

  The dragon rider’s expression never falters, not once. “I do.”

  A lesser man would squirm under Galinor’s hard gaze, but the two are titans of men.

  “Very well—I accept.” And just like that, Galinor clasps Lionel’s hand, and the people in attendance begin to whisper amongst themselves.

  I realize that instead of gawking like the rest, this is the perfect opportunity for me to climb aboard the ship. I wade through the water, safely hidden in the shadow of night, until I reach the dock. Because I do not trust myself to swim, especially in this gown, I cling to the splintering boards and slowly pull myself down the pier, treading water as I go.

  Water laps at my hands and chin, calling to me. The sea isn’t gentle, not with the storm brewing, but I’m not afraid. Though I resist the urge, I want nothing more than to let go and sink below the waves.

  People stand above me, visible through the gaps between the boards, blocking the meager torchlight from the shore. The wood groans and creaks as they shift, and each footstep echoes in the space between dock and sea.

  Finally, I reach the darkest part of the ship. The exterior is expertly crafted, far too smooth to climb, but there’s a heavy net slung near the bow. I give it a hard tug, hoping it will hold my weight.

  When it doesn’t shift, I slip my foot into a square and climb. The net proves to be a trickier ladder than I expect, and I pray to stay inconspicuous as I struggle. Thankfully, the dragons are a better distraction than anything Pippa could have come up with.

  Cold wind whips around me, tugging at my soaked dress and hair. I shiver as I press my belly flat to the rail and flop onto the deck with the grace of a beached seal.

  No one lingers nearby—those still on the ship are near the stern, looking toward the pier. I lie here, shivering with my arms clasped around my chest, trying not to black out. The sea gave me a temporary respite from the dizziness, but it fades as the water runs from my body, pooling onto the deck.

  I’ll just lie here for a moment to recover.

  And despite the cold wind and the hard, unyielding planked wooden deck, I let myself drift.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Bran

  The Prince of Vernow has changed. He’s still a giant of a man, but the years have carved him, melted the last of the baby fat, turned him into something like stone. Also, he’s finally cut off his horrendous curls that used to hang past his jaw in delicate, golden corkscrews.

  But more significant a change than his features is the expression he wears. Like the rest of the crowd, I’ve watched him, first stunned that he’s here and alive and then shocked by the absence of his ever-present sneer. The prince we knew and loved-to-hate wore his disdain for the world around him on his sleeve. He thought himself above us, and he was sure to let us know in every way possible.

  The man has either become an excellent performer, or his years with the dragons have eroded more than the excess of his youth.

  “What do you want from us, Lionel?” I call out after he and Galinor shake hands, interrupting their touching moment and feeling less than sorry for it. I want to know why the prince is here. More importantly, I want to know why he’s brought the fire-breathing beasts into my kingdom.

  He turns my way, bowing his head in respect. “Your Majesty.”

  “Cut the theatrics,” I say sharply, earning a hard smile from the man who’s almost a stranger now. At one point, I knew him well—you didn’t grow up as a prince of Elden and not rub elbows with the royalty from the other kingdoms. The crowd may be enamored with his chivalry, but he’s still Lionel to me, and I don’t trust him.

  “The dragon treaty has been broken,” Lionel says simply. “We are only here to seek justice in the matter.”

  “And what are you? The dragon’s spokesman?”

  He gives me a single nod.

  My eyes move to the dragons behind him. “The sea dragons have laid attack on us—unprovoked. If anyone has broken the treaty, it was your kind.”

  The people in the crowd shift, uneasy. My knights stiffen, preparing for a fight. I, however, do not fear the beasts. I fought alongside them in Errinton when Lord Rigel took his rightful place as king, and they are aware of it. I bled for
their peace and freedom as much as the people in Rigel’s kingdom. I am an ally—and they best remember it.

  “Young King of Triblue, our fight isn’t with you,” the giant black dragon at the front says, stepping forward on clawed feet. If he moves onto the pier, it will likely collapse under his weight. He’s as large as a small cottage, and his scales gleam in the low firelight.

  People move out of his way, terrified, but he thankfully stays on the solid ground just beyond the walkway. He gives the crowd a reptilian look of disdain and turns back to me. “We believe our cousins have been manipulated by magic, forced to act contrary to their nature.”

  “You think it’s the work of a wizard?” I ask, hoping to hide my horror. The thought of dark magic seeping into my kingdom fills me with dread. It was that tainted magic that we fought in Errinton, and it’s deadly, even in small doses.

  “No.”

  I wait for him to elaborate, but it’s obvious the dragon has no intention of telling me more.

  “And you are here to break that link, I presume?”

  The dragons that flank him—one gold, one copper—stretch their wings, perhaps eager for the confrontation.

  “We are here to assure the link is broken,” the onyx male confirms. “And that is all.”

  “My men and I are preparing to sail. We would be honored if you would accompany us.”

  And by honored, I mean I want to keep them close. That way, if this magic claims them as well, we will have a chance to slay them before they return to the mainland to wreak havoc on my people.

  The dragon’s tail twitches. “You may accompany us,” he says like I was asking permission of him—which I’m not. “But do not waste time, King of Triblue. We leave within the hour.”

  With that, he leaps into the air. The wind he creates as he flaps his wings knocks over several of the spectators nearest to him. In moments, the remaining two dragons join him to circle in the air like watchful vultures.

  ***

  My men watch Irving’s wife with confusion. She insisted on joining us, and she is a woman dressed for war. With the wind in her hair and her glittering blade at her side, she appears both beautiful and deadly. My men are practically salivating, though they are wise enough to keep their distance.

  I eye her as well, curious.

  Little is known about the royal family of Brookraven. They are reclusive, highly secretive, and their kingdom is tiny. Even though Audette and Irving have been married several years, we only know what she’s willfully shared.

  Audette’s two guards flank her and Irving. They are as intimidating as all oblivion, and I’m thankful they are on our side. Irving seems comfortable enough with them. The four share a conversation, talking quietly.

  As dawn breaks, lighting the sky through the thickening clouds, the black dragon swoops low to the water, gliding next to the ship. “Your Majesty,” he says to Audette, calling for the woman’s attention. She turns to him and smiles as if he were a handsome young hunting hound and not a deadly beast designed for death and dismemberment.

  “It is an honor to meet you,” the beast says without the slightest hint of condensation. “We are your servants should you ever need to call on us. Your work is well known in our circles.”

  Galinor, who stands next to me, leaning against the railing at the helm, looks as startled as I.

  “I am humbled by your praise, Great One. I accept your offer, and I thank you.”

  With that, the dragon takes to the air once more.

  With narrowed eyes, Galinor watches as the quartet slips back into their conversation as if meetings of that nature are everyday sort of affairs. He leans closer to me and lowers his voice. “What was that?”

  I shake my head, wanting to laugh but too stunned. “I have no idea.”

  Irving catches us gawking, and he grins before looking back at his wife. His hand strays to her waist, and she flashes him a soft look that’s at odds with the blade at her side.

  Unable to help myself, I think of Elle, wish she were with me. Anxiety gnaws at my gut as I think of her lying in the infirmary, slowly fading.

  Shaking off the remnants of his surprise, Galinor jerks his chin toward the wheel. “How long has it been since you’ve sailed?”

  “Too long.” I exhale slowly. Despite the gravity of our situation and the unnatural storm clouds gathering above our heads, the vast emptiness of the ocean is freeing.

  For the first time in years, I’ve left Dristan at home, in charge of the kingdom, while I sail away. It feels good.

  But the moment is tainted.

  My friend crosses his arms and eyes the sky. “The dragon said magic. What do you make of that?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know, but I don’t like the sound of it.”

  “Do you think—”

  “Your Majesty!” one of the young sailors hollers from the rear of the ship. He’s looking at the deck, at something behind the stack of crates I just sent him to unload.

  Galinor takes the wheel, nodding me off.

  “I’m not sure you’re qualified,” I say to my friend, distracted by the commotion.

  “Allow me to assure you—I am not.” The prince grins.

  Shaking my head as I leave him to it, I jog down the steps, toward the sailor. Irving beats me to him, and surprise mars his features. He kneels, disappearing.

  “Is she breathing?” Audette demands from behind him.

  She?

  I hurry around the mess of boxes, and then I come to an abrupt halt as my heart forgets how to beat.

  Irving has Elle in his arms like a child, and he looks at me over his shoulder. “She’s alive.”

  “What in the kingdoms is she doing aboard the ship?” Audette reaches for her, checking Elle’s pulse herself.

  “I’ll take her.” I none-too-gently push people aside and turn to Roderick, my chosen first mate for the mission. “Relieve Galinor of the wheel before he sails us into a sandbar.”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  I take Elle from Irving. As I scoop her up, she mumbles. Hurrying, I go below deck, to my cabin. As I reach the door, her eyes flutter and then fully open.

  My relief is sharp, but I don’t want her to see how worried I am. I wait until she meets my gaze, and then I force a smile. “You know, darling, we really need to stop meeting like this.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Elodie

  My surroundings come into focus, and I look around the tight, dark hallway, confused. “Where are we?”

  Bran bends his knees, lowering himself so he can reach the handle without jostling me, and then he pushes the door open. “In my cabin, aboard my ship, the Lantana.”

  Frowning, I peer into the room. “You have your own ship?”

  “I have an entire kingdom, but it’s my ship that impresses you?” he teases, masking the worry in his tone.

  His eyes meet mine, and they hold.

  Fear coils in my stomach as I remember why I scaled the side of his ship in the first place. I clutch his shirt, needing him to listen. “You can’t hunt the sea dragons.”

  “Why?” he demands, searching my face.

  Slowly, he sets me on a bed built into the wall. It’s covered in silks and velvets, and the mattress feels as if it’s stuffed with the softest down. I sigh as I sink into it.

  My body is stiff, and everything aches. I remember telling myself I’d doze for just a moment on the deck. How long was I there? Who found me?

  Bran sits next to me, making the bed dip, causing my body to roll into him. Perhaps he doesn’t notice the way his hip is firmly pressed against my leg, but I can think of nothing else.

  He sets his hand on my shoulder, gently—always gently. “You sense it as well—you’re connected.”

  It’s not really a question, but I nod anyway.

  “How?” he asks, mostly to himself, concern etched on his face.

  “I don’t know.” Exhausted tears sting my eyes, and I blink them away. I’m so weary; it’s maddeni
ng. It’s as if my body is no longer my own, and without my memory, I have nothing left.

  “What are you doing here?” he finally asks, but his words are soft.

  “I had to warn you.” I lie my head back, turning my face toward the planked ceiling. “I didn’t expect to pass out as soon as I made it onto the ship.”

  The wood surrounding the bed is intricately carved with swirls and shells, the work of a patient artist. I roll onto my side and run my finger along trim by the wall, bemused. “It’s beautiful,” I murmur.

  “She is,” he agrees.

  It’s his tone that makes me turn. He stares down at me, his eyes serious and warm. It kindles a fire in my chest, makes me feel weightless.

  Moving slowly, he shifts his hand closer to mine until his thumb brushes my knuckle.

  How can such a simple touch send tingles up my spine?

  I want to move closer, feel the press of his palm against my skin, but I’m terrified. This man—this king—isn’t mine.

  But when Bran’s this close, and he studies me with that look in his eyes, I can forget the pain, the exhaustion, the hopelessness.

  A knock at the door startles us both, and I jerk my hand away. Bran rises from the bed abruptly, putting plenty of space between us before he calls, “Enter.”

  Galinor steps inside, keeping his eyes politely away from me, though he appears embarrassed to find me on the king’s bed. “Bran, the storm is growing. We need you.”

  Bran glances at me. “Can it wait?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  I begin to rise, determined to go with them, but Bran presses on my shoulder, keeping me on the bed.

  “Stay and rest,” he says. “I’ll return.”

  And though I want to argue, another headache flairs, the intensity making me nauseous. Hoping to hide it from Bran, I close my eyes and nod in agreement. If I were to stand, I know I’d black out again anyway.