by Adalyn Grace
When she raises her chin again, there’s ice in her eyes. “I hope that you burn.”
They’re words that jolt my mind back two seasons prior, and I think of Father’s lifeless corpse burning in a sea of fire, skin charring and melting from his bones. His blood pooling and boiling around him, turning to tar. I sway as the walls of the prison close in and force myself to draw a deep breath through my nose to steady myself.
Not right now. Not right here. The memories can haunt me later, as they do every time I shut my eyes. But right now, I must maintain my composure.
“One day,” I tell the prisoner, “I’m sure that I will.”
Riley’s eyes flicker to me, confused, but my only response is to drop the tooth wound with her hair into the flame. Her body spasms as blood pools from her gums, staining her teeth and spilling down her lips. I bend to run my finger over it, coating my skin, then smear the blood over two bones—one from a human spine, and another small shard of a skull.
Taking only the briefest moment, I turn to look back at the advisers’ faces. Lord Garrison has gone bone white, while Lord Freebourne’s dark brows furrow as though he’s unsure whether to be appalled or intrigued.
I drop the bloodied bones into the fire, and as they crackle the woman falls. Her spine twists sharply and her skull caves in. She takes one surprised gasp of air before she shudders to the ground, dead.
Death by my hand is never painless—I don’t have the luxury of giving people that—but it can certainly be quick.
With Riley’s limp body before me, I turn to the advisers to see that Lord Garrison has turned away. It’s clear any doubts he had about my magic are gone; I’ve given him what he wanted, yet he didn’t even have the stomach to watch.
“Casem, you stay. The rest of you, there’s no need to torture yourselves.” I crouch before Riley’s body, setting my hand upon the sheath of my steel dagger. “Unless you want to watch me drain the bodies and harvest their bones, take your leave. I’ll handle the rest of the prisoners alone.”
Relief floods from Lord Garrison in waves that knot my stomach. Though Lord Freebourne hesitates, seeming half-inclined to stay, both men eventually nod and take their leave without protest. The guards are quick to follow, handing Casem the copper key ring so that I may finish my work in peace. This wasn’t even my true magic, and still it disgusts them.
“Lord Garrison?” I call as he’s nearly out the door.
Sheet white as he fights against shaking hands, he turns to me, unable to look me in the eye. “Your Majesty?”
“Should I hear even a whisper about my magic, especially from the mouth of a Suntosan, I’ll have you to take it up with.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” And then he’s gone.
Casem stands with his hands folded behind him, gaze firmly on the ground. Only when we can no longer hear the footsteps of the others does he exhale a tightly held breath.
“Blood of the gods, I can’t believe you pulled that off.”
“It’s not over, yet.” I untie the binds on Riley’s wrists and turn her so that she’s no longer lying face-first on the grimy floor, but with the back of her head on my lap. “Go and guard the perimeter.”
Casem moves to obey, but something stops him mid-step. Quietly, he whispers, “You don’t have to do the rest of this, you know. We can find another way.”
“There is no other way.” As much as I want to believe those words, they’re a lie. This is my duty, just as Lord Garrison said earlier. And if I can’t even do this—something I’ve trained for my entire life, something my people believe to be an act of protection—why do I still wear this crown? “Make sure no one enters.”
Though he waits a beat too long, Casem bows his head and excuses himself. Only when he’s gone do I take Riley’s face in my hands and squeeze her cheeks.
“Nice show,” I tell her. “Now get up, we need to move quickly.”
She stirs, the blond of her hair slowly melting into a soft pastel pink. The lilac tattoo on her wrist wriggles and melts back into her skin. The woman opens eyes that are no longer hazel, but a startling, magical ruby, and it’s Shanty who beams at me.
She’s a face-shifter from Ikae who we met on our journey last summer. She helped disguise us long enough to escape off the island, and was the one to tell us where to find Vataea.
Her teeth are stained red, and with the back of her hand she wipes blood from her lips and peels back a tiny, empty pouch of pig’s blood from the top of her gums.
“For future reference, this stuff is revolting.” She spits it on the floor with a grimace. “You owe me big-time.”
The yells of the prisoners who wait behind her are muffled by their gags as Shanty’s enchantment wears off. The rest of them, unfortunately, are real. And the one Shanty was doubling for waits in the lineup, her own face altered with enchantment magic.
Shanty takes my offered hand and pops onto her feet, brushing dirt from her cream tunic and linen lilac pants.
“They believed it.” Relief fills me when I say it aloud, settling the nerves that turned my skin to gooseflesh. The relief nearly makes me laugh. “They fell for it completely. You were amazing.”
She bats a baby-pink curl from her shoulder and smiles with lips red as rubies. “Did you ever doubt me?” Her voice is a proud purr.
Though I was hesitant to add to the list of people who know I’m unable to access my magic, hiring Shanty was a necessity. She’s been here on Arida since the fall, likely living with a new face every day. It was Ferrick’s idea to invite her here, and to keep her secret, just in case we needed her skills. Few people know she’s here on Arida.
It was a good call. As fragile as Visidia is right now, ensuring that my people still believe they’re protected by a powerful animancer is necessary. It’s as Lord Garrison said—sometimes we must distract our people from the truth long enough to get the job done.
“Have Casem help you get out of here,” I tell her. “And make sure you’re not seen.”
“Like I’d be caught before I collected payment,” Shanty muses. “Staying hidden is my specialty, Your Majesty. I’ll see you on the other side.”
She gives a tiny salute, leaving me to focus instead on the five real prisoners before me. At my side rests two daggers—Rukan, the blade I forged from the poisoned tentacle of the Lusca, a sea beast I bested last summer, and the steel blade I’ve had since Father gifted it to me in this prison thirteen years ago. That’s the one whose hilt I take now, clutching it tightly as I crouch before the first prisoner I’m to execute. The man lifts his eyes to me as I tear off his gags, assessing my crown.
“Do your people know their queen is as much of a liar as the rest of her family?” He spits on my hands, then looks at me as though he expects me to reel back. But this is far from the first time I’ve been spat on. I wipe it on my pants.
This isn’t the way it should be; his blood on my hands is not what I want, and without my magic, I can’t even look into his soul to ensure his execution is just. But for the sake of making Visidia believe in me and my protection until I can restore the kingdom and all of its magics, this is what I must do.
Perhaps Lord Garrison was right; maybe I am nothing more than a pawn in this game.
“May the gods judge each of you as you deserve.” Without lingering a moment longer, I stab my dagger into the man’s heart and twist the blade, pressing one hand against his shoulders to steady his body until the convulsing stops. As life drains from his lungs, I lean his corpse against the wall and peel the dagger away.
I move on to the next prisoner. Though I try to make every kill as quick as possible, a blade through the body is far from painless, and I can’t control a body’s desire to live. Some go quickly, while others are slow and painful. One man takes so long and suffers so greatly that I take to slitting his throat so that he might pass on swiftly.
The whimpers of the remaining prisoners turn to tears as they wait, which then turn to sobs and screams muffled by the fabric that
gags them.
Their blood stains my hands in such a violent shade that, no matter how hard I may scrub, I know it’ll never come off. For each heart that my blade pierces, a piece of my already withering soul chips away. But I don’t stop until the last prisoner has fallen and my boots bathe in a pool of their mixed blood. And even then, I’m not done; leaving five stabbed bodies is too suspicious when my magic doesn’t rely on a blade to kill. If I had more fire and a bigger room, I’d burn the bodies. But my only option to conceal the wounds is by cutting through them, draining them, and collecting the valuable bones one by one.
For some, I take many bones. For others, I harvest only a few important ones each—one from the clavicle and spine. Just enough to make it appear as though I had good reason to stab into the chests of each of them.
It’s a process I’m used to, but one that’s different this time around, now that I know the truth about soul magic. Now that I know it never needed to be like this.
Nausea has me cold despite the seething fire, and it takes everything in me not to lose my stomach. It takes hours until I’m gathering the bloodied bones to be washed, keeping the bodies of the prisoners exposed for the guards to feed to the fish.
I’ve just finished when footsteps echo through the tunnel. Though Shanty’s gone and I’ve done everything I can to stage my lie, a surge of panic rushes through me and I jolt to my feet, expecting Casem or one of the other guards. But it’s Ferrick who runs into the prison, his face as red as his hair as he pants for breath.
My chest squeezes with relief at the sight of him, even when his nose scrunches and his breaths stop short at the sight of the blood I may as well have bathed in, and a small mountain of corpses behind me. He squeezes his eyes shut and immediately turns away. My cheeks flush hot.
“You shouldn’t be here.” Shame sinks into my bones as I wipe my bloodied hands on the dirt. It’s been a full season since we were last together, back before I gave him his first official job as my lead adviser. I hate that, in our first moment together again, he has to see me like this.
“We found him,” Ferrick pants, ignoring my words. His shoulders shudder with each heavy breath.
I drop the bones into my satchel and cross the floor to him so quickly that my brain can hardly keep up with my movements. “Where’s he now?”
“He’s being held on the ship. We’ve got him.”
I could kiss Ferrick for those words. I nearly throw my arms around him until he flinches back, and I remember the blood.
“I’ll have him brought here—”
“No.” I sheathe my blade, determination straightening my spine. “Take me to him.”
CHAPTER SIX
The docks are a ghost of what they were yesterday.
The skies have lightened during my hours in the prison, and dawn fights to break free from beneath a heavy clot of storm clouds. While the sea kept a peaceful rhythm hours ago, now the tides thrash violently against the docks, misting my face with sea salt. They’re the type of waves that are a threat to the average sailor, but a call of adventure for the rest of us. The kind of waves that were made to be conquered.
The fresh sea mist is a perfume I coat myself in as each wave beckons. I fill my lungs with it, as if to feed the pit of my soul. Though it was only yesterday that my hands last gripped a helm, desire thickens my throat. Sailing around the bay, failing to expand the perimeters of my curse to Bastian, is a far cry from the sailing I long for.
Staring ahead at the docked ships, my body aches for the days back on Keel Haul. For the mornings where I woke with the sun, and the nights I spent counting the stars with a mermaid, a pirate, and a stowaway at my side.
All my life I wanted nothing more than to one day rule Visidia. But now that it’s mine, all I can think about is the day when I’m finally able to pass on the responsibility and have my body returned to the sea where it belongs.
Ferrick climbs up the docks, waving me toward the small cargo ship he arrived on. Having kept the crew as tight as possible, only a few trusted soldiers wait for us, their faces somber and tired. They know nothing of the man I sent them after, or the revolting crimes he’s escaped punishment from for far too long. While all soldiers are swift to bow, several look purposely away from the blood that stains my skin and clothing, while others stare.
“You all did wonderfully.” I grab the rope ladder dangling from the ship and haul myself onto it with practiced ease. “Go clean up and return to your families. You’ve earned a break.”
Some hesitate, surprised I’m dismissing them so swiftly. But they obey their orders, and I wait with Ferrick in the silence until they’re too far down the shore to hear me ask, “Where did you find him?”
“Off the coast of Suntosu. I got a tip from someone who knew him back in Kerost. They said he’s been traveling, searching for someone.”
I clasp a hand on Ferrick’s shoulder and squeeze it, just once, and it’s a gesture that earns his attention. He turns, slow to look me over. Even though I’m covered in blood, he winds his arms around my shoulders and pulls me in close. I don’t fight him, letting myself melt into his body, thankful for his safe return.
Back when I was forced to be his betrothed, I hadn’t always been the kindest to Ferrick. But after our journey last summer, I can’t imagine life without him. I hug him fiercely, letting him be the first to ease away.
“I didn’t mean for it to take so long.” He combs his fingers through loose red curls that are in desperate need of trimming. “How have things been, here? How are you?”
My skin cools, not wanting to consider the weight behind the question. “I’m glad you’re home, but let’s save the catching up for later. I need to see him.”
The skin between Ferrick’s brows wrinkles, but he nods all the same. “We’ve got him tied down below. I can come with you—”
I shake my head. “Stay here and guard the door. I don’t want Vataea finding out about him until it comes from me.”
“She’s doing well, then?” he asks, innocent but hopeful enough that the light in his eyes warms my heart.
“She’s adapted to palace life as well as we expected. And she’ll be thrilled when she finds out who you’ve brought her.”
Cheeks flushed with satisfaction, Ferrick nods and steps aside so I can access the stairs leading below deck. I take them quickly, and with a ship this small, it doesn’t take long to find who I’m looking for.
He’s fastened to a post, bound tightly at the waist and hands. Though I know it’s him, his face isn’t one I recognize upon first glance. He’s aged significantly since we last met, his skin wrinkled and sun damaged. His once smooth, clean-shaven face is now covered with a thick gray beard that stretches down the length of his stout neck. But as different as he looks, I recognize his jaded green eyes, the burnt skin of his throat, and his missing left finger—wounds left over from our fight last summer.
Blarthe.
A man directly responsible for illegally time trading on over a hundred counts. One responsible for poaching a mermaid, the most endangered, protected species in our kingdom. He destroyed the lives of dozens and took advantage of their suffering in a time of need, and subjected Vataea to years of atrocity.
This is a man who deserves every bit of what he got, and more. He’s one whose execution I would not hesitate to sentence. He deserves to burn before all of Kerost for the damage he’s caused.
“Hello, Princess.” Blarthe flashes teeth that are no longer pearly white, but blackened with rot and decay. Several are missing from where I burned them away.
“You’ll address me as queen, now.” I crouch before the time trader, taking in how poorly he’s aged. “Is this what you really look like? Gods, no wonder you took to time trading. Someone should have put you out to sea ages ago.”
He spits at my feet, but I don’t flinch. With all the blood that stains them now, I’d planned to have these boots burned. But Blarthe needs to remember who’s in charge.
In one fluid m
otion I have Rukan out of its sheath and against his throat. His focus narrows on the strange navy blade as he tries to retract from the tiny iridescent specks that move within it.
“I’m sure you’ve heard of the Lusca? I took this from it as a parting gift.” I press the hooked blade forward enough to scare him, but am careful enough not to break skin. The last thing I want is to poison him when I still need him alive. He’s not only a gift for Vataea, after all. His capture is how I’ll win back Kerost’s trust.
Spite darkens his eyes. “I’ve heard the rumors about you, you know. They say the new queen refuses to use her magic.”
“Look at the blood I wear on my clothes and skin and you’ll see those are nothing more than rumors.” I tease the tip of Rukan against the knob of his throat, heat boiling within me. But it’s not enough to make him shut up.
“You forget I was there when Kaven tried to take Kerost. Unlike so many, I saw what his magic could do. I know he had the ability to curse away magic.”
I sheathe Rukan before I’m tempted to poison Blarthe and be done with it. “Say another word and I’ll take your tongue.”
Blarthe doesn’t falter, though there’s a tremor in his words that he fights to conceal. “Anyone who knows Kaven’s magic will be able to figure it out, girl. Take my tongue if you must, but know this—silence me, and you’ll never get your magic back. I can help you.”
The laugh that rips through me is practically a bark. “Do you take me for a fool?”
“I take you for someone who knows that not all myths are fake.” His eyes flicker to Rukan’s hilt, and I clench the blade tighter. “Aren’t you curious what I was searching for when your soldiers found me?”
“Not particularly. I brought you here to be tried for your crimes, and because there’s a mermaid who I’m sure would love to have a say in your punishment. I’ve no interest in whatever you were searching for.” But that last part’s a lie. The edge in his voice has admittedly made my blasted curiosity flare more than I care to admit.
“I was searching for an artifact the legends say was left behind by the gods themselves.” Blarthe’s focus doesn’t waver as he presses on with the desperation of a man fighting for his life. “It’s one that has the power to enhance magic more than you could ever believe. It’s said that, with it, a person could wield the power of the gods.”