Strength

by W. J. May

  “Cosette!”

  If it was possible, the witch looked even more concerned than Evie had been herself. She threw herself without restraint onto the weary shifter, trying to pry the fae from his arms.

  “What happened?” she shrieked. “Is she breathing?”

  As if the questions weren’t frantic enough, Ellanden managed to hear them over the storm.

  “What...?” He forced his body to turn far enough to see the lifeless princess draped over the shifter’s arms. His face froze for a split second, then he forgot the wheel entirely and sprinted full-speed across the deck. “Asher—take it!”

  The vampire lifted his head in confusion, then streaked across the ship to take the prince’s place—cursing under his breath as he forced his broken hands to grip the massive wheel. A second later, Ellanden appeared in his place—white as sheet when he saw his little cousin.

  “What the hell happened!” he cried, wrenching the sleeping girl from the shifter’s arms. “I knew I should have gone myself—”

  “She knocked her head,” Seth murmured, looking like the same thing had happened to himself. When he caught the fae’s furious look, he tried again—raising his voice to be heard above the wind. “She knocked her head on the door. She’ll be...she’ll be fine.”

  Ellanden caught his breath, but was too worried to tear his eyes from the girl’s face. “She had better. For your sake.”

  Lightning ripped across the sky and the friends lifted their heads, staring breathlessly at the storm. Those black clouds that had been gathering on the horizon were fully upon them, screeching through the wind and roiling the choppy seas. Already, the waves were almost too high for the ship to withstand. Another few feet, and there wouldn’t be a ship left to sail.

  “What should we do?” Freya blurted, one hand still clamped upon Cosette. “Don’t just stand there—say something! What should we do?”

  The question hung between them, but no one could find the words. The truth was, everyone had assumed the Dunes would be the treacherous part. No one had considered the voyage at sea.

  Another massive wave crashed against the side of the ship, sending the friends careening sideways. The princess manage to catch hold of the opposite rail and stared a frozen moment into the dark waters. For a split second, she could have sworn she saw something—the glint of sea-green eyes hidden amongst the waves. For a split second, she could have sworn someone was staring back.

  Then the ship righted itself, spilling them all back upon the deck.

  “Asher!” Ellanden yelled. “Hold it steady—”

  But there was no point. The second he said the words, a wave rose out of the water unlike any other. One that towered over the little ship, blocking out the night sky.

  It hung there for a moment, long enough for Asher to abandon the wheel and streak back to their side. As they stared up at it, one of them, Evie never learned who, asked the fateful question.

  “Can everybody swim?”

  The princess closed her eyes, grabbing hold of the deck.

  Oh shit!

  Chapter 7

  They say not many people survive a shipwreck.

  Those who do are never quite the same. As if the physical component isn’t enough, it’s the psychological trauma that gets you. Those internal wounds that can never quite manage to heal. The problem is that it’s impossible to forget. The moment the waves rise above your head, the moment the deck splinters beneath your feet. Even decades later, people still feel the terror of it—waking up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, seeing those images again and again.

  Yet others remark that it’s a profound experience—a sort of awakening that one can never achieve until facing their own death. Time suspends and sharpens in clarity; memories resurface, awakening secret parts of the soul. They say some people survive the tragedy only to end up craving it for years to come. Chasing after the memory, haunted by the bitter sweetness left in its stead.

  Evie woke up with a mouthful of sand.

  She would later say that came to summarize her experience.

  Am I...dead?

  It was a fair question. The princess awoke in a kind of stasis, wedged tightly in a grainy substance her brain couldn’t understand. If she’d been recently buried, it would make sense. If giant parts of her body were missing, she wouldn’t yet know.

  She tried to roll over, then let out a pitiful yelp. That’s when she noticed the sand. That’s when she pried open her eyes and discovered that she’d face-planted in the middle of a sunny beach.

  A blindingly sunny beach. Her eyes snapped shut with a wince of pain.

  There were noises now. The lazy call of birds, the soft padding of feet. She tried to lift her head. The last thing she wanted as an epilogue to her tragic tale was ‘the princess was consequently eaten by sand-crabs’, but movement was difficult and she decided not to try.

  She wanted to throw up, but couldn’t. She wanted to pass out, but couldn’t.

  To make things even harder, someone was lifting her now—fingers were wrapping gently under her arms and pulling her up out of the sand.

  “Seven hells—she’s gorgeous!”

  There was a pause.

  “I mean...once you get her cleaned up a little.”

  Another pause. The hands gripping her shifted.

  “Run back to camp and tell Rone what happened. I’ll deal with this.”

  “I’ll trade you—”

  “Go.”

  The sound of footsteps faded quickly, leaving them in silence. A cheerful voice soon replaced them. One that was smiling, through and through.

  “You can wake up now, sweetheart. He’s gone.”

  The princess tried again to open her eyes. Little splinters of light were leaking through. She lifted an arm in an attempt to block them, but it fell lifeless to her side.

  Finally, the picture cleared into the face of a man.

  She was right about the smile. It was hovering just a few inches above her.

  “Welcome back.”

  In a sudden motion, she flipped onto her side and wretched violently into the sand. Streams of salty water poured from her mouth as her stomach convulsed, ridding itself of whatever was left of the sea. This went on for several minutes, but the man holding her didn’t seem to be in any kind of hurry. He simply sat there, rubbing calming circles on her back until she was finally able to catch her breath. She lifted her head slowly, only to see that the smile had remained.

  “Where am I?” she asked in a scratchy voice.

  It couldn’t be the Dunes, could it? They’d come so close—and they were certainly famed for their sand—yet somehow she didn’t think so. To start, the Dunes were supposedly deserted, and even if they weren’t she highly doubted they’d be occupied by this handsome man with the beaming smile. No, there was no smiling in the Dunes. She had to be somewhere else.

  “You, my dear, have washed ashore on the lovely beaches of Haith.” His eyes sparkled as she blinked up at him. “Population, well...let’s just say your arrival is a welcome surprise.”

  ...washed ashore?

  She should have realized this. She was no longer standing on the ship—she should have realized something had changed. But her body was broken and her brain was full of the sea. The last thing she remembered they were standing on deck, watching as a giant wave rose above them.

  After that—

  “My friends!” She shot up with a gasp, digging her hands into the sand as she attempted to push to her feet. “I have to find—”

  He caught her quickly, propping her into a delicate sitting position. As frantic as her attempt had been, she’d only managed to move a few inches. Her legs were still draped across his lap.

  “Easy now,” he cautioned. “Take a breath—”

  “No, you don’t understand!” she cried. “There was this wave, and I...I have to find my—”

  “Your friends?” he interrupted with a teasing smile. With exaggerated slowness, he rotated them arou
nd so she was looking at the rest of the beach. “Congratulations...you found them.”

  He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, following her gaze.

  “Though I can’t imagine they’re all your friends...”

  She didn’t hear the last part. Her hand flew to her chest with a choking sob. While there was no telling what condition they might be in, she counted five bodies scattered about the sand. Not one of them had been lost to the ocean—they’d all washed up together on the beach.

  Of course, she wasn’t the only one who’d noticed them.

  “What is this?” she asked quickly. “Who are you people?”

  From where she was sitting, very little of it made sense. There were people on the beach, in a very loose sense of the word. Perhaps creatures would have been a better fit.

  There was nothing uniform about them.

  A group of nymphs was fussing over Cosette, stroking the sides of her face and combing out strands of her long ivory hair. A grizzled dwarf was towering above Ellanden, poking tentatively at his chest with the blunt side of an axe. Seth was the only one who appeared to be stirring, batting blindly at the trio of pixies floating above his head, while a band of what were undoubtedly witches was mothering Freya, murmuring spells and pouring some kind of elixir down her throat.

  “Don’t do that,” the princess murmured, reaching an unseen hand towards them. “Who are those people? What are they giving her?”

  The man laughed suddenly, pulling them both to their feet. When she tipped precariously he steadied her, wrapping an arm snugly around her waist.

  “So many questions. But I’ve got one for you.” He turned suddenly to face her, staring intently into her eyes. “How in seven hells did you wash up on this beach?”

  She opened her mouth to answer, still swaying on her feet, but a rush of nerves swept over her and she held her tongue instead. Ships like the one they’d stolen didn’t just appear out of nowhere. Nor was it easily forgiven when they were gone. For all she knew, the Carpathians had put a bounty on their heads. And judging by the condition of the straw huts scattered along the beach, these people could certainly use the coin.

  “I don’t, uh...I don’t remember.”

  His eyebrows lifted in comical disbelief. “Fascinating.”

  She blanched and pulled away from him. “I’m sorry—I have to check on my friends!”

  After two steps, she stumbled. Two more and she was sprawled out on the sand. The man took his time catching up to her, whistling cheerfully as he lifted her to her feet.

  “We should probably take this a little slower, don’t you think?”

  The princess stared up at him in a daze—uncertain whether the emotion she was feeling leaned closer towards gratitude or fear. Her head was spinning and it was hard to make sense of anything whilst being baked by the punishing sunlight. Where were all those lovely storm clouds when she needed them? Where was that inescapable winter chill?

  “I’m sorry,” she breathed, clutching his arm for balance. “I don’t even know your name.”

  He smiled again, more gently this time.

  “It’s Eli.” His eyes sparkled as he pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. “And you are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met.”

  ...what?

  She stared back in a dizzy kind of confusion, still trying to figure out if she was awake or if this was a dream. Her hand pulled back ever so slightly, but before she could formulate a proper response a sudden shriek caught her attention from farther down the beach.

  The witches who’d been attending Freya had turned their attention to Asher—leaping back the second he opened his eyes. They were quickly joined by a cast of warlocks and shifters, each shouting something in unison, though it was clear the vampire didn’t understand.

  He looked as dazed as the princess, using every bit of strength just to lift his head off the sand. He flinched when he heard the shouting, blinking quickly as his eyes travelled from face to face. When one of them pulled a knife he scrambled to his feet, only to fall right back down.

  Asher.

  She couldn’t tell if she’d said his name out loud, or merely in her head.

  The shouting had escalated and a knife was no longer enough. Instead, the witches stepped forward, lifting their hands and surrounding him in a circle of green light. It got closer and closer as they started chanting, haloing his body as he cringed helplessly in the sand.

  “What are you doing...?”

  Even so far away, Evie could hear his voice—as frightened and disoriented as her own. He waved his hand slightly, as if he was trying to shake the light loose, then visibly panicked when it started creeping up his arm. His eyes glowed with the reflection as he tried again to stand.

  “Please,” he panted, unable to catch his breath, “just wait—”

  At one point he tried to run, but was kicked back by a towering warlock. At one point the princess tried to call out to him, only to have the notion vanish as soon as it had come.

  Time was moving too quickly. The picture flickered on and off.

  “What’s happening?” she murmured, tilting her head in confusion as they dragged the vampire off the beach and started hauling him into the sea. “What are they doing?”

  His legs trailed in the sand behind him. His head bowed limply to his chest. Whatever magic the witches were using had incapacitated him completely. They might as well have used silver chains.

  “That’s a vampire,” Eli responded casually. “They’re going to drown it.”

  Oh, that makes sense.

  She nodded along.

  Wait...what?!

  “STOP!”

  She wrenched herself free and took off running in the same instant—falling down several hundred times in the sand. As far as rescue attempts went, it was truly pathetic. But it managed to catch the attention of the people trying to force the vampire’s head under the waves.

  “Is she serious?”

  “Poor girl’s gone mad with the sun.”

  The nymphs shook their heads disapprovingly as she stumbled towards them. The witches turned around in alarm. Asher himself couldn’t seem to see past the neon light deadening his body, but his face lifted almost as if he could sense she was there.

  “Evie...?”

  She reached the water just as a shifter grabbed a fist of the vampire’s hair and forced his head under. She threw up her hands in horror as he thrashed helplessly beneath the waves.

  Then she let out a piercing cry as a wave of liquid fire shot from her palms.

  The beach suddenly fell silent. The vampire surfaced with a gasping breath.

  There were a few moments where no one said anything. A crowd had gathered. Her friends were amongst them, staring breathlessly from the sand. The princess stared in astonishment at her smoking fingers before hiding them quickly behind her back. Her cheeks flushed and her knees were shaking. She lifted her eyes slowly to the rest of them, trying to think of something to say.

  “Total. Accident.”

  She raised her hands in surrender.

  Then she fainted dead away.

  Chapter 8

  The first thing Evie noticed was the smell.

  It clung to every surface, creeping up her nostrils and seeping into her pores. It was something familiar, something overpoweringly sweet. But she wasn’t able to place it better than that. The next thing she noticed was the heat. It might have been winter elsewhere in the realm, but no one had told the good people of Haith. Whatever bits of skin that lay exposed were sizzling under its rays, the rest of her drenched in sweat.

  The last thing she heard was a donkey. That’s when she decided to open her eyes.

  What the—?

  Her hands were tied and she was lying in back of what looked like an old feed cart, bumping along beneath a canopy of trees. About a thousand sunbaked fruits were rattling around beside her, jumping into the air every time the wheels of the wagon hit a deep groove in the road. A man was sitting in the front, holding
the reins. Another man was sitting beside him. Neither seemed at all concerned with their passenger. Neither was turned enough that she could see a face.

  There were many questions to be asked, many quiet mysteries that needed to be answered. But she settled on what she took to be the most pertinent one.

  “...are those mangos?”

  There was sudden movement beneath her—something she’d thought was part of the wagon until it pulled in a breath. She lifted her eyes slowly, squinting painfully into the sun, only to be met with the most condescending expression the five kingdoms had ever seen.

  “Of course you ask about the fruit.”

  Nobody does sarcasm like the Fae.

  “Ellanden!”

  She peeled her cheek off his shirt, forcing her arms into a clumsy embrace. The rope around her wrists made it difficult, but the prince had no restraints. He held her tight against his chest.

  “I’m really glad you woke up,” he breathed, pressing an unexpected kiss to her hair.

  From the looks of things, she was the only one. The rest of the friends were sprawled in similar states of dishevelment across the feed truck, bouncing obliviously with the mangos as the wagon and its mysterious drivers carried them further and further into the trees.

  None of them appeared to be seriously injured, but it was impossible to know for sure. The only thing that kept the princess from panicking was that Ellanden wasn’t panicking himself.

  Then again, maybe that wasn’t an accurate gauge. The man looked exhausted.

  Far from his usual radiance, the fae was tired and pale. His face was bruised, his ivory hair hung in matted tangles, and there was a wilt to his shoulders she had never seen before. Strange crescent-shaped marks trailed down the side of his chest, and while he was embracing her tightly it was only with one arm. The other was hanging motionless by his side.

  “Do you remember what happened?” she whispered, glancing covertly at the men driving the cart. “Do you have any idea how we got here?”

  His face stilled for a moment, then he shook his head.