“Is that what ye were doin’ on Zol, all alone?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Part of it, I suppose. If I tell you it was that and not wallowing, would you believe me?”
“Nay.”
The prince laughed.
She was a head lower than him in their sitting positions and he looked down at her, his eyes full of that burning intensity. Ebba quirked a brow in question, and the smile faded from his face.
His mouth bobbed open a few times.
When he didn’t speak, she asked, “What about the future? Can it see that?”
Ebba shivered for a reason that had nothing to do with the waves breaking over the figurehead and showering them regularly with cold spray. Imagine knowing every single truth? A person wasn’t meant to have such power. She shivered again.
“Ah, that I have tried,” he answered. “The sword didn’t show me a thing.”
The silver sword gleamed in the beating sun of midday, and Ebba studied the weapon. “I wonder how it decides what to show ye.”
“I’m not completely sure. . . . But what it shows is definitely related to what I’m thinking. Sometimes though, it takes me to moments I haven’t personally witnessed—and some of those moments are in the past, from what I can tell.”
She hummed. “That’s confusin’.”
“I’ll figure it out,” Caspian said, shuffling closer.
“Aye, ye will,” she said with a soft smile. “Ye’re a right smart bugger.”
He shot her an amused look. “You know, in the stories my father used to tell me, he said the sword could force others to speak the truth.”
She whistled. “Now that could come in handy-like. Have ye recalled anythin’ else?”
Caspian shook his head. “I keep thinking about how shocked he looked when he last touched the sword. What do you think the sword showed him?”
Ebba thought for a minute, remembering the king’s expression just before he’d tossed the sword at her and closed the door that ensured his death. “I don’t think we’ll ever know, matey. But the sword let him see through the charmed necklace I was wearin’. He called me pirate.”
“You believe veritas lets us see through magical illusion?”
“Could do. Unless the charm had already worn off.”
The prince’s voice strained. “Is there anything you remember?”
She thought back to the moment she’d been blasted into the treasury by holding two parts of the weapon at once. The king had picked veritas up and— “He looked at peace, content-like, afore he threw the sword to me. Like he’d accepted sumpin’. Whatever the sword showed him, I be thinkin’ it was what he needed to see afore the end.”
“Do you think so?” the prince asked urgently, reaching for her hand. “Do you think he died without regret?”
His urgency startled her, but Ebba kept her face smooth. Truthfully, to her way of seeing, Montcroix had died years before she met him. He’d mentioned his queen in Ebba’s hearing and, real or not, she’d chalked up the king’s reluctance to touch the sword to the events surrounding her death.
Yet through his cynicism and bitterness, something true had remained. “He loved his children. Ye and yer sisters. In that, he had no regrets at all. And if he did, I’ll eat my hat.”
Caspian swallowed, releasing her hand to draw a sleeve over his wet face. “He loved my sisters. I’m afraid I tested his patience with my daydreaming.”
He accompanied the comment with a harsh laugh, but Ebba wasn’t fooled by it. She picked her words with care—for what could be the first time in her life. “He was proud o’ ye. I saw that with my own eyes.”
The little she’d seen of Montcroix had shown her the man was hard as nails. He’d barely shown affection when inches from his death. That had to be confusing for Caspian. A father who couldn’t show affection, and a father who placed duty over family was no father at all.
“I’m sure as day is day that he loved ye,” she told him firmly.
The prince’s lashes were wet when he faced her. She took his hand again, and his gaze dropped to their clasped fingers. He lifted his head, staring at her lips.
Was he thinking of their kiss? Well now she was. Ebba eyes sought his mouth. How did that always happen? As soon as she thought back to the kiss, she wanted to do it all over again. The excitement reared up within her and the unexplored ground between she and Caspian beckoned her. Perhaps the mainlander women were right. Kissing was . . . enticing.
Felicity lurched, jolting Ebba out of her stupor.
Seeing Caspian watching her intently, she blurted. “So, how does veritas make a person tell the truth?” If the grog level got low and Sally didn’t fess up, she’d be using the blade on the sprite.
“I only know what my father told me,” the prince said, staring at the shining sword. “I have to lay the blade on the person’s skin.”
Ebba held up a finger. “The sword won’t show me the truth, aye? Just make me tell it?”
“I believe so,” he said, nodding.
Rolling up her slops, Ebba stuck out her leg.
The prince glanced at her limb warily. “What are you doing?"
“Test it on me,” she said, grinning impishly.
Locks ambled over from the bilge door. “What’re ye doin’?”
“We be seein’ if veritas can force someone to speak truth,” she told him.
Plank called from the mast. “Ye don’t say? That could come in handy-like.”
“You don’t want to see the truth, but you’re okay with telling the truth?” the prince asked her, mouth trembling.
“I am now,” she told him honestly. Perhaps there was a time when she had trouble admitting the truth, but that was mostly behind her. Mostly.
Locks crossed his arms. “I ain’t sure I’d do either.”
“I’m thinkin’ I’d maybe do it,” Plank said after a beat. “Tell it that is.”
Caspian pressed his trembling lips together. “Right. Let’s try it then. What shall I ask you?” He rested the flat of the veritas on her shin and Ebba held tensed, half expecting to be shown something she didn’t wish to know. Like if they’d fail and the realm would go to shite.
Plank folded his arms. “Ask her if she was the one who locked Pillage in my trunk. He pissed on my second to last good tunic.”
The prince turned to her, awaiting permission.
“I didn’t do it,” Ebba replied haughtily. “Ask if ye will.”
Caspian cleared his throat. “Did you lock Pillage in Plank’s trunk?”
The sword flared white, eliciting a jump from all of them.
“Aye, in revenge,” Ebba blurted against her will. “Pillage tripped me on purpose.”
Caspian lifted the sword and her mouth fell ajar.
The veritas actually worked.
She grimaced, glancing up at Plank. “That sword makes ye lie!”
“Good try. Ye owe me one of yer tunics.”
Ebba jerked her head at the prince as the rest of the crew joined them. “Rest it on Plank then.” She knew for a fact he had one of her necklaces.
“Now, now,” Plank said, hands raised.
“Ye ain’t got nothin’ to hide, do ye?” she asked sweetly.
His eye twitched. “All right. But I won’t see truth, aye? I’ll just have to tell it.”
Her father appeared as creeped out by that possibility as Ebba was. She answered, “Nay, I didn’t see anythin’ untoward. I just couldn’t. . . uh.”
Locks sniggered as she trailed off.
Her father neared Caspian, who rested the blade on Plank’s hand.
“Ask him if he makes up his stories,” Stubby immediately said.
Peg-leg snorted. “Aye, ask him if they be a whole heap o’ shite.”
Plank scowled at the other fathers.
“Do you make up your stories?” the prince asked.
The sword flared white. Those who weren’t present before jumped, gasping.
“Nay,” her father answered.
The others booed his reply. Her fathers were full of it. By now they all knew Plank’s stories held some element of truth. But the question was interesting. How did Plank know so much about magic when immortals were locked away hundreds of years ago?
“Really?” Caspian asked him. The word wasn’t dubious, like Ebba’s reaction, but full of excitement. There was so much they didn’t know about immortals. How many there were, where they resided, and what powers they possessed.
The prince kept the blade on Plank’s palm. “How do you know so many stories about magic?”
The veritas glowed again.
“I was told them by another. She got them from her mother, who got them from her mother and so on.” His expression darkened.
Who was ‘she’? Ebba could see the question on the prince’s lips, but Plank jerked his hand away and, eyes narrowing, walked to stand behind the rest of her fathers.
Caspian said quietly to her, “I didn’t mean to pry.”
“It ain’t a biggie.” Ebba had a feeling the she might be Plank’s murdered wife that he’d never spoken of.
Before the awkward moment could drag on, Barrels weaved between Locks and Peg-leg and knelt down with a groan. “Well, I have some exciting news. Caspian was right—I had an old map of the Dynami Sea in my collection. No idea when I happened to pick that up, but it might just help us now.”
A map? Boring.
“It’s of the Dynami Sea then?” Caspian asked, shuffling to crouch closer as Barrels unfurled the map.
“Indeed it is.” A pleased smile sat on Barrels’ lips.
Ebba reluctantly dragged her butt to look as the others gathered around Barrels and Caspian. Getting to her feet, she glanced over the prince’s shoulder at the crumbling map.
“We’ll enter here, I assume?” Caspian asked, an excited edge to his voice.
Ebba stood on tiptoes to see the spot where he was pointing. Happiness filled her at the energy in his voice. Their conversation had definitely sparked something. This Caspian sounded like the Caspian of old. Of course, with the prince’s change of heart, a new problem had arisen—namely, Jagger’s promise to kill Caspian as soon as he wanted to live.
She lifted her chin and saw that Jagger was on the opposite side of the map. He stood just behind Grubby, watching the prince like a hawk on the hunt.
So he’d finally come down from the nest.
Her eyes ran over the array of yellow bruising on his face from where he’d repeatedly hit the mast while swinging upside down. A twinge of remorse echoed in her gut and she winced at the bloody streaks in his silver eyes. Jagger glanced her way, and Ebba extinguished any pity she felt. Scowling darkly at him, she toyed with the hilt of her dagger.
His reaction was displeasing. But the amusement in his features was most likely there because he was scared.
Jagger might be playing it cool, but she knew he wouldn’t draw attention to his plan until he struck—just like with Neos. Ebba didn’t trust him around Caspian as far as she could spit. Or maybe a lot less than that because she could spit pretty far. The pirate was holding a grudge against the wrong person, and he wasn’t allowed to hurt her friend when the prince had been through so much. Killing Caspian because King Montcroix apparently murdered Jagger’s parents was like killing her because of the misdeeds of her fathers. It just didn’t make pirate sense.
Jagger winked one swollen eye her way and returned his attention to the map. Why did he keep winking at her? Was this his latest trick to unsettle her?
She glared at him a few seconds longer and then did the same, scanning the old map rolled out on the deck.
The realm consisted of the Caspian Sea and the islands within that sea. The Dynami Sea lay beyond the islands bordering the realm on the east, Febribus and Maltu. This map showed the Dynami Sea as being larger than the Caspian. Whether the map was any good was anyone’s guess, but Ebba was certain Felicity would soon enter new water—if the darkness of the swell and rising winds were anything to go by.
Ebba would kill for a sighting of an albino dolphin right now. Or some other small pirate-lore assurance that everything would be all right.
“What does that there say?” Locks asked. He pointed at a mark on the map in the waters before them.
“Ebba?” Barrels asked, holding his breath.
T-H-U-N-D-E-R-B-I-R-D.
The word was too long. Jagger would laugh at her. “Nay, too long.”
Her father almost appeared to pout at that. “It says ‘thunderbird’.”
“Ahh, the thunderbird,” Plank repeated in his ominous storytelling voice.
Stubby groaned, grimacing at Barrels. “Why did ye have to set him off?”
Ebba spoke over her fathers. They were just roasting Plank, but seeing as the thunderbird label sat in their immediate path, she wanted answers. “Is the thunderbird magic?”
Caspian, who’d crouched by the map, turned to listen with riveted attention. Jagger ambled to lean against the bulwark, farther away from the prince, and Ebba relaxed a smidgen.
“Long ago,” Plank said, scanning them all, “in an age far removed—”
“Can’t ye bloody fast-forward to the imp’rtant part?” Peg-leg asked, rubbing his face.
Plank waited, jaw clenched.
Peg-leg rolled his eyes. “Oh hurry up then.”
“—there lived the god of souls, a creature with a curved beak as large as our ship.”
“It’s the lack of plaus’bility that always gets me,” Locks whispered to Stubby.
Plank only spoke louder. “His wingspan was so great that if he had the inkling—and he often did—the god of souls would beat his wings and create powerful storms to crush all who displeased him. They called this god—”
Ebba shot her hand up. “Thunderbird.”
“Is this your story?” Plank demanded. “Is it?”
She jumped, staring at him. “Sorry.”
Her father regained his composure after several deep breaths, saying, “They called this god ‘thunderbird.’ He was a power of the oblivion, in charge of guiding those souls that were more good than bad to rest within birds so that they could soar through the ages as reward for the lives they’d lived.”
Every pirate knew that birds contained the souls of those passed, but she hadn’t known there was a winged thing in charge of the process.
Ebba leaned forward. “Where does the god live?”
Plank faltered. “Uh. I think—”
“He don’t know,” Peg-leg said flatly. “Fraud.”
“—he lived in the sky with all the other birds,” Plank said through clenched teeth.
Peg-leg grunted.
Barrels had returned his attention to the map a while ago, but he glanced up. “I don’t suppose you know the frequency, duration, and average swell height of the storms he creates? We’d be foolish to disregard his presence after seeing so many magical creatures, but solid facts would do us greater benefit than . . . your story.”
Plank sucked in a breath, crimson flushing his face.
Ebba cast a look at Grubby’s stricken face and quickly asked, “Do ye know what displeases him, Plank? If we can be avoidin’ that, we might be able to get through.”
“Aye,” he answered haughtily. “I do. The thunderbird will use his storms to kill anyone who has sought war on his souls.”
She wasn’t alone in looking at him blankly.
“Anyone who has killed a bird,” he said, sighing.
Ebba sagged. “Phew, well, I ain’t done that.”
Her fathers added their nays to hers. Everyone knew killing birds was a dreadful sin. No pirate worth their salt would do it.
Caspian’s brow was wrinkled. “You know, I don’t believe I have. I’ve hunted pig and deer but I can’t recollect having slain a bird.”
They all turned to Jagger.
He returned their scrutiny, blank faced. “I’ve lost count of the birds I’ve killed.”
Ebba groaned with the others. “Of cou
rse ye have.”
“We eat fowl in the tribes. Our customs are different from your own.”
“I’ve got a woman waitin’ for me. If ye kill us, laddy, I’ll be comin’ back as a taloned eagle to claw yer face to shreds.” Locks promised, emerald eye blazing.
Stubby snorted, clapping him on the back. “Ye ain’t comin’ back as a bird, matey. That’s just for the good people.”
Locks paused. “Aye,” he admitted with a grin.
Her other fathers laughed.
“I could be goin’ for a swim to see if I can talk to my selkie kin,” Grubby said hesitantly. “They may be knowin’ some stuff. And Jerry said he’d keep in touch about what’s happenin’ on Zol.”
Jerry was one of his octopus friends. “Huh,” Ebba mused. “That’ll be handy-like.”
“See? Even Grubs thinks yer stories are shite. He’s offerin’ to go get facts.” Peg-leg nudged Plank, who turned stiffly and stormed off, disappearing through the bilge door.
Barrels waited until he was gone before sidling closer to Grubby. “My dear fellow, going for a swim is a grand idea. . .”
Ebba wasn’t sure how she felt about anyone going in the water as they neared the Dynami Sea. Who knew what lurked under the surface.
She pursed her lips, glancing at the thunderbird label directly before them. “This map can’t be ac’urate, can it? Odds are we won’t even see the god o’ souls.”
No one replied, and she couldn’t blame them.
Even she couldn’t pretend that well.
* * *
She’d sailed through bad waters in her time. The tropical climate of the free seas, where they’d always roamed, brought all the drawbacks of humidity with it—cyclones, sudden and violent storms, torrential rain that could last days without breaking.
But this.
Somewhere in the early evening of the previous day, she’d felt a ripple run over her skin, an awareness that something had changed, a warning from her body that all was not right, even if her mind couldn’t fathom a literal change. At first glance, the black seas before them were no different from the turquoise waters they’d left behind. On closer inspection, a creeping feeling settled upon her, lingering in her ears like a vicious whisper. This sea was no more barren to the naked eye than her home sea, yet it seemed exponentially so: void and bleak, empty of life.
Dynami’s Wrath Page 8