The Sea King

by C. L. Wilson

  “Eren’t ye a pretty one.”

  Gabriella stumbled back. Before she could scream to alert the guards, a hand clamped a coarse, pungent cloth over her mouth and nose, and a steely arm clamped round her waist, yanking her back against a second, much larger but equally smelly man.

  Summer’s eyes widened. She tried to struggle but her captor held her fast. She drew in a breath to scream but the pungent odor from the cloth filled her lungs and nostrils, carrying with it a strange, dizzying lethargy.

  “That was easy,” the man in front of her said.

  She blinked, trying hard to focus. He was pulling something from a bag strapped to his hip. A coil of rope.

  Summer drew another breath, tried to scream again. Tried to struggle. But she could not find her voice or make her limbs obey. Her ears began to ring. The lights from the garden below and the city across the fjord went fuzzy and haloed. The man holding her said something, but she couldn’t make out the words.

  The world went dark.

  Wynter lay on his side, propped up on one elbow amidst the puddle of satin sheets, his ice-blue eyes focused intently on his wife’s naked, swollen belly. One large hand splayed across the mound, resting feather light, as their unborn children shifted and moved about in their mother’s womb.

  “We could have twenty children, and I don’t think I’d ever get tired of this,” he said, his voice husky. Reverent.

  Khamsin laughed, and one of the babies kicked hard, a strong pulse against Wynter’s hand.

  “Twenty? I love you, Winterman, but that’s not going to happen. Not even close.”

  He glanced up then, his eyes bright and intent as they fixed on his wife’s beloved face. “But think of all the fun we’d have trying.” His voice dropped an octave and gained a soft, throaty growl that made her breath catch and her skin flush with sudden heat. He loved that about her. The passion she no longer even tried to hide. How easily he could rouse her desire with just a look, just a rumbling growl.

  “You are so bad.”

  “That’s why you love me so much.”

  Her lips curved in a sultry smile that made his body go hard and aching. “That’s definitely part of it.”

  The hand on her belly slid up towards the single button that kept the edges of her silk robe fastened between her breasts. He popped it free with a flick of his fingers and brushed the silk aside to bare the beautiful satin-skinned mounds of her breasts.

  Pregnancy had made those breasts much fuller than they’d been when they first wed. Her dusky nipples seemed larger and darker, too, and they were definitely much more sensitive than they had been. A fact that had provided them endless delight over the last months.

  He thumbed one and reveled in her sharp gasp and the way she arched her back. He could spend a lifetime loving her. Ten lifetimes. An eternity.

  “I adore you, min ros.”

  He bent to kiss her, to take those lush, full lips, the sweet warmth of her mouth, to taste the fire that had saved his frozen soul.

  The sound of raised voices in the room outside their bedchamber made him freeze. A split second later, he leapt off the bed, flipped a sheet over Khamsin, snatched up his sword, and crossed the room in three ground-eating strides. He reached the door just as someone began rapping upon it, calling, “Your Grace!” in urgent tones.

  Wynter flung the door open. “What’s happened?”

  The Steward of Konumarr stood beside Wyn’s valet, a dozen White Guards behind him. “The princesses, my lord,” he gasped, bending over to catch his breath. “The princesses are missing.”

  “What?” That sharp cry came from behind him.

  Ice gathered in his eyes, while behind him he felt the electric snap in the air as his wife summoned her own deadly power.

  Chapter 19

  “Synan missed his check-in. That’s two in a row.”

  Dilys turned from his position at the sterncastle rail to face his first mate, Kame Samatoa. It was eight in the morning. Synan had missed the three-o’clock check and now the seven as well, making it nine hours since his last communication.

  One missed check-in could have been a dolphin pod interrupted or prevented from passing along the signal. Two in a row . . . that could only mean something was wrong.

  And there was a sinking sensation in Dilys’s stomach that told him what that something might be.

  “Signal the fleet and come hard about. The Shark can have the treasure and choke on it—assuming he was even after it in the first place.” More likely the thrice-damned krillo had baited a trap of his own, and Dilys had fallen right into it. “Set a course for Konumarr. And I want every seagift on this ship focused on the task of speeding us along.”

  “Tey, Alakua.” Aye, Captain. “Right away.” Kame turned and began shouting orders.

  The deck tilted beneath Dilys’s feet as the Kracken circled sharply around and began heading north, back towards the Æsir Isles.

  “Shall we send a signal back to Konumarr, Alakua?” asked Dilys’s second mate.

  “Ono. If there are unfriendly ears listening, I don’t want to alert them that we’re on the way.” Dilys stared grimly at the horizon ahead, the curvature of the world obvious as the Varyan ocean stretched as far as the eye could see. Gabriella, moa halea, I pray I am mistaken and there is nothing wrong. But one way or another, know that I am coming for you, and that nothing will stop me from reaching your side.

  Summer woke to groggy, pain-filled darkness. For countless minutes, she lay conscious but uncomprehending, her drugged brain struggling to interpret the impressions gathered by her physical senses. Everything was black. She’d been blindfolded. She tried to raise her hand to remove the blindfold, but her arms were bound tight behind her back. There was a horrible taste in her mouth—not solely due to the disgusting cloth shoved in and tied in place—and her head was pounding.

  She was on her side, laying on some sort of lumpy, swaying surface. The air smelled of salt, sweat, and that musty, moldy smell of a confined space not regularly aired out. The world was tilting and swaying in a rhythmic manner, and she could hear the creak of wood, the flap of fabric snapping in the wind, the shouts and movement of men overhead.

  Shards of memory were slowly coming back to her.

  She’d been kidnapped. Stolen from her room in Konumarr Palace. She’d been blindfolded, drugged, and trussed up like a roasted Harvest goose. And now she was on a ship, sailing gods only knew where. Far from the safety of Summerlea and Wintercraig, that much was certain. Far from the reach of Khamsin and Wynter’s wrath. And if her captors possessed an iota of intelligence, far from Dilys as well.

  Her body ached. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been lying here, tied up and motionless, but the arm beneath her was numb and prickling. She tried to pull her hands free of their bonds, but every attempt to wriggle free made the cords cut into her skin, the knots completely ungiving. Summer slid down the lumpy surface of her makeshift prison bed and began using her bare feet to explore her surroundings. Her toes made contact with a ribbed, vertical surface. Wall? She moved her feet across it. Outrage flared. No. Not a wall. They hadn’t put her in a room but in some sort of cage. Like an animal!

  If she hadn’t been gagged, she could have used Persuasion to command any guard within hearing distance to release her, and then she could have taken over the ship, one pirate at a time, but with her voice silenced, her options were limited.

  This would have been the perfect time for some practical magical gift, like the ability to unravel binding ties or send telepathic calls for help along with detailed information to help lead rescuers to her location. Or even something as simple as the ability to slow her captors down. Dilys was days away, but Wynter surely would have already sent a rescue party after her. If she could slow the ship, it would give her rescuers a chance to catch up.

  Summer stilled.

  She was on a ship at sea. She was in possession of a weathergift. Storms at sea were no laughing matter. And never was the threat of a
storm at sea more troubling than in the hottest months of the year, when the temperature of the oceans reached their peak, and the air became a volatile soup ready to explode with wild fury.

  Gabriella wasn’t Khamsin, able to summon a tempest on a whim, but she was still the Season whose giftname was Summer. She carried the fire of the Sun itself inside her.

  The only problem was that, unlike Storm, whose magic burst upon the world with every stray emotion, Gabriella had spent most of her life suppressing the deadly fire inside her. Afraid of losing control, she’d rarely used anything but the smallest portion of her gifts to summon cooling breezes and gentle rain to make summers pleasant rather than stultifying and to aid with the growing of bountiful crops.

  Now, if she had any hope of slowing this ship, Summer needed more than a gentle breeze. She needed power enough to summon a strong headwind. Something with enough force to slow this magic-powered ship. That meant channeling more magic than she’d ever done on purpose.

  That meant tapping the volcano.

  She took a deep breath, pushing back her anger and fear over being kidnapped. Pushing back the anxious tension that coiled in her body like a hissing snake. Stay calm, Gabriella. Stay in control. All you need is a little of what lives inside you. You want to summon a headwind, not a hurricane.

  When she was sure she’d released as much fear and tension as possible, Gabriella took another breath and reached inside herself to that hot, molten, fiery place that dwelled at her core. The one that lay hidden, trapped beneath so many layers of stony discipline and buffering calm. And there it was, the fuel at the heart of a flame. Sun bright. Sun hot.

  The gift of Helos.

  A portion of the god’s power gifted to her, just as a portion of his power lay inside all who bore the red Rose. Those who—she now knew, thanks to Khamsin’s discovery of Roland’s sword—were the human descendants of Helos himself, through Roland, the son the god had conceived upon a mortal queen.

  Helos, help me, she thought fervently. Her parched lips formed the words around the gag that silenced her.

  And with deliberate calm, she peeled back the layers of control—the years of discipline and distance—that kept her power in check.

  As she worked, she sent her senses outside herself, wafting out through the walls of her current prison, through the bowels of the ship, into the brisk, briny sea air. The sun was high in the sky, pulsing with light and power. So warm. Much warmer than it had been in Konumarr.

  She could feel the great ocean of currents in the sky. Up rose the heated air. Down flowed the cooler air from the highest reaches. The rise and fall of the air generated a magnificent, endless dance of winds, energy stored in every molecule. And high above the dancing surface level winds roared the great invisible river that guided and pushed the lesser currents.

  Summer reached out with her power, seeking a place ahead of the ship. Heating the sea and air with a controlled lash of power. Hot, moist air thrust up into the atmosphere. Cooler, denser air rushed into the void left behind. A gust of wind blew hard. The ship shuddered as the wind punched the sails and a large wave slapped the bow of the boat.

  She fed more energy into the sea and the sky, drawing winds directly her way. Power crackled in the distance as the volatile air began to condense and clouds began to form. As she fed the storm, she tasted a familiar tang on the wind.

  “Vivi?” Gabriella’s garbled whisper came out little more than a muffled grunt of sound.

  Spring’s magic was there, in the sky with her own, adding more warmth to Gabriella’s own, widening the circle of heated air and water. Helping her feed the storm.

  Gabriella bit her lip, fear and love fighting inside her. If Spring was there in the sky, that meant she must be here on the boat, too. The kidnappers hadn’t taken just Summer. They’d taken Viviana, too.

  The ship lurched to one side as a powerful gust of wind struck hard. Gabriella cried out as the sudden roll of the ship lifted her body and threw her into the wall of the cage. Wood creaked and groaned. Men shouted above decks.

  She grunted in pain as the righting of the ship smacked her facedown onto the lumpy, smelly pallet.

  Summer was still struggling to roll over onto her back when the door to her small prison slammed open. Heavy boots stomped across the wooden floor.

  “Awake and causing mischief,” a harsh, gravelly voice declared. “The captain is not amused.”

  There was the sound of the cage being opened. Then hard hands flipped her over with ease and a damp cloth covered her nose and gagged mouth. She tried to scream, tried to struggle, but the man was too strong for her to fight.

  The familiar, pungent odor of whatever he’d poured on the cloth filled her nostrils. Her mind went lethargic, thoughts muzzy. The tension in her body faded. The effects of the powerful sedative slipped over her like a shroud.

  Once more, everything went black.

  “My future liana and her two sisters have been stolen, and you think I had something to do with it? Have you lost all reason?” Dilys glared at Wintercraig’s king. Upon their return to Konumarr, Dilys and his men had been greeted by armed guards—not just guards on high alert due, but suspicious, angry, hostile guards. Dilys’s men had been taken into custody, while Dilys himself had been escorted by a dozen armed and angry White Guards into the palace throne room, where both Wynter of the Craig and his queen were waiting.

  “The princesses are missing and so are the men you left to ‘guard’ them,” Atrialan shot back in a fearsome voice. “I’d say my reasoning is farking sound.”

  “Synan and his men were my strongest and most trusted warriors!” Dilys snarled. “If they are missing, it’s because whoever took the Myerialannas killed my men and disposed of the bodies. There’s no other possible explanation. Do you forget my men and I fought a god for the right to court the Seasons? What possible motive would we have for kidnapping the woman I plan to marry and her sisters?” Outrage, fury, and, yes, fear battered him, tearing away even the pretense of calm. Outrage that the Winter King would suspect a prince of Calberna of such perfidy. Fury that someone—anyone—dared kidnap his future liana and her sisters. And fear—icy, soul-consuming fear—at the thought of what the Seasons’ abductors might do to them. Do to Gabriella.

  If anyone touched his little honeyrose . . .

  If they dared to hurt her . . .

  Black, diamond-hard talons shot from his fingertips, ready to rend.

  “What motive?” Wynter shot back. “I can think of several. Perhaps your courtship wasn’t going as well as expected. Perhaps you decided the assurance of having three powerful weather witches in your control was more appealing than the possibility of winning one. Perhaps you decided you didn’t like the bargain you struck last winter with my queen, so you broke it. You’ve certainly done that before.”

  Snow flurries swirled in the Winter King’s eyes, and a distinct chill emanated from him. Uncowed, Dilys bared his teeth in a fierce snarl.

  “I have only broken one contract in my life—and not without cause. As you well know. Or are you telling me now I should have left your queen to face the Ice King and his minions alone?”

  Furious as he was, even Wynter of the Craig had to back down from that one. He did, but not gracefully. With a sharp oath and clenched fists, he turned away.

  “If you didn’t do this, then who did?”

  “Release me, and I assure you I will find out.”

  Wynter merely curled his lip and said, “They came by sea, using fog to mask their movements. I’ve been down to the fjord. The air stinks of magic. Manipulating fog on the water is a seagift, is it not?”

  Fog on the water was just an extension of the sea, water droplets suspended in the air. Calbernans could not affect the weather like the weathermages of Wintercraig and Summerlea, but manipulating fog . . . that, they could do.

  “Tey, we can, but so can many others. In fact, if you cross the right palm with silver, you can buy such a spell on the black market.” His
chin lifted. He stared at Wynter of the Craig with unflinching eyes. “I am telling you, I did not do this thing. My men did not do this thing. But if these krillos who took the Myerialannas came by sea, then I am your best hope to hunt them down.”

  Wynter’s lip curled again. “If you think for one second that I’d trust you to go after my wife’s sisters, you are dreaming.”

  Dilys’s temper flared. He subdued it with ruthless control. Fury would get him nowhere. Gabriella must come first.

  He swept a hot, molten gaze over the cold, distrustful Wintermen lined up against him. Prideful, stubborn, suspicious idiots. They thought they could track a ship across open ocean. They would be wrong—especially if the ship in question belonged to the Shark. Without Dilys, without his men, Gabriella and her sisters were as good as lost. Before the Wintermen could do more than grab their weapons, he turned to their queen and dropped to his knee before her.

  “I swear to you, Khamsin of the Storms, Myerial of Wintercraig and Summerlea, I swear to you on my life and the lives of my men and on the blood of Myerial Alysaldria I, my great and glorious mother, I swear to you I will find your sisters and bring them home or die trying. I swear it.” He bowed his head, baring his neck to her in a sign of complete submission and vulnerability. “Give me my men and my ships, and let me hunt. Grant me this right, this honor. Lay your hands upon me and grant me the great gift of your trust. I will not betray you.”

  For one long, interminable minute, he thought she would refuse. His thoughts whirled. If she refused, what would he do? The Seasons—Gabriella—were out there, captured by gods only knew what manner of foul, corrupt soul. Dilys wanted to hunt with Khamsin’s blessing in order to keep the peace between Wintercraig and Calberna, but if they tried to hold him—to stop him . . .