All the Tides of Fate

by Adalyn Grace

  No longer able to tell whether I’m breathing, I ball my hands into fists and press them against the wall so they won’t touch him and betray me.

  “Woo me,” I scoff, doing everything in my power not to let him see the influence he has over me. “As if I’m so easily—”

  “Amora.” The sound of my name stops me short. “I’ve no family left. My brother destroyed my home, and yet I can’t return to Zudoh to help my people because I’m cursed to you. Your magic is running through my veins, and because I’m not a Montara, we’ve no idea how long I’ll be able to maintain it, or what it might do to me. You are not the only one affected by this.

  “As you can hopefully understand,” he continues, “my life has certainly been better. And yet I’ve asked you for nothing, because I know how much stress you’ve been under. Stars, I feel how much stress you’ve been under. I’ve been saving my one ask, and this is it. I don’t need special favors. Keep your secrets, I don’t care. But if I have to go along with this charade, then I want a fair chance. Please. Give me a fair chance.”

  There’s no argument for that, no matter how hard I try to find one. As much as I want my space from Bastian, he’s right that he doesn’t deserve the way I’ve been treating him. It’s not his fault we’re cursed. None of this is his fault.

  It’s mine.

  Now though, I have a chance to fix my mistakes. I have a chance to fix everything. But if that’s going to happen, then this constant bickering with Bastian needs to stop.

  “Fine,” I relent, having to push the words out of me. “Whatever festivities are being planned for the suitors, you may join.”

  “Wonderful.” Bastian masks the relief in his voice with a smile as he pushes away from me to pick up his discarded hammer. My lips grow cold and numb from his absence as he heads toward the door.

  Over his shoulder, Bastian casts me a wink I have half a mind to burn him for. “I’m glad we can finally agree on something. Sleep well, Princess.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  With Keel Haul’s speed, the force of Casem’s wind bloating the sails, and Vataea’s magic willing the sea to push us onward, we make it to Kerost in just over two days.

  The air’s sharp and cool when we arrive, and as it scrapes against my cheek I’m reminded of the last time I was here. Last summer there’d been signs something was amiss in the kingdom, but it wasn’t until I stepped upon Kerost’s pebble stone beach to a choir of hammering that I understood how bad the state of my kingdom had gotten.

  Fortunately, things are better, now. No longer do the strikes of hammers permeate the air; instead I hear rueful voices and laughter.

  No longer withered and forgotten, the docks are packed full of ships with emerald and ruby banners strung across them. Curmanans with the ability to levitate objects and the elementally gifted Valukans are ashore, using their magic to rebuild the island, as I commanded when I first took the throne. Pride heats my chest as we lower Keel Haul’s ramp, a strange feeling considering that out of our need to be ready to flee at a moment’s notice, we’d only used the ladder on our last adventure.

  “Look how much it’s changed.” Relief grips me as we make our way down the shore. The pavement is solid and fresh beneath our feet, no longer the cracked and chipping stone I remember. When I last saw Kerost, it was devastatingly poor, and Blarthe had swooped in to prey upon its citizens. While he gave the Kers the supplies they needed to rebuild their island, he traded time off their lives in exchange. But the supplies he gave them were never going to be strong enough to withstand the extreme storms that plague their island every few years.

  Now though, they’re learning the skills they need to survive.

  There’s a small group of talented Valukan metalworkers who’ve made the trek to Kerost as well, using their affinity toward earth to enforce the structures so they’re sturdy enough to withstand the storms.

  Near the water opposite the docks are several other Valukans who instruct a class of Kers on how to manipulate the water. Their motions are like the most elegant dance, and I find myself straying from the crew so that I might get close enough to hear them.

  “People often mistake water as the gentlest of the elements,” says a small Valukan girl. Though she’s younger than the rest, her movements are by far the most graceful and precise. “But that’s not true. Water can be fierce. It can be unruly. If you go in thinking you’re going to master it, you’ll never learn. Instead, you must think of it as an extension of your body.” As she draws her hands above her head, seawater spirals above her in a clean arc. When she swings her hands down, it follows. She grinds a foot into the sand and turns slow circles, letting the water follow her graceful dance. It builds until it looks as though she’s standing in the middle of a raging whirlpool. I can barely see her raising her hand between the gaps of the water, but when she drops it, the whirlpool zips back into the sea with a sharp smack.

  The Kers watching are enthusiastic with their applause, eyes bright with excitement for this new magic they’re eager to finally learn. “Now, everyone, come stand by me on the shore,” the young girl says. “We’re going to start with the basics…”

  Watching them settle close fills me with a pleasure that’s bone deep. This is what Kerost has always needed. If only they’d been given the ability to learn multiple magics years ago, so much of their pain and suffering could have been prevented.

  At least they’re finally learning, now.

  Yet, for as much as there is in Kerost, it’s impossible not to recognize what there isn’t.

  There was no ceremony upon Keel Haul’s arrival. There are no banners. No royal adviser or Kers waiting to greet me and whisk me away to meet their bachelors.

  If I didn’t know any better, I’d think the island had no idea I was arriving today. But I was there when Mother made the arrangements; this isn’t something she’d overlook.

  I recognize one of the Kers training as the boy we first met upon coming to Kerost—Armin. We’d spent hours hammering beside him, after which Ferrick had healed the boy’s aching hands. Armin doesn’t see us, but the older woman observing him from a sea-slickened rock above the shore does. My heart skips a beat as her bitter green eyes pierce through me. For a moment I stand still, fists clenched, because I remember her last words to me.

  The next time you come here, it better be with an entire fleet.

  The moment I took the throne, I sent her just that.

  The woman holds her chin proud, and it’s with a start that I catch sight of the shimmering gold emblem on the shoulder of her amethyst cloak. She’s Kerost’s adviser; the one who didn’t show up for the meeting on Arida. And she’s waiting for me.

  “Wait here,” I tell the others, though Casem’s quick to respond.

  “You’re not to be left alone, Amora. It isn’t safe.”

  I flash him my deepest scowl, but Casem’s unfazed.

  “She’s their adviser,” I argue.

  “And I’m your guard.” His arms fold as his eyes flicker away. “Something here isn’t right, and it’s my duty to protect you.” The heat in his voice is enough for me to read between the lines, and with the dawning realization comes a pit in my stomach.

  Casem’s father, Olin, was my father’s most trusted friend and protector, until Olin betrayed him. I’ve no resentment for Casem, who had no idea his father had teamed up with Kaven until it was too late. As someone who is also indirectly responsible for the deaths of too many, I can only sympathize.

  “You’re not your father.” My voice is soft as his shoulders deflate. “And I am not mine. I’m here for my people to get to know me. They need to feel like I’ve dropped my guard around them, and that’s not going to happen with you as my shadow. I’ve been sparring with you for years, Casem. Do you think you’ve taught me well?”

  His face retracts with confusion. “Of course I have—”

  “Then stop worrying about me. Magic or not, I can take care of myself.”

  Casem grinds his j
aw, but eventually bows his head in defeat and steps back with the others. With his blessing, I stalk through the shore and up a sandy cliffside until I reach Kerost’s adviser. In the time it’s taken me to climb, she’s scooted herself over so that I might have a spot beside her on the large rock. Silently, I take it.

  “So you’re our queen, now,” she says after a moment, still observing the boy I can only assume is her grandson.

  “I am.” I’ve no idea why my words feel so grating, or why nerves eat the lining of my stomach raw. “And it looks as though you’re the new adviser.”

  The title causes her lips to twist so fiercely I nearly flinch. “It wasn’t my choice, but a decision made by those who remain here on Kerost.”

  My own lips sour now. Like the Montara family, advisers typically come from the same lineage. But I don’t need to ask for it to be clear that whoever was the adviser must have died in the most recent storm. Kerost must have improvised by choosing their own ruler.

  This woman, at least, is a good fit.

  “It would’ve been nice to see you at the council meeting.” I’m careful with my words, understandably on thin ice. “I never even got your name.”

  “Ephra Tost,” she says stonily, still looking ahead.

  I’m painfully aware of how slow Ephra’s movements are. The last time I saw her, she’d been using time magic to speed up her body. Now, each of her movements appears deliberate, slow and pained. Though she’s an elder, her hair has grayed and her skin has wrinkled well beyond her years. Looking at her, I can’t help but recognize that while Kerost finally has a chance at stability, I was still too late. So much time was taken from too many people, and they’ll never get it back. No matter how hard I tried, I’ve still failed them. But as I’m about to apologize, Lady Tost extends a shaky hand and sets it atop my lap, taking hold of my hand.

  “You did well.” She keeps her eyes on her grandson, never looking directly at me. “You have done more for my people in two seasons than any High Animancer has done for us in their lifetime.” I try to draw my hand back, an argument burning my tongue, but she holds tight. “My son and his wife were killed in a storm. Their house and everything in it was destroyed; only Armin made it. He was buried beneath their bodies, crying, when I found him.” She nods to the boy on the shore, who falls back into the sand as the water he was attempting to control smacks him hard in the face.

  “But as well as you’re doing, I’m afraid Kerost cannot forgive you so easily,” Lady Tost continues. “All it would have taken was someone who was willing to give us the tools necessary to take care of ourselves. This is why I couldn’t come to Arida. While I appreciate that you were finally the one to give us those tools, we don’t want instructions on how we must use them. I know all about your reason for being here, and about the husband you must find. But I invited you here to this island so you could see our progress, not to celebrate you after what we’ve endured. While you parade around with bachelors, our efforts will be focused on restoring our island. Kerost wants no part in this charade.”

  Every word stings like venom seeping into my skin. I finally manage to slide my hand away from hers, knots of nerves coiled like snakes in my throat.

  I understand where she’s coming from—we took too long, and left Kerost with too much pain because of it. If I were in her position, I’d do the same for my island. I’d demand better, just as she is.

  But I’m not Ephra. I am Visidia’s queen, and already my plans of traveling the islands and finding this legendary artifact are being interrupted. And we haven’t even been ashore for an hour.

  If I’m to continue this journey, I can’t let the rest of Visidia see that I was turned away by Kerost, or let them believe they can get away with the same treatment. And I certainly can’t let myself get kicked off the island until I find out more about Ornell, the only person with the information on the artifact I’m to find.

  “I don’t expect your forgiveness so easily.” The tension tightening my muscles has me tripping over my words. “And I understand you not wanting to participate, though I assure you, I’ve no intention to parade. But if you invited me here to see the progress of this island, surely you can allow my crew and me at least the night here? I’d like to see how Kerost is faring.”

  Ephra’s snort is a rueful sound. “I can’t stop the queen from staying however long she wishes; we haven’t seceded from Visidia, yet. Do whatever you’d like. But know that Kerost isn’t the home I once knew, and I expect you’ll find it’s a different island entirely. I dare say that Blarthe’s influence on our island actually left us with something good.”

  My brows crease. “What do you mean?”

  She pats my thigh before drawing her hand back into her own lap. “Go and pay a visit to Vice.” She says it with such finality that one might think she herself was queen. I leave only after thanking her, and head back down the cliffs to rejoin the others.

  Vataea’s the first one I see waiting for me. Her eyes flit back and forth over the beach, body coiled and ready to spring. Though she’s said nothing, I imagine that being back on the island she was forced to live on for so long against her will is a torment.

  “Are you all right?” I ask her quietly. “No one will think anything of it if you need to wait on Keel Haul.”

  She only shakes her head and says, “If that bastard’s still hiding here, I want to be the first to find him.”

  Ferrick’s throat bobs as he swallows, and I cut him a quick look to remind him not to say anything. I’ll tell Vataea the truth about Blarthe soon. Just … not until after I find the artifact.

  “If you change your mind, you can leave any time. But for now, it sounds like we’re headed to Vice.”

  * * *

  Kerost is far from the easiest island to navigate to. Tucked at the southwest edge of the kingdom, it lacks sights like the beautiful gardens of Arida, the volcanos and hot springs in Valuka, or the lavish glam of Mornute. It’s Visidia’s smallest island, and without any natural draw, it’s never been a stopping place for travelers. But as we round the hill toward Vice, it becomes increasingly clear that Kerost is far from the island it once was.

  “What in the gods’ names…” Ferrick’s surprise mirrors my own as we’re forced to group tightly together, not wanting to get lost in the crowd that packs the streets. For the sake of keeping a low profile and experiencing Kerost without drawing attention to myself, I pull my cloak tight—enchanted to be Ker amethyst rather than sapphire, thanks to Shanty—and raise my hood.

  “BILLIARDS AND BLACKJACK!” yells a woman clad in a skintight amethyst dress. It’s cut so low in the front that my skin heats, never having seen anyone daring enough to wear something like that. The rest of the crew stares too, shameless, and I clear my throat as the woman yells again, “Come test your luck at billiards and blackjack!”

  Another woman stands at a newly erected structure across from her, calling out to the crowd with matching enthusiasm, “Ladies, we’ve got the most beautiful gentlemen in the entire kingdom waiting to serve you.” She slings her arm around one of two young women who take pause, and lures her toward the entrance with well-practiced charm. “That’s right, come on in. Right this way.”

  Farther down the street, patrons lift their ale to the skies before splashing mugs together with rowdy laughter. Their skin is flushed and their eyes bloodshot as they yell bets on what sounds like some kind of race.

  While many of the patrons roaming the streets of Kerost wear the striking amethyst shade that marks them as a Ker—someone who once would only have specialized in time magic—dozens of other patrons fill the streets, as well. From the lavish styles they wear, it’s easy to make out that the majority are from Ikae. It appears today’s Ikaean fashion trend is clouds, which all try their best to resemble by wearing shades of pinks, lavenders, soft blues, and cream. Most look like puff pastries, but one cleverly styled patron has dressed like a raging storm. An occasional bolt of lightning strikes through his navy suit every
few minutes, turning it a startling shade of yellow. Another Ikaean woman has dressed in all gray tulle; she must practice Valukan magic now as well, for she’s created her own personal rain cloud above her head. Though it drips a steady stream of rain upon her, she never gets wet.

  There are many Valukans as well, and even some Aridians weaving in and out of the gray stone buildings. Some stumble, intoxicated, while others yell about how their money was stolen and how all the games are rigged.

  On one corner, a young man is taking his chance at conversing with a small group of women. On the opposite corner, a child sells stacks of moving parchments.

  “Queen Amora is looking for a husband! Just a single piece of sea glass to read! That’s right, folks, step right up for your copy…”

  All the activity happening on these streets is so disorienting that Casem draws a protective step closer to me.

  “Seem like they’ve turned themselves into a giant gambling den.” There’s no malice or judgment in Bastian’s words. If anything, he sounds impressed. I follow his focus when he points ahead, to the sign that reads VICE. It’s been painted since we were last here at Blarthe’s old place, now boasting a flashy silver background with bold amethyst letters. Women who venture into the establishment wear short dresses or shimmering suits beneath the coats they leave at the door, while the men don their finest. Everything is flashy in a way I’ve never before seen; it’s overwhelming, loud, and with this much alcohol and money floating around, it’s certainly not safe.

  “Everyone keep close,” Casem demands, hands flexing to the pommel of his sword. “This place is dangerous.”

  “This place is incredible,” I argue.

  “It’s remarkable,” Shanty echoes, lifting her hood and dipping her face so that others in the crowd don’t notice the enchantment leeching over her skin as she presses two fingertips against her cheeks. She softens her eyes and makes her hair longer and her lips pouty and full, transforming herself into someone with the kind of sweet innocence too many men like to take advantage of. The dress that’s taking form beneath her coat, however, is anything but innocent.