by Adalyn Grace
“Brace yourselves.”
The winter sea is fierce and jarring. I grip the helm tight, wrapping my fingers firmly around the wood and refusing to let myself be bullied by the tides.
Sand red as blood waits for us on the shores of Arida, marking our destination. I focus on it as the sea drags us in, and so does Bastian. Ferrick and Shanty brace themselves, grabbing on to the rigging to keep stabilized. Bastian’s truly taken to Valukan air magic; he whirls briny air through his fingertips, using it to billow and twist the sails while I take the helm to direct Keel Haul to the docks.
We make a good team, he and I.
Shanty’s the first one off as we dock, not bothering with the ramp, and Ferrick is fast behind her. He happily crouches upon the sand, dragging his fingers across it and looking like he’s half ready to roll himself in it. I wish I could share in his enthusiasm, but worry claws my throat, knowing how much there is to do now that we’ve arrived, and not knowing how anyone will respond to the changes I’m about to make.
The worry dwindles when a calloused hand wraps around mine, flooding me with warmth.
Our arrival has alerted the royal soldiers, some of whom gawk at our appearance, not having anticipated us back on Arida so soon. They flock to our side and to our ship to help unload the cargo, but I’m quick to stop them.
“Spread word that there’s something I’d like to discuss with my people in one week’s time,” I tell them. “Make sure every island is alerted. Everyone who can is encouraged to attend. And make sure that, this time, Kerost is here.”
The lead soldier, Isaac, hesitates. “It’d be best if you let me escort you to the palace, Your Majesty. We need to let Visidia know you’re safe. There’s been a lot of talk in the press…”
Ferrick had seen the parchment through mind speak and informed me of its contents. But I can no longer concern myself with appearances or gossips. I’ve already made up my mind, and I’m not about to give anyone or anything else the opportunity to convince me otherwise.
Besides, I’ve kept Blarthe from justice long enough.
“You should do as I say, Isaac.” My voice is unwavering. “Right now, I need you to fetch a prisoner for me. His name is Blarthe, and he’s dangerous. Be careful.”
It doesn’t take long for the soldiers to find him. Feet and hands chained, Blarthe looks more haggard than ever as the soldiers drag him down the shore. He squints at the unfamiliar sunlight, deep shadows beneath his eyes. Time magic has taken its toll on his body; each footstep looks painful and deliberate, and he babies his left knee. His skin looks as though it’s tightened into leather, riddled with sun spots. Upon seeing him, Bastian grimaces.
Blarthe doesn’t look concerned to see me, nor is he too eager. Hungry eyes scan my hands, then my coat, looking for any sign of the artifact.
“Did you find it?” are the first words out of his mouth, and the soldier scowls, yanking Blarthe’s chains.
“Bow before your queen,” Isaac warns him.
“I don’t need his bow,” I tell him. Then, to Blarthe, I nod. “Just how many times do you plan to go against the gods, Rogan?”
At first, I’m only guessing, but the way the hunger in his eyes dims and his hands twitch at his sides tells me I was right to gamble.
“I met your daughter, but she wasn’t in Kerost like you thought she’d be. She’s happy and thriving somewhere far away from you, where she’ll never have to see your sorry face again.”
“I don’t care if you found her. The artifact. Where is the artifact?” He reaches chained hands out for the scale, and for a moment I pity the way those hands tremble. But I let that thought pass; this is a man who has been given far more years than any one life deserves. Who has turned back time not once, but twice.
Back on Kerost, he’d been using time magic to make himself look as he did when he knew Corina. All this time, he’s been trying to chase that period of his life.
I won’t make his mistakes.
“It’s not for you.” I fold my arms behind my back, keeping my chin high.
His neck retracts, a fire in his eyes that reminds me of the night we fought in Kerost. My first instinct is to pull my magic around me for protection, but I settle a hand on the hilt of Rukan, instead.
“Careful, Amora,” Shanty whispers, sensing the same threat in him that I do.
“I know,” I tell her. “Stay back.”
“I’ll tell everyone your secret.” Blarthe’s voice is brittle. “See what they think of you then, little queen. See how they tear the crown from your head.”
I unsheathe my steel dagger in one swift motion and press it deep against Blarthe’s throat. “Go right ahead.” And I mean it. This is why I’m back on Arida; I don’t care what my people think of me, anymore. It’s time they know the truth.
But what I don’t anticipate is that my getting close to Blarthe is exactly what he wants. Because like the rest of Visidia, he’s been practicing a new magic, too. And it’s one he’s been hiding.
Startling blue flames blaze across his body, burning so fiercely that the Valukan magic shatters his chains and sends the guards reeling back. I don’t have the time to pull away before those flames catch the steel of my dagger and sear the skin of my palm. I jerk back, dropping my blade on instinct, and my gut sinks when Blarthe dives for it.
He turns on the soldiers first, quicker than lightning with his time magic, and has the dagger through their bellies before I can blink. My heart seizes as Isaac falls. Blarthe’s movements aren’t anything like they were during our fight in Kerost. There’s no time to track him. No time to prepare. No longer using the time he stole from others to maintain his youthful appearance, he wields the full force of his time magic.
Blarthe is on top of me with the dagger at my throat.
“Where is it?” He rips open my jacket to search the pockets, kicking off my boots to see if I’ve hidden it there. I struggle for breath beneath the weight of him, hand searching blindly for Rukan, but I can’t reach around Blarthe to get it. Again I try to summon my magic, but it’s useless. When Blarthe doesn’t find what he’s looking for, the dagger’s cool metal presses against my skin, and I realize this is what it feels like to be truly powerless. No magic. No weapons. Just a man twice my size, holding me down with fury in his eyes.
It’s all I can do to grab hold of his arm and fight the blade off, but it’s not enough.
It’s not enough.
“Hey!” Blarthe rears back at Ferrick’s yell, and I fill my lungs with the air they’ve been desperately needing. “Is this what you’re looking for?”
And gods bless this idiot; Ferrick has the scale I thought was still tucked safely aboard my cabin on Keel Haul. It catches the sunlight, glistening like water, and suddenly Blarthe is no longer on me.
Only my crew would be foolish enough to fight a time wielder. Those who practice time magic make some of the finest soldiers, Father once told me. They’ll have their sword deep in the enemy’s gut before anyone can blink.
Seeing it in action, I know Father was right.
Blarthe’s in front of Ferrick within the second, but the boys anticipated him. Bastian sends a surge of wind that knocks Blarthe off his feet, giving Ferrick enough time to slip the scale away somewhere I don’t see. His eyes find mine and I nod, telling him I’m fine. He doesn’t have time to be distracted.
Stumbling to my feet, I finally grab Rukan tight. I’m done playing nice.
When Blarthe gathers himself, it’s not Ferrick he dives for this time, but Shanty. He’s got my dagger to her back, eyes gleaming wicked.
“Give me the artifact or she’ll die,” he grits through his teeth, breathing heavy. But Shanty is easy to underestimate. She tosses her head back so it smacks hard against his nose, cracking it. As he snarls through the pain, she slips from his grip and tosses a cloud of bright yellow powder in front of her. With one long puff she blows it into Blarthe’s face and ducks away, drawing two long knives from her belt.
She ma
y not like to get her hands messy, but from the deftness of her fingers on those blades, it’s clear that doesn’t mean she won’t.
The powder slows Blarthe’s movements, making him sway, but it doesn’t stop him.
“Those beasts told me I would see Corina again,” he spits. “Give me the scale! I will see her again!”
In another time, I might have pitied him.
His eyes flash from Ferrick to Shanty, and so quickly I nearly miss it, Blarthe is on her again. Though Shanty’s blades are held at the ready, she’s no match for the speed of a Ker. Blarthe knocks her back, but Ferrick must have seen through his plan. He tackles Blarthe to the ground a second before the dagger can strike Shanty; instead, it cleaves straight through Ferrick’s side.
My heart seizes. Ferrick buckles and wheezes, but already his restoration magic is working to close the wound from the inside out. But Ferrick’s magic can only focus on one injury at a time, and Blarthe’s raising his dagger again.
Both Bastian and I lunge, but neither of us reach him before the ocean roars to life behind us. The tides wrap around Shanty, pushing her across the shore before swallowing Ferrick and Blarthe whole. Bastian grabs hold of me as the waves crash down, slamming us against the sand. I hit shoulder first, and something in my arm snaps. I choke, swallowing seawater, but the tides are gone a moment later, and I blink through salt-stung eyes to see Blarthe on all fours, panting on the blood-red sand.
Behind him, the tides ripple and raise around Vataea. Relief floods my veins so fiercely that the throbbing in my arm disappears.
“You don’t get to touch him.” Vataea’s voice is a thousand songs, making my head spin and my ears threaten to bleed. “Stand up, Blarthe. Did you think you’d seen the last of me?”
His chest hitches with fear, and he refuses.
“I said STAND.” She is the eye of her own storm. Behind her, even the sky darkens as the gods shield their eyes in fear of her. Water snaps beneath Blarthe, taking him by the throat and tossing him onto his feet.
To his credit, he doesn’t beg as Vataea steps from the sea, shedding her fin as she crosses the sand. The tides wait behind her, seething and shifting, as starved as she is.
“I have thought about what I would do to you for years.” She doesn’t flinch when he lashes out with the dagger. The sea is her shield, swallowing the blade before it can strike and spitting it out at my boots. I swipe it into my wet palms. “I dreamed of pressing a dagger deep into your throat and bleeding you dry. Of taking my time, cutting you piece by piece over years, slowly enough that you would remain alive, begging to die. In other dreams, I would call you to the sea. I would rip your heart out and devour your body limb by limb. But it seems your gods favor me today, because not one of those dreams could ever beat the opportunity they’ve given me.”
The sea splits behind her, and I realize now that Vataea is not alone. Another mermaid waits, skin pale as sleet and full lips blue as a corpse’s. A crown of blond waves spreads around her in the tides, and she stares at us with piercing lavender eyes, slit like a cat’s.
The instant Blarthe sees her, his shoulders fall and a sob rattles his chest. “Corina.” The name is a prayer upon his lips, and my stomach lurches at the sound of it.
Corina. The love he’d lost to the mermaids. He’d never truly lost her at all.
Corina parts her lips, and I yell for Shanty and the boys to cover their ears. Her song isn’t silks and honey like Vataea’s; it’s gravel and steel, something not quite right about the tone. But Blarthe’s enamored all the same. He stumbles across the sand, trying to halt every few steps to look at Corina. He screams her name, willing her to stop, but she won’t.
“You traded away her love for you,” Vataea says with a laugh so vicious I draw a step back, sinking against the sand. All this time I’ve been grateful to have her on my side. Now though, I’m not so sure that she is. “Now, you’ll spend an eternity within the sea as our pet, and she will never remember you. No matter how hard you try, no matter how much you might beg, she will not care for you or your pleas. You will spend your days in the ocean, mourning the one who is right in front of you. And when you wish to die, I will make sure that you live. You are my trophy, now. And it’s time I show you off.”
Corina wraps her fingers around Blarthe’s throat as she presses her lips to his. But rather than wake him from a trance, she turns Blarthe’s skin blue as ice, and amid the first of his screams, Corina drags him into the water.
They never resurface.
Vataea stands before me, and I scramble from my knees up to her. “I’m sorry,” I say. “And not because you’re terrifying, but because I mean it.”
At that, the smallest smile cracks her lips, but I don’t stop.
“Vataea, I never wanted to hurt you, I swear it. I was going to tell you the truth when we got to Arida, and Blarthe was always going to be held responsible for his crimes. But … gods, I’m sorry. He hurt you worse than anyone, and I’m so sorry.”
She sets a hand on my shoulders, and I try not to flinch at the long claws, sharp as knives.
“I understand that you were trying to do what you thought was best.” The magic in her voice has yet to wear off. The sweetness of it makes my head ache. “But you’ve opened wounds within me, Amora, and I cannot tell you when they might begin to heal.”
“But we can try?” I set my hand over hers, determined. “Can we try to heal them?”
Ever so slowly, she nods. But there’s no time to sink into the relief that comes; down the shore, Shanty screams.
“We need help!”
There’s coughing. Wet, ragged coughing, and my body goes cold at the sight of a sea-soaked Ferrick wheezing on the sand. Shanty’s got her hands pressed hard against his chest, but blood seeps through her fingers with no sign of slowing.
Blarthe’s attack was deeper than I thought. As much as he’s trying to heal, Ferrick can’t seem to slow the bleeding.
I rush to his side, helping Shanty put force on the wound. Isaac is just managing to stand. He’s shaky on his feet, clutching a hand to his bleeding side. But the blood is minimal; thankfully it’s not a fatal wound.
“Go get the healers!” I yell to him. “Now!”
Ferrick’s blood is hot and fresh, flowing too quickly from his body. I push harder, but Ferrick sets a trembling hand atop mine. Tears blur my eyes when he smiles.
“Thank you for letting me be part of your adventure.” His fingers wind around mine, squeezing weakly. “I couldn’t have asked for a better crew.”
Bastian’s beside me now, and Vataea, too. She stares at his blood, chanting as though fighting to control it. Unlike the sea, it doesn’t obey. But she doesn’t stop, forehead creasing into deep lines of concentration as she tries and tries again.
“Shut up, Ferrick.” I pull my hand from his, forcing pressure on the wound. “You and I have plenty more adventures. You just have to hang on a little longer; the healers are coming.” His blood’s hot against my hands as I press into the wound with everything I have, thinking of Father and the night I let him die right there beside me. “Please, you have to hold on. I can’t lose someone else. I can’t lose you.”
He tries not to show the pain, but I see it in the stalling of his words and the way he grinds his teeth, fighting it back. The scale shimmers in his left hand, held tight in his white-knuckled grip. All I have to do is pry it from him and I can fix everything. We’ll redo the fight. I’ll keep my dagger from Blarthe. I’ll—
“Amora.” He draws my hand again, pulling it gently from his wound. “Stop scheming and let me say goodbye.”
I don’t want to. With everything in me, I want to refuse. But I’m not the only one crying. Bastian’s holding Ferrick’s shoulders firm, chest trembling as he lowers his forehead to Ferrick’s. I don’t hear what he says, just that he says it through sobs he’s trying to stave off long enough to choke out the words.
“You might be the biggest asshole I’ve ever met,” Ferrick tells him, tho
ugh his tone is light. “But you became my brother, and I’m glad for every minute we had together. Except for the one where you cut off my arm.” And then he turns to Vataea, his smile fraying at the seams. “I’m sorry, for everything. I never should have lied to you.”
“That day on Kerost, you were the one to come to me.” Her voice is the softest whisper. “You were the one to save me. I’ve never thanked you for that.” She bends, pressing her lips firmly to Ferrick’s. His arm wraps gently around her head, threading weak fingers through her hair.
When they separate, he presses his cheek against Vataea’s and says something, the words too soft for me to catch.
There are tears in Vataea’s eyes when he leans back, though she doesn’t cry; she looks more like she doesn’t understand what’s happening. Like something here isn’t right.
And it’s not. Humans are too fragile. None of this is right.
I can’t imagine the strength it must take, but he lifts his head enough to press a kiss to my temple next, hard and firm.
“Listen to me. I don’t want you to mourn me, Amora. I want you to live for this kingdom and for yourself. I love you, and … I’m sorry for what I have to do.”
“I love you, too,” I say, because if there’s one thing that needs to be said, this is it. I will not let him leave me as Father did, with too much sorrow between us. But only after I say it do I catch the rest of his words, and chills send me spiraling.
I look once more at his hand, clutched tight around the scale.
“Ferrick—”
“This was my final adventure.” Each of his words takes more effort than the last, hands fighting tiny spasms. “But promise me you’ll have a thousand more.”
The scale shatters before I can stop him. Ferrick slams a hand into both my and Bastian’s chests, and my veins flood with fire as Ferrick’s restoration magic fills me, reaching into depths that shouldn’t be possible. Reaching into my soul and making it whole.
Magic stirs from what was once hollowness within me, and I am myself again—Amora Montara. Fully, solely, me.