Chapter 7: All the Empress’s Horses, All the Priest’s Men
Shea
After being kidnapped on the shores of Lycos and shipped to Arethusa, Shea thought she avoided a reunion with the elven countess, but apparently fate has other plans.
After getting over the shock of seeing Thetis, with a child no less, Jo quickly took action, leading them all to her private chambers to speak.
“Perhaps I should go update Caen and Aster, let them know what’s going on.”
“If you wish,” Jo tells Shea as they arrive at the doors to her chambers.
“Shea, wait,” Thetis stops her. “Joana, thank you for agreeing to see me. Would you mind going ahead? My guards will apprise you with the details of my journey. I just would like a quick, private word with Shea.”
With Thetis’s back turned to her, Shea waves her hands at Jo in alarm.
She shakes her head, mouthing the word no, over and over. While she’s doing her mime act, the nosy little child on Thetis’s hip looks toward her, giggling at her movements.
Thetis turns to see the cause of the giggling, but Shea stops before the other elf can see, making quick work of examining her nails.
Jo huffs at the display. “That’ll be fine.”
Shea glares, feeling totally betrayed, and Jo chuckles.
When Thetis turns to face Shea, Jo mouths, You’ll be fine, behind her back and continues into her private chambers.
Shea plasters a fake smile onto her face, hoping to fool the countess.
Thetis rolls her eyes at the attempt.
“Relax, I’m not going to bite,” Thetis drawls, and the child on her hip smiles at her voice.
Shea grunts in acknowledgment, but as the child faces her, she finally takes in his features.
The deep black color of his hair and his pointed ears are just like his mother’s, but the curls remind Shea of her own, and his eyes—his eyes remind of her of her old reflection. They’re bright green, almost the exact shade as Shea’s.
Before Thetis can tell Shea what she needs, Shea steps closer, examining the child’s face.
He looks like his mother, yes, but there are small features, the sharpness of his chin and his cheekbones. He can’t be more than three years old. The boy reaches out with his hands, touching Shea’s face.
Shea flinches back, but Thetis murmurs to her that it’s alright. Shea returns her face close to the child, and he babbles in his small unintelligible language, periodically getting a few words right.
A thought echoes through her mind, from a conversation a year ago in the black tower while they studied a painting of the Underdeep together.
“A blessing you said? From Triton, when you were claimed?” Shea mutters, and when she looks up into Thetis’s eyes, she sees the confirmation.
“I can see that you finally know who you are,” Thetis tells her, adjusting the child on her hip.
“You knew,” Shea gasps, but she can’t quite take her eyes off the small boy.
“Of course, if the family resemblance wasn’t enough, the power emanating off of you was. Well, it’s clear to anyone with magic, especially to a fae like me, who practices dark magic, that you’re a demigod.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It wasn’t time. The Fates were still sewing the tapestry, but now we’re in the thick of it. The storm is here.”
The voice in her head from last year, she finally places it. It was Poseidon. All of this has been building for the last year while she was off chasing the impossible.
“This is insane,” Shea whispers.
“Indeed,” Thetis responds.
The little boy babbles again, drawing Shea’s attention.
“Was it…? Were you in love?”
Thetis laughs coldly. “I thought we were, or I thought he loved me, but he took what he wanted. I was too naive to understand. But he gave me Proteus, so I try not to regret.”
Shea looks up to the ceiling, heaving a sigh. “So, one half brother wants to take over the world and the other is a heartless romancer and absentee father. I think I was happier just knowing my adopted family, and now I have to find them both.”
Thetis startles. “You’re going after Triton?”
“He is apparently the only one who can defeat Perses. After we find him, hopefully, he’ll stand with us against him.” A thought crosses Shea’s mind. “You wouldn’t happen to know where he is, would you?”
“No. Last I heard he was in the Underdeep. You should stay away from him. He’s dangerous, maybe more so than Perses. Although now that I’ve seen the fae in action, I wonder.”
Shea’s eyes widen. “You’ve seen Perses?”
“It’s why I’m here. Ceto has joined with Perses. He came to her just under a year ago with promises of making her his consort. Those of us smart enough to see through his power know it’s a lie. He talks about the freedom of elves and putting the humans back in their place, at least when Ceto isn’t around. Not only does he have a small army of Merrow, elves who were lost in the Underdeep and transformed into lesser fish beings— twisted and gnarled—he now has Lycon fae elementals and Ceto’s army at his back. He’s coming here.”
“Here?”
Jo is standing behind Thetis; she must have come out to check on them when she heard the last of Thetis’s message.
“Yes. Counts and countesses have been escaping from the Lycon court, not all were lucky, but I managed to get my son and myself out. I came to warn you. Time is growing short. Perses plans to march on Oceanus and then take Arethusa. He knows Poseidon is here; he knows about you, Shea.”
Jo comes to stand next to her. “Then we need to leave, now. We can’t wait any longer, how much time do we have?”
Thetis thinks. “I—well, the last thing I remember before escaping the court…They said a month. A month until they reach Arethusa.”
“Can we do it?” Jo turns to Shea.
Shea thinks it over, charting the course in her mind. “Yes. Maybe. But you’re right, we need to leave now.”
Jo nods. “Okay. I’ll finish packing. Thetis, you of course are welcome here, you have Arethusa’s protection.”
Thetis opens her mouth to object, but Shea stops her.
“Poseidon’s coming with us, he won’t be here with you and Proteus. You’ll be safe.”
Thetis sighs, kissing the top of her son’s hair, and nods, thanking Jo.
“Let Caen and Aster know the plan,” Jo tells Shea.
“I’ll speak to Master Beck as well, he deserves to know,” Shea responds, though Jo rolls her eyes.
“Very well. We’ll meet at the docks.”
Jo orders a guard to take Thetis to a guest chamber, giving the countess a quick hug before returning to her own chambers.
Shea goes to leave as well, intent on finding Caen, Aster, and Governor Beck, when Thetis stops her.
“Shea.”
Shea turns back to the countess, and her nephew.
“I don’t want him to know about Proteus.”
Triton—the message is clear and Shea nods her understanding.
“Promise me. You won’t tell him about my son,” Thetis presses, her gaze intense.
Taken aback, Shea replies, “Okay, I promise.”
Thetis goes ahead with the guard and just as they’re about to round the corner, they run into Poseidon, who looks rather hurried.
Thetis freezes in front of the god, staring at him with recognition, and Shea walks toward the group, glaring Poseidon down.
“I could have sworn I felt Triton’s presence,” Poseidon murmurs and then sees Proteus.
The toddler babbles and reaches for the old god. Understanding seems to dawn on him and he reaches for the baby, but Thetis pulls away.
“The boy is his?”
“No,” Thetis spits. “He’s mine.”
And with that she continues on down the hall with the guard; they turn a corner and disappear from sight.
Shea makes to leave as well, but Poseidon speaks, causing her to stop again.
“Your brother deserves to know he’s fathered a child.”
Shea looks back at him and chuckles.
“No. He doesn’t. We leave in an hour, be at the docks or you’ll be left behind.”
Shea leaves him in the hall.
Chapter 8: The New Crew
Shea
After wandering the halls for at least an hour, Shea finally sucks up her pride and asks a servant where her crewmen might be. With a giggle and a blush the servant tells her that they’re in the kitchens within the servants’ quarters. She ends her answer with a Your Highness, which makes Shea’s skin crawl. She’s surprised she already knows who Shea is.
She ventures down to the servants’ quarters and thinks about how she’s finally come to terms with wanting to marry Joana—and yet. The thought of what she’ll become when she does scares her. It’s more than a title; she’d be a queen, queen consort, to be exact.
When she had written to Dari and Phoebus to tell them the news, they were happy, thrilled in fact, but completely unbothered by Shea’s new title and not any help with coming to terms with it.
A hallway with a rope blocking off the steps leading up shakes her out of her thoughts; she recognizes the stone walls and the tapestries pinned up. Mariner’s chambers lie at the top. No wonder it’s blocked off. The tips of her ears burn and she scurries past and into the kitchens as quickly and gracefully as she can.
She bursts through the doors, and yelps from surprised servants and cooks echo as the door slams open.
“Oops, sorry,” she murmurs, closing the door softly behind her.
The kitchen is huge. Rows of hot stoves, vegetables hanging on the walls, there’s an ice room in the far back at least twenty feet long, and large cured meats hang from the ceiling. The cooks and servants smile at her as she steps farther inside, some even bow.
A booming laugh catches her off guard. She spots Caen talking to a female elf, whose staining blush appears to be becoming permanent.
The servant laughs back at whatever Caen tells her and Shea notices a pile of potatoes at the table where they’re sitting.
Aster is next to the giant, but he’s facing the other way talking to Master Beck as they peel potatoes together.
Aster is talking animatedly with the Oceanan, but Beck seems to be taking it in stride, chuckling at whatever Aster says.
A cook tells her to look out as he steps around her and she dodges him, side-stepping around the big cast-iron pot he’s carrying.
When she turns around, her eyes meet Beck’s from across the room.
She studies his face.
His jaw is square but not overly so, soft still from youth. His dark brown hair shoots up in all directions; she thinks she can even see some shadows of black running through the waves. His eyes are warm, a caramel brown that she finds herself sinking into…no.
She pulls herself out of her trance, coughing. Her ears tinge pink in embarrassment.
When she looks up this time, it seems her cough garners the attention of Aster and Caen, who wave her over. Beck is smiling at her with a charming grin, but she can’t bring herself to look at him again, feeling guilty.
“Captain, there you are, I’d like to introduce you to someone.” Caen grins, his gold eyes bright, and his permanent worry line has even softened slightly.
Shea comes around the table, nodding at Beck in acknowledgment. He murmurs a hello.
She quickly steps away from him, though, and ruffles Aster’s hair as he complains, before finally standing next to Caen and the elven servant.
The young woman, she realizes, isn’t so young. She’s probably closer to Caen’s age, in fact. Her skin is a nice tan, and she has hazel eyes and curly black hair, with a little gray, that has been pinned up in a bun. The woman smiles and even curtsies to Shea, who groans softly, while Caen chuckles.
“Shea, this is Miranda, she’s a servant here at the castle. Apparently, she’s one of Joana’s personal handmaidens.”
Shea looks at Caen with an arched brow at his enthusiasm but instead catches how he’s looking at Miss Miranda. She’s never seen him look at anyone like that besides Paetre maybe. She smiles at Miranda and extends her hand out to the other elf, who takes it tentatively.
“It’s good to meet you, miss,” Shea quips with a smile to put Miranda at ease.
“You as well, Your Highness, we’ve been waiting for your return. We’re so happy for Her Majesty Joana, and if it’s not too bold to say, the elves are especially thrilled with the match.”
The comment catches Shea off guard, but she doesn’t let her surprise show. She finds herself biting her lip. “Really? Well thank you. I’m still trying to come to terms with my eventual title.”
“Queen,” Aster repeats, eavesdropping on the conversation, as if it has finally dawned on him, “but then how will you be able to run the ship?”
Shea opens her mouth to respond, but Beck answers instead, “I’m sure your captain will figure it out, why don’t you run these potatoes over to the cooks. I think that’s enough.”
Aster looks like he’s about to object, but one look at Beck, and Aster is blushing instead. He nods and picks up the first peeled basket of potatoes. He tries to grab the second one but all of the adults in the room protest and he stops.
Miranda grins, placing a hand on Caen, who Shea notices smiles encouragingly, and walks over to pick up the second basket.
“I’ll go with you.”
Aster thanks her and they continue off to one of the cooks at the long row of stoves.
“You fancy her,” Shea states, surprised, and Caen turns to her with a frown.
“I—I do not,” he stutters, but his eyes are drawn back to the older elf laughing as Aster torments one of the cooks.
But there’s something about the gaze. It’s not like how Shea looks at Jo, or even this new male character she’s been introduced to, though she tries not to think about Beck. Caen’s eyes have a bit of hope, and strangely, resignation. She can’t quite pin his emotions down like she normally can.
“Right,” she murmurs and takes a step back only to bump into another body.
Shea freezes, feeling the warmth from the other person radiating into her back, and turns, finding Beck’s smirking features.
“You alright?”
She realizes she’s still frozen in place against his chest.
Shea coughs, “I’m fine,” and scoots away as quickly as possible until she has Caen in between them.
Caen looks at her with a quirked brow.
“So.” Shea clears her throat again. “I came down here to tell you we’re leaving.”
“Oh,” Caen breathes, his eyes dancing over Miranda’s form before returning to Shea. “Good, the sooner we’re back on the hunt for the vault, the sooner we can return.”
Shea opens her mouth to correct him, but Beck beats her to it, “Wait, you’re not going to help us find Triton?”
“Actually. We are.”
“We’re what?”
“Caen—” Shea can see the wheels spinning in his head, but he’s off before she can explain.
“Did you not learn anything from last time?” Caen seethes, shoving his chair back so fast it falls over to clatter on the stone floor, drawing attention from the others in the kitchen.
“Caen—”
“We should stick to the original plan, find the vault. They don’t need you for this. For all we know, it’s all bullshit anyway,” Caen rants.
He turns on Beck. “I mean can you even say for certain what you saw?”
“Yes, sir, I can. We need her. She can’t run away from this,” Beck growls, standing his ground against Caen’s impressive height.
“And I don’t intend to,” Shea commands, drawing Caen’s attention back to her.
“Shea—”
“Caen!” she repeats, finally getting him to listen. “Like it or not, this is my fight, I really am his da
ughter. There are things, signs, I ignored. This fight is real and I’m a part of it. I can’t leave, because if I do, there won’t be anything to come back to. Perses will win; forget pirates, and royals, and that Hunter who’s been chasing us for months. Perses will end it all and it will be my fault because he’s my brother and I chose not to do anything about it. So? Are you with me or not?”
The kitchen is quiet around them; all of the servants are watching the conversation, waiting for Caen’s response.
Shea can feel eyes burning into the side of her face, and when she turns to meet them, her mouth goes dry as she’s caught in Beck’s trance again.
He’s smiling at her, only this time it’s much brighter; she can see pride in his eyes.
Caen huffs.
“I’m with you, Captain!”
Aster comes running to her side, and it makes her break Beck’s gaze as the blond teen slams into her. He puts an arm around her shoulders and she finally has to admit the kid is taller than her.
Miranda giggles at the display and Caen gazes at her. There’s a wistful look on his face, and for a moment Shea wonders. She wonders if maybe it’s time for her to let him go.
Maybe it’s time for Caen to retire.
“Caen.”
Caen turns back to Shea; she can see his eyes flick over her face as if he’s studying her before he nods.
“Alright. We find Triton then. I’ll tell the crew, give them their outs, but they’d follow you anywhere, Captain. You know that.”
“I won’t begrudge any who wish to stay,” Shea emphasizes, noticing the hesitation in Caen’s eyes, but he smiles and shakes it off.
“I’m with you till the end, kid. Raised by two pirates”—as Caen mentions Paetre, the light in his eyes when he looks at Miranda fades, and he clears his throat to cover it with a smirk—“and somehow, we ingrained this stubborn sense of responsibility in you. Go figure.” Caen chuckles. “Right, well. We best get to the ship.”
“You guys go ahead. I’ll meet you down at the docks, I need to speak with Master Beck,” Shea tells them.
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