by Adalyn Grace
Bastian’s eyes are all over me. Unlike Ferrick, who’d be sending me silent messages to be more sensitive, Bastian looks as intrigued as I am when I ask, “Nelly, were you ever able to find anything out from those maps?”
Nelly’s eyes darken, lips screwing tight. “Whatever my father was after, Your Majesty, you don’t want to touch. The magic he used is something that shouldn’t be part of this world. It’s something no human should ever know.”
I straighten as well as I can to look her in the eye, putting every ounce of power I have into my voice. “If you figured out where to find the godwoken, I need for you to tell me. Don’t give me a reason to make it an order.”
Though it lasts only a moment, her resolve cracks. Fresh tears spring to her eyes. “Valuka” is all she whispers for a long moment, as if struggling with the moral battle of dragging the words out of herself. “As I said, I was obsessed with him. Even when my mother and I fled, I read everything I could about the godwoken. I wasted too many years tracking them, as if finding one could make my father love me, or realize I was worth something.” She scoffs, lowering her head. “There were many rumored sightings of the godwoken, especially around Kerost. People believed that since storms are so frequent there, it must have something to do with angry godwoken living in the waters near it. But I never liked that legend. It seemed too easy.
“There was another one that stood out to me, though. About a mythical serpent that lives in the depths of Valuka’s volcanos,” Nelly continues. “The volcanos are active, so it’s challenging to confirm if such a creature really exists. But I traveled there one day, just to see. I couldn’t get anywhere near the volcano; the smoke is too thick. It’s unnatural. But … there’s this presence. I can’t explain it, but it’s like there’s something within the smoke, something powerful. I’d bet my life that’s where it’s hiding. But for your sake, Amora, I hope you never find it.” With that she stands and makes her way to the door. “Remember to use ointment twice a day to help with the scarring. And keep doing your stretches. Take it easy, Your Majesty, and good luck.”
When the door shuts, Bastian’s eyes bore into me, searching. “Did you know what the artifact could do?”
The longing within him intensifies, as does my own. With the power of the gods in our hands, we could change everything.
“I didn’t know everything.”
We could raise the dead … I could bring back Father.
The hunger in Bastian’s eyes tells me his thoughts aren’t far from my own, and for the first time since having this curse, I wish I could pry myself deeper into his mind to see what he’s thinking.
“You really miss them, don’t you?” I ask.
Bastian rolls back his shoulders, straightening himself before he answers, “Every day.”
“And it never gets any easier?”
There’s a long moment where he says nothing, screwing his lips tight in thought. Then, slowly, he crosses the floor to the cot I’m on and settles himself upon the edge. As he takes hold of my hand, my skin cools.
“Loss can drive people to do shameful things.” His thumb brushes slowly across my knuckles, though his eyes are distant, lost somewhere within Bastian’s thoughts. “For me, it made me flee my home for years, leaving my people to suffer. For Rogan, he gave up his ability to love, and was willing to sacrifice his wife and child.
“I don’t know if it ever gets easier,” he continues. “If it does, then I’m still waiting. Because no matter what Kaven did—no matter the pain he’s caused and everything he took—I still miss the days before he found Cato’s damn knife and decided his purpose was to change Visidia. I still wonder if I could have changed things. If there was something I did wrong, or an opportunity I missed that could have saved my family.”
Bastian doesn’t look at me; I can feel his soul is tearing at the seams. It’s the same as my own. Even without this curse between us, Bastian and I are the same.
“Loss will rip you apart, Amora.” There’s a sense of urgency in his hazel eyes. “It will take whatever you give it, and it will never be satisfied. So don’t you dare give it yourself.”
His grip on my hand tightens, and I know exactly what he means without needing to ask. Bastian doesn’t need to read my thoughts to understand my soul. If he could have brought back his parents, I’m sure he would have done it.
Father wasn’t always a perfect man, and he was far from the perfect king. But gods did I love him.
I could live with my curses forever if it meant I could use the godwoken’s magic to see him again.
To seek his advice. Sail with him. Go on an adventure, and chase down the fiercest beasts of the sea.
Gods, what I wouldn’t give to hear his laugh one more time.
But no matter what I use the godwoken’s magic for, I must pay a toll far heavier than I ever imagined.
To have what you most want, you must give up what you most love.
There are many things I love; but what is it that I love most? What, exactly, will I be forced to pay if I’m to use this magic?
“Promise me you won’t use that artifact.” Bastian’s voice is as soft as I’ve ever heard it. “When we find it, we’ll figure out a way to use it that doesn’t require such a steep payment. I don’t want you touching it, Amora. Not before we figure out a better way.”
Fear rolls from him in waves, but I’m not offended. He’s right to doubt my intentions.
If I had the power to bring Father back, he and I could heal Visidia together. We could find a different way to restore soul magic to the kingdom. He could atone for what he did.
“I promise.” The lie passes my lips before I think to stop it. “Once we find the artifact, we’ll find another way to use it.”
I peel from my bed beneath Bastian’s scrutiny, effectively ending this conversation as I peek out through heavy satin curtains to confirm it’s nightfall.
Ilia was wise enough not to take us to the healing ward for recovery, but to her personal home. Though I’ve only seen the guest suite, its beautiful white stone flooring and lattice ceiling is enough to tell me this place is grand.
While my leg has mostly healed, there’s still an aching in the muscles of my left thigh that screams with every small step. I grit through the stiffness of the muscles, and take Bastian by the forearm as we climb down a spiral stone staircase.
“The others should already be waiting,” he says, going as slow as my needs dictate. Which, unfortunately, is little more than a slow crawl.
I’m expecting a silent night upon the shore when Bastian tosses the door open, but what I receive is far beyond that.
The shore is lined with Curmanan citizens dressed in their finest, their heads bowed and hands lifted with offerings—silks, fruits, sweets, stretching the entirety of the way down to Keel Haul.
I stumble at the sight of them, surprise snatching my breath. Bastian presses a steadying hand to my back, grinning at the display before us.
“I know I wasn’t supposed to tell them,” Ilia’s voice comes quiet and timid from the porch, “but your people didn’t get long to see you, and they wanted to say goodbye.”
Carefully I unlace my arm from Bastian’s, straightening to hide my injury as I make my way onto the shore.
The first person waiting there is a man I recognize from the night of the party, someone who made polite conversation. He lowers to a knee, and offers a gorgeous silk shawl. “To keep you warm on your journey,” he says as I take the silks slowly, brushing my fingers along the luxurious fabric.
Beside him, a woman with a loose chignon drops to a knee and offers a bottle of sparkling red wine. “To keep you free on your journey.”
I laugh and thank her, handling the bottle to Bastian, who lingers protectively behind me. Even the Ikaean reporter waits upon the shore, hands trembling as he offers apologies in the form of sweets. To him, I turn up my nose and walk away. While I never had the chance to say anything to him, it looks as though Casem’s given him quite t
he lecture.
I wish I could sample the food my people offer, or the lotions and oils they place into my palms. I want to trust them, but the aching of my thigh reminds me I’m safer if I don’t. I’ll smile and accept their offerings, but it will only be to later dispose of anything that could be laced with poison. As painful as it is, it’ll be safer that way.
Even the Curmanan soldiers help carry the offered goods up to Keel Haul, and for one of the first times since summer, my chest swells with pride.
Perhaps Elias truly was an anomaly. Perhaps not everyone thinks I’m doing such a horrible job after all.
Casem waits for us on the base of Keel Haul’s ramp. “I’ll pray that your time on the other islands will be safer and grander than what you’ve experienced so far.” He stretches out his arms, scooping me into a tight hug. I laugh weakly against his chest, returning it.
“Give Mira my regards,” I say as I ease away, letting Casem linger back toward the edge of the ramp. “And tell my mother we’re headed to Valuka, next.”
Casem keeps his face stern as he smooths pale fingers through his honey-blond waves. “I’ll let them know to start preparing. If you need anything, have Ferrick contact me. He’s a horrible mind speaker—always sounds like he’s yelling through a conch shell—but he should be able to reach me.”
“I will. And I’m sorry to ask this of you, Casem, but … you know what to do with Elias.”
He nods swiftly, not needing me to elaborate. “I’ll deal with it. You focus on taking care of yourself, all right? We’re going to get through this.”
Nodding, I release him and start up the ramp to where Shanty and Vataea wait for me, wearing proud smiles.
As we draw up the anchors, drifting away from the docks, Bastian casts me a look over his shoulder. “To Valuka?”
“To Valuka.”
Bastian lifts a compass to the air and twists the helm, setting our course westbound. “Hang on tight, Ferrick, and try to keep that stomach of yours. We’re in for a bumpy night.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Not even the gentle pull of the waves is enough to lull me to sleep. At this point, I’m convinced I’ll never again have a full night’s rest unless I’m poisoned or ill. I should have stolen some sleeping powder from Curmana while I had the chance.
It’s the aching in my thigh that keeps me awake and alert, tense from every creaking floorboard and every slam of the wind against the ship. I know it’s irrational—nothing can get me in the middle of the sea, unless the Lusca decides to test its luck, again. But even so, memories of Kerost and Curmana rattle against my skull, tricking my eyes into seeing strange stirrings in the shadows of beasts that aren’t truly there.
Some of the Kers had turned their noses up at my rule, believing it to be too little too late.
Elias had tried to poison me to shake the throne and upturn the monarchy. He wanted Curmana to rule itself, and was willing to kill me to do it.
And no matter how I spin it—no matter how power hungry Elias may be—perhaps he had a point.
After all this time and everything we’ve done, why should the Montaras still rule Visidia?
But there’s another thought warring against memories of Elias, as well.
I’d thought I had my plan ready—find the artifact, break my curses, and restore Visidia to what it always should have been. But now the inkling of hesitation sinks into me, burrowing itself deep.
If I find this artifact, I’ll have the power to bring Father back. And despite Bastian’s warning, despite every awful feeling within me that says breaking the curse is the right move for Visidia and that Father was an awful king, I want to be selfish. I want to hear his laugh one more time. I want to see his real eyes, and not the two holes filled with smoke and shadows that wait for me in my dreams.
But if I give myself that gift, what would happen to Visidia? Without the truth—without magic restored to them once and for all—how am I better than any other Montara?
Not to mention there will be a price to pay, no matter what I choose to do.
To have what you most want, you must give up what you most love.
But what exactly is that?
“Are you going to tell me what the problem is, or are you going to keep sighing all night?” Vataea’s voice cuts the silence of our dark room. Even heavy with sleep, her words still sound like a lullaby.
“What will happen if I choose the sighing?” She’ll either roll her eyes or eat me alive for the joke, but either way, I’ll know if this is a conversation she’s awake enough to have.
To my surprise, Vataea snorts. “Then I’ll melt a candle and stuff my ears with its wax, and you may go on sighing for as long as you wish.” It’s too dark in the windowless cabin to see her, though I can tell she shifts from the rustling of her hammock. When she speaks again, her voice is louder and more focused. “What’s wrong?”
My injured thigh pulses as I turn to face her. Even if we can’t see each other, it feels better this way. “Why are you still here, V?”
Given the long silence that follows, I know this isn’t the question she’d been expecting. She hesitates for a moment, and only when it appears she’ll never answer does she ask, in a voice unusually quiet for her, “Would you rather I be somewhere else?”
“That’s not it at all. But you could be anywhere right now, doing anything. So why are you here with us? Why would you risk your life for us, when there’s so much more you could be doing?”
Her sigh comes after a brief pause, long and dramatic. “If I knew we were sharing our feelings tonight, I would have stayed asleep.”
I roll my eyes, thinking to chuck my pillow at her face. Remembering those teeth of hers, however, I think better of it.
“Humor me,” I tell her. “Just this once.”
She flips onto her side, and though I can’t be sure, I swear those yellow eyes of hers can see me in the darkness.
“If you really want to know, I’ll tell you. But I’ll say it only once, and will never repeat myself.” The words sound like a warning at first, but quickly turn timid, dipping to little more than a whisper. “I didn’t ever think I wanted friends until I met you, Amora. My kind is different; we have bonds, but not the kind of kinship you humans have. And I suppose … I like it. For some reason, I find myself annoyingly fond of you guppies. Besides, I always wanted to see this kingdom, and sometimes it’s preferable to do that upon a ship rather than with my own fins.”
Her words cleave through me, splitting me straight in two. I know at once I have to tell Vataea the truth. I have to tell her everything.
“V, there’s something—”
“No more of this conversation,” she says in a brisk voice I recognize as embarrassment. “Tell me what’s wrong with you. What are you sighing about?”
“I don’t—”
“Tell me, or I’m sleeping outside.”
Guilt crawls at my skin, but the moment to tell her has passed. Instead I do what she wants and ask, “Do you think Elias was right?”
Her response comes slowly, thoughtfully. “I think Elias wanted power.”
“But do you think he was right? That maybe Visidia’s problem is that we have one sole ruler?”
This time, she pauses for so long I fear she’s fallen asleep. “Where is this coming from?”
I tense and turn toward the shadows on the ceiling now, thoughts whirling. “I think his methods were misguided, but he made a good point. The Montaras have ruled for centuries, and yet I can count the good things they’ve done for this kingdom on one hand. My family has too much power, and Visidia’s grown stagnant under our rule. Look how much Kerost has flourished since they’ve been able to learn multiple magics, since they’ve been able to help themselves. Can you imagine a world where they were given that right all along? I can’t stop thinking about how different that world would be, if … if my family hadn’t been in charge of everything.”
Vataea considers this, then asks, “But would it truly be a
better one?”
And that’s just it. That’s what I keep coming back to. No matter how much thought I give it, it’s impossible to know the answer.
“What would you do?” I try to catch her eyes in the darkness, faintly able to make out their dim glow. “If you were me, would you step up, or would you step back?”
“If I were you, I would stop blaming myself for the grievances of the dead, even if we did once share the same blood.” They’re callous words, but they’re why I can talk to Vataea so easily. There’s no pretending with her. “Sometimes stepping down means the same thing as stepping up. This is your situation to figure out and be at peace with, Amora. But you need to get out of the past if you’re ever going to see a better future. You love your kingdom more than you love anything—you’ll do what’s right for it.”
It’s as though all of Keel Haul stills with those words.
You love your kingdom more than you love anything.
It’s with a paralyzing sickness that I realize she’s right—I love Visidia more than I love anything else.
Should I use the magic of the godwoken, losing my kingdom is the price I’d have to pay.
But what would that mean? Would I be unable to rule Visidia? Would I be forced to live somewhere else, far away in an unknown kingdom? Or would I stay and simply lose my love for my kingdom? And if that’s the case, could I handle that?
“Amora?” Sleep honeys her words, and I know she’s drifting.
“Get some rest, V.” I tuck my arms behind my head, wishing I could do the same. “I’ll be fine.”
And one way or another, I will be.
* * *
Just as I do every time the siren’s call of sleep finally comes, I dream of Father.
I dream of the smoke that builds around him as he plunges a sword deep through his stomach. Of the way the fire chars his skin inch by inch.