by Ashley Nixon
Dominique approached him. His face was covered with dirt and blood. Barren had never fought alongside Corsairs, but seeing them today had made him glad that he had never encountered them at sea.
“Your Elfin friend, he is like a cannon. One day, he will explode.”
“He is stronger than you think,” Barren countered.
“So is lead,” said Dominique. Then he and his men entered the tunnel, intent on rescuing the other Lyrics. Barren turned toward the Lyric he’d saved from underground. He was surprised to find that she’d raised herself up and was now leaning against the wall. She stared at him blankly, and he found himself wondering if she even had the ability to feel anything anymore.
He knelt beside her. “We’re here to save you,” he said.
She said nothing. Still too weak to move, he took her in his arms once more. He moved carefully with her, and he found himself thinking of Larkin in this moment. This could be her, as hard as it was to imagine. The blood that ran in this woman’s veins was Larkin’s blood, too, and there were people who would hurt her. Larkin had been told that, but Barren knew she didn’t really believe it because she’d always been protected. Now she wasn’t. He didn’t want her to know what it was like to be exposed, even if she didn’t want him.
As Barren moved toward the ship, Devon fell into step beside him.
“They drained them of their magic. It runs in the water here,” Barren spoke between his teeth. “Some of them were drinking it.”
Devon said nothing, and Barren glanced askance at him, unable to hide his anger. He knew Devon’s memory wasn’t completely intact, but he also knew there were things he remembered that he didn’t talk about. He could tell by the look on Devon’s face now that he was remembering.
“How’s your memory looking?”
“I wish it were gone every day,” said Devon. “This is our past, but it is coming to haunt you.”
“It doesn’t seem that anyone in your past knew how to clean up, just cover up.”
“We did what we could to get by,” Devon defended. “You’ll understand.”
Barren stopped in his tracks and faced Devon. “I might understand at some point, but I will not let this rise up again, even if it kills me.”
Devon studied the pirate for a long moment, and the more he did, the angrier Barren felt.
“Don’t end up like your father,” said Devon. “Your people need a leader, not a martyr.”
His people? He spoke to him like he was a prince. “My father was a leader,” Barren snapped.
“Your father was always ready to die for a cause,” said Devon, taking a step forward. “But what he really needed to do was lead. That’s why this mess isn’t finished and that’s why you’re dealing with it now.”
Devon stared at Barren for a moment longer before walking off toward the ship. Barren followed him, but at a distance, seething over what the old pirate had said. He was suggesting that Jess should have been the prince he was born to be, but Barren wasn’t born to be a prince. He was born to be the captain of a pirate ship. In the end, though, he wondered how different those two things were. Already he found himself intertwined with the future of the Orient and the people in it.
The Lyrics were aboard. There were twelve in total, even more who had not lived to be saved. Those bodies had been burned separately from their captors. The pirates and Corsairs stayed to see that their ashes were spread, and after, they stood in silence, letting the cold gust around them. Now and then, Barren thought he heard whispers on the wind, and he knew the voices of those who had died here in such terror would haunt this place forever.
When it was time to depart, Dominique approached Barren, and he knew what was to come, even before the man spoke.
“We will not accompany you to Aurum,” said Dominique.
Barren disliked the disappointment welling inside him. He wasn’t sure why he had expected the Corsairs to aid them beyond their boarders.
“I can see you believe me a coward, but consider instead the trouble your alliance with us may cause. You’re already in trouble with the Elders, and your involvement with me will only secure your exile. Perhaps we should delay the announcement of our friendship a little longer.”
There was truth in that and it wasn’t only the Elders who would frown upon him. Lord Alder would not take kindly to Corsairs on his shores, especially those responsible for his exposure. Not to mention the repercussions if word hit Maris. The Octent was already under the threat of war from the arranged assassination of Tetherion. Further, Barren, his crew, and the Corsairs breeched the agreement laid out by the Elfin Treaty, which made things worse for the pirates of Silver Crest.
“I will come with you,” said Devon. “And bring a few of my men. If I take a ship, we shall appear greater than we are, which can only be a benefit considering we know not what we will encounter on the Elfin Isle.”
It was true. What was ahead was unknown. There were too many players in this game, too many with their own agendas.
Barren and Devon each took an Elfish ship. They were fast and would cut their sail time in half if the weather was good. They would also not draw attention upon approaching Aurum.
Because the ships were smaller, the Elfin guard filled up the brig below deck, which left only the openness of the deck for the Lyrics to rest. Upon setting sail, Leaf went to each one, bandaging their abrasions and lacerations. Sara helped and Barren was surprised to see that she didn’t shy away from their wounds. She washed their skin, lifted food and water to their mouths so that they might eat and drink. And then she sang. And her voice was chillingly sweet, and as it carried, it halted everything like a siren’s call.
And when the song died, Sara didn’t even look up, oblivious to the effect of her voice. It was a reminder of what love and compassion produced, and it was somehow fearless.
Barren’s heart felt heavy in so many ways—for Leaf, for Larkin, for Devon. There were few untouched by what had transpired since the destruction of the bloodstone. How could he have known that one simple act would set so many things in motion? He felt conflicted. Had he not done it, Tetherion would have been indestructible, but now that it was done, the world felt like it was falling to pieces.
Barren noticed the Lyric he’d carried to the ship trying to sit up. He moved to help her, and she flinched away from him, so he halted and grimaced.
“What’s your name?” he asked, kneeling beside her instead.
The woman looked at him for a long moment, and he began to believe she wouldn’t speak. “I don’t remember,” she said at last. Her voice was a whisper.
“How long were you there?”
“Forever,” she replied.
“Do you understand you are safe here?”
Her eyes trailed the wound on his chest. “You have the black spot,” she said.
Barren stared. “What is that?”
“It means you are not safe.”
Barren drew closer. “You have to tell me what that really means,” he said.
She seemed to consider this before she spoke. “It means when faced with battle, dark magic will use you as its weapon.”
“What about the others? The others who share this curse with me?”
“No, not the same way. You are Sysara’s child. You were born for this,” she said. “The curse inside you, it will only amplify your qualities. You have been vengeful and angry most of your life. If you continue so, it will only corrupt that part of you.”
Barren swallowed. It was always hard to think of the person he’d been. It was even harder to feel like he hadn’t actually come very far.
“You are lucky. The magic still feels you can be of use. That’s why it keeps you alive, that’s why it keeps you strong.” Barren wasn’t sure that was luck. After a moment, the Lyric lifted her hand, and her palm began to shimmer. Barren had never seen anything like it before, but the shimmer became solid, and a small vile of ice-blue liquid materialized. She placed it in his hand. The vile was cold to the
touch.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Think of it as a wish,” she said. “You only get one. Use it wisely.”
“Why would you give this to me?”
She shrugged a bone-like shoulder. “You have given us freedom.”
Barren tried to give it back to her. “I require nothing in return for such a gift.”
She would not take it and smiled. “You would not do me the dishonor of refusing my gift.”
And Barren closed his fingers around the vile. “I thought not,” she said, and then managed to stand very slowly, and Barren stood with her. She wobbled on her feet, but Barren feared reaching out to steady her. She seemed to understand something Larkin never did. His hands were those of a killer.
The Lyric moved along the deck of the ship like a wraith. She kept a thin hand on the rail as she went and Barren found himself wondering how much longer she would cling to this earth, or perhaps she was clinging to the otherworld. Both thoughts made him sad.
He slipped the vile around his neck so it hung where the compass once lay, and then he turned and headed for the helm where Sam stood.
“The wind is changing,” said Sam. “We will have a storm.”
Barren looked to the horizon, and while he could see no clouds yet, he could feel the change in the wind—it was cool and heavy, damp with the threat of a storm.
“Do you believe these Lyrics have summoned it?”
Before the bloodstone, Barren might have called Sam superstitious.
“If they have, it won’t be the first wicked storm we’ve suffered through and survived,” said Barren. “Better call for Slay to come down from the crow’s nest—it’ll be hard enough for him to hold on.”
Sam laughed, and Barren smiled at the sound.
***
The storm was wicked; the rain was harsh and cold. Sara and the Lyrics had taken refuge in the captain’s cabin. Cove had been forced to follow, as he was not strong enough to fight the storm. Sam and Barren were at the helm, and the others ensured that the sails were closed and the cargo secured. When lightning flashed on the horizon, Devon’s ship was still visible, riding the fierce waves behind them. Barren hoped they weren’t separated in the storm.
Water rose up and doused them. The wind was the worst of it all, as it created a chill on their skin that couldn’t be broken. At times, Barren thought he felt ice mixed with the rain stinging his face. The weather was so distracting, Barren barely noticed when the Lyric he’d brought to the ship left the cabin. His mind told him to go to her, ensure she returned to the cabin, but his body was frozen in place, watching as she moved like a ghost, barely clinging to this world.
She faced the rain and the cold as if she didn’t feel it. The wind whipped around her, lifting her hair and the tattered lengths of her thin clothing. She moved lightly down the deck to the very head of the ship and mounted the rail. She turned with her back to the water and faced Barren, smiling, and then fell into the water. It was over in an instant, and he was suddenly able to move again. A cry tore from his throat and he moved to save her, sliding down the slick deck and hitting the rail with full force. He got to his feet, and began hulking a thick rope over the edge of the ship, but as he prepared to dive, hands were on his shoulders, pulling him back. He stumbled and landed on his back, staring up at Leaf, his body silhouetted by the lightning running rampant through the clouds.
“You must allow her to have peace,” he said.
Barren could only gaze at his friend, whose features were just as cold as the rain and the ice coating the ship. He hated that she’d chosen this rather than face any kind of future, but part of him understood. Her pain was too great, and she had not known the world beyond the Ore Mines and her captors. How could she believe any part of it was good?
Rain tapped on the windows. Datherious walked down the deserted halls of the east wing. In his left pocket he kept Barren Reed’s compass, and even now he kept his hand clasped around it, fearing it might disappear. It was his key to power, his key to ruling the whole of Mariana.
Datherious pushed the door of Natherious’s small study open and entered. His brother didn’t look up at him. He sat behind a desk, reassembling a gun. The pieces were lined up across his desk, organized precisely. Natherious’s passion was weapons. He delighted in creating new contraptions and firing them from the courtyard into the ocean below.
Datherious watched his brother for a moment before speaking. “Father fears me,” said Datherious.
“Why do you say that?” Natherious asked, still focused on his work.
“Because I will be king,” he replied. “Father thinks that the Elf King can offer some sort of way to defy death.”
“The Elf King is immortal,” said Natherious. Datherious felt his anger bubble within him, and his cold eyes fell on his brother, then to his task. He ran his hand across the table, and all the meticulously placed pieces of the weapon fell to the floor. Natherious raised his head but did not look at his brother. He kept his eyes forward, a mark of his anger.
“But he isn’t invincible,” Datherious hissed, leaning down so that his eyes were level with his brother’s. He held his gaze before straightening. “And neither is our father.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m merely stating facts,” he said. “I would not be surprised if father attempted to kill his only heirs, you know.”
“You think he is that fearful of losing his throne?”
“Have you not witnessed his madness over the last few weeks? He stays locked up in that study, he mumbles to himself, and anytime the council offers opinion, he accuses them of treason. He constantly reminds me that I am not king.”
“You are not,” said Natherious. He cleared his throat. “When father dies, you will have the throne. That should please you.”
“How long until he is dead?” asked Datherious and he watched as his brother narrowed his eyes.
“You’ve never been so eager for the throne, brother. I suspect Aethea Moore has something to do with your readiness.”
Datherious gritted his teeth and grabbed his brother by the throat. “The throne is mine, with or without Aethea Moore.”
Datherious released his brother and then placed his hands behind his back, pacing about the room.
“Our father did not teach us how to live with threats, he taught us how to eliminate them,” said Datherious, and it was as if he were making a speech. “If anyone stands in my way, I will eliminate them.”
“With magic?” Natherious questioned.
“And an army.”
“You don’t have an army, not one that you own,” said Natherious.
The only army the crown of the Orient could lay claim to were the privateers, but those crews were privately funded by nobles and any command given to them had to go through the council. Datherious could not sway them to his side.
“Natherious,” Datherious chided. “I thought you were smarter than that. I don’t intend to have an army of untrained privateers. Indeed, the perfect soldiers have been groomed by our very king. I suppose he will realize their potential when they are unleashed.”
“You don’t mean to use the prisoners of Estrellas?” Datherious frowned at his twin’s obvious disapproval. “They are hardly an army. They…they are murderers!”
Datherious stared. He’d already used the Estrellas army, tested them, really, and they’d met his expectations.
“They aren’t disciplined. You won’t be able to control them.”
“I will control everything,” he said. “Once I have the King’s Gold.”
“You only have one piece.”
“Two pieces,” he corrected. “And with Aethea’s help, I will have the last one,” he said. “It is discouraging, your lack of faith in me, brother. I have to wonder what has happened to you.”
Natherious said nothing and looked away. Datherious threw back his head to laugh. “My poor brother, do not be afraid. I will protect you,” he placed his hand on his br
other’s shoulder and squeezed. Then he turned to leave the room, but paused at the door. “You can let go of your blade,” he said.
Natherious looked down at his hand. He let go quickly, as if he hadn’t realized he had been holding it. Datherious offered a smile and then moved down the hall.
***
There was a loud, rapid knock on her door and then it flew open.
“Up!” Ms. Jennings ordered.
Larkin sat up. “Ms. Jennings,” her voice was shrill and high. She’d had enough of the woman’s disrespect and thought to discipline her, but once she was up, she found Ms. Jennings and two soldiers entering her room. She gathered her covers around her.
“This is highly inappropriate!” she cried, but the soldiers moved forward.
“His majesty Prince Datherious has ordered you to the castle.”
“His majesty would prefer I was decent.”
“His majesty has ordered that you come in whatever state you are detained in,” replied the soldier, seizing her hand. Larkin used her feet and slammed them into the soldier’s stomach. She reached for her knife, which sat on her bedside table, and as the other soldiers came forward, drew the knife along his neck. She fled from the room, ignoring Ms. Jenning’s shocked expression. She hurried toward the staircase but found too late that the downstairs was occupied by two other soldiers. When they spotted her, they raced upstairs. She hurried down the hall and into another bedroom. She looked out the window. She was two stories high, and below her was a carriage guarded by two more soldiers. She heard footsteps outside the room and opened the window. If she could make it to the roof, she would at least have more of a chance.
Behind her the door opened, and she was surprised to hear her father’s voice.
“Larkin,” he said. “Do not do this. Let them take you.”
She turned and glared at him. “I will be imprisoned and hanged. Is that what you want?”
“If you run, you will not make it to the sea,” he said.