All the Tides of Fate

by Adalyn Grace

  “After today, there will be no more trying.” Without lifting a finger, Elias knocks Bastian to the ground once more. Steel flashes as he draws a thin blade from his belt.

  Fear crashes through me cold as ice as he ducks over Bastian, brandishing the blade. I rush to my feet, breathless, but I’ll never make it in time.

  And yet it isn’t fear I sense swelling from Bastian. It’s pride.

  Slick as an eel, he kicks Elias in the chest and draws a push blade from somewhere in his coat, ramming it into Elias’s hand.

  Elias stumbles back, clutching his bloody hand to his chest. “You’ll die for that!”

  Bastian casts me a fleeting, almost apologetic look and reaches to his side—to a satchel at his hip.

  Understanding dawns the moment before I feel the pulse of my magic as it flares to life within him, white-hot and all-consuming. It’s fire in my veins, scorching through me until I’m on my knees, suffocating beneath it.

  I try to take control of it; to open myself up to its familiar pressure. But the magic refuses to obey. Because it’s not me the magic rests within. It’s Bastian, and he has no idea how to wield it.

  He clutches a shard of bone in his fists, coating it with Elias’s blood from the push blade, and I buckle. His muscles tense with determination, yet his confusion rolls over me like a wave as he stares at the bone.

  You’ll know, I’d told him. If you ever have to use it, gods forbid, you’ll know how.

  And with a sickening understanding, he does.

  Bastian puts the end of the bloodied bone in his mouth, clenches his teeth down on it, and snaps it roughly in half, splintering the bone and nearly taking one of his own teeth with it.

  Elias’s scream is followed by a series of snaps as his arm contorts so grotesquely that the bones protrude from his skin. He roars, dropping to his knees as Bastian spits the bone out, gagging on the blood that coats his lips and tongue.

  The breaths Elias takes are through gritted teeth, seething and desperate. Lost to the heat and power of the magic, Bastian shakily draws another bone from his satchel, but buckles before he can use it, the soul magic raging against his body.

  Elias’s hazy eyes turn white as milk as he jerks his uninjured hand out, and once again I’m being pulled against my will. He drags me across the jungle floor until his hand is around my neck, squeezing as he pins me down and stabs his blade into the meat of my thigh.

  “Make another move,” he seethes between angry breaths, spitting with each word, “and I’ll kill her.”

  I can’t conceal my anguish as Elias grinds the blade deeper into my thigh for emphasis, then yanks it back out. From either Bastian’s pain or my own, my vision blinks white. I feel every inch of the cold steel in my body.

  Hands trembling, I clutch for Elias as though I’m falling.

  And gods do I want to fall. To give in. But I didn’t put myself through this pain to have him not fall with me.

  He stabs through my thigh again and roughly jerks the blade back out. But this time as he bends to do it, I grab a fistful of his hair with one hand, summon every inch of will left in me, and hoist myself up enough to punch the poison-soaked needles between my fingers deep into his throat.

  Elias jerks back, bulging eyes going bloodshot as the cloudy haze fades from them. Pressing shaking fingers to his neck, he gags as they brush against the needle. A tiny, terrified sound slips through his lips. “What did you do to me?” The shakiness of his hands turns to a full tremble, though he tries hard to steady his hold on his blade. “What did you do?”

  I laugh, half delirious as my fingers warm in the small puddle of blood forming around my open wound. It won’t take long for me to bleed out like this; I can only hope the poison is fast acting. “Poison’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

  Fat beads of blood bubble at his neck and roll down the length of it. Squinting through the haze threatening to eat my vision, I smile when the blood isn’t red, but inky black.

  Elias screams and clenches both hands around his dagger, and I know exactly what he plans to do with it. But before he can stab me again, a knife spears through his stomach. Bastian drops his hand from the pommel, panting. His eyes are beginning to roll up to his skull from aftershocks of the soul magic his body was not made to use. The poison eats through him as well, and the cloud over my vision blossoms. My own breath sharpens as my eyes mirror his, rolling back into my skull.

  When he seizes, so do I.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  I wake to the scent of sandalwood and the chatter of concerned whispers.

  For a moment I contemplate keeping my eyes shut tight so that I might return to the heavy siren call of sleep. But when I recognize one of the low voices as Bastian’s, my attention can’t help but stir; his voice is more ragged than usual. The longer I listen to it, the more the puzzle pieces in my head snap together until I remember the poison. The sword. My thigh. And another person dead by my hand.

  “Amora?” Nelly’s airy voice beckons. “Your Majesty, can you hear me? I think she’s waking up.” There’s a clatter of footsteps against the wood, and the air around me constricts. Slowly, although I wish I didn’t have to, I open my eyes and take in the circle of anxious faces staring back at me—Vataea, Shanty, Ferrick, Casem, Ilia, and Nelly. My brows furrow when I notice a face is missing, until warm fingers graze mine and I turn.

  Bastian’s lying on the cot beside me, his hair a mess. “We should really try to work on our fainting. Perhaps we can make it a once-an-adventure type thing?”

  “How about a never thing?” Ferrick chimes in, ignoring Bastian’s wrinkling nose. “I didn’t sign on to be a personal healer.”

  “I’m not sure we’d even be able to call it an adventure if there was never fainting, mate.”

  I curl my fingers around his outstretched hand, letting the warmth of our connection settle between us. My forced laughter sounds like a croaking frog, hoarse and painful. “How long have we been out?”

  “You?” Bastian’s teasing tone takes a serious edge. “Two days. I was awake after the first, but they put me on bed rest because of my … symptoms.”

  “You both were having seizures,” Nelly clarifies sternly, her eyes narrowing when Bastian tries to edge around her words. My chest falls when he steers his attention from my face, refusing to look at me. But I don’t need Nelly’s words to know that something’s wrong with him. I feel as though my body’s been struck by a cannon, each movement sluggish, the pain dull but distant.

  This pain belongs to Bastian, and I know at once it’s because he used soul magic.

  Though Bastian has access to the magic because of Kaven’s curse, he’s not a Montara; his body isn’t equipped to handle it. Every one of Kaven’s followers who chased after soul magic either wound up dead or deteriorated. It even got to Kaven in the end, skewing his perception and driving his bloodlust until it consumed him entirely.

  I try to catch his attention, but once more his focus turns flighty, purposely avoiding me.

  “You were too reckless.” Ferrick’s the one who breaks the silence, white-knuckling the sheets of the cot I lie upon. “You’re the queen now, Amora. You need to stop throwing yourself into danger.”

  “I always seem to make it out okay.” The words are out before I can stop them, tense and bitter. “It’s everyone else around me who gets hurt.”

  Bastian’s lips screw tight enough to tell me it was the wrong thing to say. But it’s also the truth. No matter how many times I dive into a fight, there’s always someone left worse off. Father. Aunt Kalea. Mira. Bastian.

  Nelly clears her throat as if to ease the tension away. She’s seated by my leg, cleaning it with a cloth that drips with a thick yellow liquid. Ferrick’s seated across from her, watching intently.

  “I can close your wounds as many times as you need me to,” he grumbles, as if able to sense my stare, “but I can’t manifest more blood. I appreciate what you did for us, but it’s our job to protect you. Our kingdom needs you
right now.”

  His edge of warning gives me pause, and I fight back a cringe I don’t want him to see.

  “I’m sorry.” I grit the words out, not favoring the taste of them. Rage pulses Ferrick’s jaw.

  “Your wounds are sealed.” He stands but doesn’t move, having nowhere to go. “Between you, Bastian, and Elias, I only had the energy to keep you from death’s door. You’re going to have a scar, but we have ointments to help with that, and once we’re done here I can try to heal it, but it might be a slow—”

  I sit up too quickly, blood rushing to my head and a dull throbbing in my thigh making me bite back a curse. “Elias is alive?”

  Ferrick’s spine straightens, guilt eating into the edges of his frown. “I didn’t know what else to do. He was watching me as I was taking care of you and Bastian. He kept staring, and … Yeah. He’s alive.”

  I steal a look at Bastian, whose cool eyes cut to mine. Elias saw Bastian use soul magic. If word about that got out before we were ready to tell the kingdom the truth, it could ruin everything.

  “There’s something you should know.” Though Ferrick speaks gently, something in his tone draws my attention. “The poison … It’s affected his mind. He doesn’t seem to remember who he is.”

  If it’s true, then it’s a relief. But I can’t afford to take any risks; already my mind is spinning on how to keep this a secret.

  “What you did to Elias … did you plan that?” Until now, Ilia has remained silent. Shadows fill the hard lines of her face, aging her.

  “I did what I had to do to stay alive,” I tell her, recalling the anger in her eyes back at the tea shop, and the way she practically ripped Elias away from me. I’d thought she hated me, but perhaps it wasn’t me she was worried about at all. “Did you know he was the one who poisoned me?”

  Her chair practically swallows her, and the streaks of dried tears on her face tell me she’d be thankful if it did. “I had my suspicions.” She sits up only to set a hand upon Ferrick’s shoulder, a tremor rattling her voice. “I will never be able to thank you enough for saving him. I never expected … I knew he wanted things for Curmana and for the kingdom that I didn’t agree with. But I never thought he’d take it this far.”

  Nelly takes Ilia’s hand, cradling it in her lap as if to let her wife know she’s there with her. “It’s my fault, Your Majesty. Ilia warned me of what she feared he was becoming, but I didn’t want to believe it. I’ve known him since he was a child; he’s truly like my own brother. I thought maybe if he met you, or maybe if he heard you out, he’d understand there are other solutions out there than just his own. I wanted him to learn.”

  The guilt from Nelly is so palpable it hits me in dense waves that roll off her as I ask, “So you both knew about the poisons on your island? And about the changes Elias wanted for Visidia?”

  While Nelly’s head drops and tears spring to her eyes, Ilia screws her jaw tight and lifts her chin higher.

  “We were trying to put a stop to the poisons ourselves, before the royal soldiers needed to intervene,” Ilia says. “I didn’t want to believe that my brother was capable of this. But I promise you, I will do everything in my power to make it up to not only you, but to this entire island. I thought it was the right time to give him a chance to prove himself and step up to the position of a ruler. I wanted him to see how challenging the role truly was … But I underestimated his arrogance, it seems. He’s so young, and the power must have gone straight to his head.”

  “I’m younger than he is, and I am the queen of this entire kingdom.” They’re words that give Ilia pause, crumpling her shoulders as I turn to Casem. “Men don’t always need lessons; sometimes they need punishment. His age is no excuse for attempting regicide. Casem, I need you to take him to Arida immediately, where he’ll wait in the prisons until my return. I’ll oversee his trial myself.”

  Ilia flinches as though I’ve struck her; we both know it’s not a trial he’ll win. Her mouth opens, closes, and ultimately she says nothing as Nelly’s bottom lip trembles.

  For their sake, I wish I could make an exception. But Elias made no small grievance, and even if he doesn’t yet realize it, he knows too much. Even if I put him in the prisons, he has mind speak. He could share the information he has far too easily.

  “I should stay with you,” Casem argues quietly, though there’s no conviction in his voice. His face is a stark white, knowing as well as I do that we’ll have to find a way to silence Elias permanently. If he’s already poisoned, it wouldn’t be a stretch to believe he died on the ship during his journey to Arida.

  “Ferrick will take over your position as mind speaker,” I say. “This takes priority.”

  Ilia makes a strange choking noise in the back of her throat, and Ferrick reaches to squeeze her shoulder. For a moment, I hate him for being able to do that. For being able to apologize to her, and for not being responsible for this decision. While I’m the one lying here on the cot, nearly having bled to death for stopping someone who wanted to commit regicide, someone else gets to be the good guy.

  Nelly holds Ilia’s other hand tight, and as if to break the tension of the situation, Ferrick nods to her and says, “Nelly’s on the staff of Curmana’s healing ward, and has studied the development of Curmanan herbs and medicines firsthand. She made the ointment on your leg.”

  I blink, peering down to see that my leg’s been thoroughly numbed by a thick green paste that smells of mint and basil.

  “If Amora ever decides she’d like a new adviser, I’m coming here to study.” Ferrick’s awe as he eyes the ointment is undeniable. “There’s so much here. So many herbs and plants for tonics, and medicine, and—”

  “Poison.” I lift my brows while Ferrick’s furrow.

  “Yes … And poison. But there’s good on this island too, Amora. Those herbs have done a lot of amazing things.”

  “I should have alerted you the first time I heard about it.” Ilia’s voice is fraying at the edges, her sorrow and guilt easily the most palpable emotion I’ve yet to see from her. “For every incredible medicine we create, there’s someone out there who finds a way to make it into something foul. I had soldiers scouting, some of them even undercover, and we’ve made arrests of our own. I thought we could handle it internally; we didn’t want to scare anyone.” She pauses. “But I see now that it wasn’t enough. As good as we’ve gotten at hunting them, they’ve gotten even better at hiding. I never thought my brother would involve himself in something like that.”

  “You’re right,” I say. “You should have alerted us the moment you discovered this was an issue. But now all we can do is find ways to control these substances. We can shut down access to the jungle. Put soldiers on patrol, and ban access to anyone who isn’t certified to use the herbs for the development of medicine. Even then, no one should be able to journey into the jungle alone; they’ll go in teams.”

  “Amora.” I only notice how heavy the bags are beneath Bastian’s eyes when he rolls them. “You nearly bled to death. Policy can wait until you’re feeling better.” Carefully, he lifts himself with a wince and reaches his hands out to me again. “I think we should heal up and get moving. The less people who know about this incident, the better. The only ones who ever need to know are here in this room.”

  Get moving.

  I tense.

  Four days on Curmana. Four wasted days, no closer to finding Ornell Rosenblathe. It’s not an outcome I can accept.

  “Where do my people think I am?” My words are hesitant, almost afraid to ask.

  “We told them you had a horrible case of food poisoning,” Nelly says softly, “and that we were busy trying to nurse you back to health and keep you inside, because all you wanted to do was see them.”

  “All the parchments are talking about it,” Shanty chimes in. “It’s a good thing. People are angry at Curmana, not at you. It’s created sympathy among Visidians.”

  Grateful as I am, that doesn’t stop the aching in my chest. In every r
egard, I’m failing miserably. Whether I’m to meet my people and put on a show for them, or find Ornell and the artifact, nothing I’ve attempted has gone right.

  On Kerost, I was challenged for engaging with my people.

  On Curmana, I was poisoned by someone who wished to end my reign.

  I don’t even want to imagine what might happen at our next destination.

  I’m half tempted to give up now. To accept my curse and my lost magic, and sit on the throne until someone comes for me. I can leave it up to the next poor bastard to fix this kingdom’s mess.

  And yet I can’t convince myself to take that step. I can’t convince myself not to care.

  Because to my core, I am still Visidia’s queen. My people deserve everything and more for what my family has done to them, and unfortunately, I’m the only one with the power to give that to them. Until my last breath, I must keep trying.

  “Elias told me you were good with names,” I say to Ilia. It feels like I’m swimming in muddied water trying to find my words, but I get there. “Have you ever heard of someone with the surname Rosenblathe? There’s an adventurer by the name of Ornell Rosenblathe, and I have reason to believe he’s here on Curmana. Before I leave, I need to meet him.”

  The moment Ilia’s eyes widen, relief bursts within me so fiercely I could cry. Silently, I thank the gods for taking pity on me just this once.

  Ilia recognizes it. I don’t need her to answer to see that. But, curiously, her eyes dip to Nelly, whose tearful eyes have gone owlish.

  “How,” Nelly asks, “do you know my birth name?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  I was a fool for assuming Ornell was a man. All this time I’d been expecting a bachelor, and here she was, right under my nose.

  “If you want my help,” Bastian says to me tersely, “then it’s time to tell me what’s going on.”

  Only the two of us are left in the room. By my command, Nelly waits outside while the others have vacated entirely. Looking at Bastian now, my skin flushes hot and my stomach twists. I can’t help but think of when we were last together, and the words he’d admitted.