“It’ll be all right.” Jamison strides to me and strokes my arms. “I saved a small amount of my inheritance. I can bribe Vevina into dropping us at the closest port. She isn’t entirely unpredictable. Her favor can be bought with coin.”
I pull away, stepping over the manacles. “Then what? You deliver your convict wife to jail to serve her sentence for something she didn’t do?”
He balks, flabbergasted. “I would never do that. I hope to win your freedom.”
“You’ve been through this with Rafferty. The magistrates don’t issue pardons.”
Jamison takes my hands in his. “Rafferty isn’t my wife. We have a better chance at a life, at a future, if we go home.”
What future does he expect we’ll have? Besides the benefit of seeing my uncle again, I don’t envision a life for me or Jamison in Dorestand. Even if he can use his nobility to ensure I am pardoned, I will always be a convict and he a disgraced earl. I will have no peace so long as Markham is out there.
Jamison may never forgive me for what I’m about to do, and I may not have another chance to do this, so I slide my arms around his waist and graze my lips across his. I finish and stare up at him, my clock heart ticking against his chest.
He stays absolutely still—and then his mouth dips closer and crushes down on mine.
His touch explores everywhere. My hair, my cheeks, my jaw, my lower back. The sensations are so overwhelming, I push him off me. We both stare at each other, winded. Unable to stand the distance between us, I leap at him and kiss him harder and longer. His nearness fills me with such happiness, I almost don’t want to let him go.
While our bodies are close, I press him against the wall by a set of manacles. His palms go to my hips and my fingers to the nape of his neck. Reaching around him, I clamp the manacles on his wrist and step back.
My mouth is puffy, his own mouth red. I back up for the door.
“I’m sorry.”
He wrenches at the bindings. They will not open without an anvil to bang out the peg. “You don’t mean this.”
“I didn’t plan it. This is who I am, Jamison.”
“You think I don’t understand you by now? You think you can hunt Markham on your own. You need help to defeat him, Everley. The queen’s navy, the army—”
“Are far away.”
“He’s a traitor. I didn’t want to raise your hopes, so I didn’t say anything, but I never planned to deliver you to prison.” Jamison’s sudden directness stuns me. “I intended to go directly to the queen and convince her to renounce your sentence in exchange for time served pursuing Markham with me.”
“What will the queen say when you tell her we saw Markham cut his princess out of an elderwood tree and use her heartwood to animate an army of wooden soldiers? Everything we saw proves the old ways are true. She’ll brand us heretics and sentence us to the pyre. Even supposing she could set aside her ideals, we don’t have time to waste.” I tap my clock heart to reaffirm that I am the master on this subject. “Markham could have a head start to whatever calamity he seeks to inflict next. Sailing back to Wyeth, persuading the queen, gathering a fleet—by the time we’re done, he could have destroyed another world. The next one could be ours.”
Jamison raises his chained arm. “You didn’t need to lock me up. You could have talked to me.”
“You already know what I want. So long as Markham lives, he will corrupt and destroy. We will never be safe.”
Jamison crosses the cabin, stretching the chain to its end, two strides from me. “No one said you have to go after him alone.”
“I wouldn’t ask that of you.”
“You didn’t have to ask. I would have gone with you and fought by your side.” Jamison turns away and plods back to where I chained him. Arms wide, he braces against the wall and his head falls forward between them.
My ticker races, pushing me to finalizing my decision. When I leave this cabin, the time that has bonded us together will end.
A hot ball flares in my throat. It takes me a moment to recover my voice. “You said our marriage would protect us from growing close. You said you didn’t want to give someone else power over you, over your heart.”
He scoffs bleakly. “If only I were as good as you at heeding my rules.”
Tears smear my gaze. So much has changed in a short time, yet I am still the girl with the clock heart. I am still dependent on time for each breath, each day.
I flee the cabin before tears spill over my lashes. My clock heart is incapable of falling in love, but if it could, I would find no finer man in all the worlds than the one I just left behind.
The officer’s cabin is large and quiet. I lie on the bed and wait for the sway of the ship to ease me to sleep. We have been at sea just a few hours, yet with Jamison chained belowdecks, time feels eternal.
Claret and Laverick welcomed me to the crew and teased me about my disheveled hair and clothes. The signs of Jamison’s kisses were easily readjusted and smoothed away. I did not anticipate the invisible marks he would leave, the ones no one else can see that don’t appear to fade.
Before I put Quinn to bed in her cabin, she and I visited Dr. Huxley. His quarters have a window overlooking the stern. Quinn’s cat sat in the windowsill and watched the wakes drift farther and farther apart until they melted into the horizon. The resilient feline is unafraid of sailing, or perhaps the cat has resigned himself to a life at sea like Alick has. When I inquired about his reasons for joining Captain Vevina’s crew, Dr. Huxley’s response was curt.
“Pirates need a medic too,” he said.
One can hardly disagree.
I stand and pace the cabin. It is bigger than ours was on the Lady Regina. Jamison moved Cleon here, but most of his belongings were damaged by water and left behind. His violin rests in the corner, locked in its case, and his mother’s storybook is drying on the desk. I turn my back to them and slip my hand into my pocket. Something jingles at the bottom. I pull out my regulator bell. Jamison must have snuck it onto my person at some point after we rowed from shore.
It is no use. He cannot stay locked belowdecks or guilt will devour me.
I swing open the door to look for Vevina, and Blue darts in. She dips and rises as she flies, hoisting a small scroll and velvet pouch. She drops both on my bed and lands next to them.
“Blue, you found us! Where have you been? Did anyone see you?”
The pixie shakes her head and flops back onto her wings, her little chest pumping. I open the pouch. Inside is a cache of pixie dust, about a handful’s worth.
“What’s this for?”
Blue makes a reading motion with her hands, flipping the pages of an imaginary book, and then she points at the scroll. I slide the ribbon off and roll it open.
The letter, written in precise, elegant handwriting, is addressed to me.
Dearest Everley,
Our fondest wishes and most heartfelt apologies for the late delivery of this letter. We would have come ourselves, but we have been summoned by the elven council. Their queens wish to discuss Prince Killian’s unforgiveable destruction of the Land of Youth. We are mightily disturbed that he has been captured by the Terrible Dorcha. The monstrous whale travels freely between your world and the Land Under the Wave. Have you been there? The Land Under the Wave is a haven for outlaws. It is vast in seas and provides some of the richest resources and secrets of the natural worlds. We highly recommend you never visit, especially not anytime soon.
One minor point of business. Radella will serve as your ambassador for the Everwoods. She rather dislikes being called Blue. Radella is an apprentice, so be mindful of her dust. She has a tiresome habit of disappearing things. Please remind her we are still missing our left sock.
Your forever friend,
Father Time
I refold the letter, perplexed by the content. Father Time couldn’t be accused of lightheartedness, yet this letter is practically jolly considering all that has transpired. It also explains why I did not see him ag
ain on the isle. Why did he tell me about the Land Under the Wave if he doesn’t want me to go there? I would have deduced that it was dangerous based on his description.
“But of course!” I say, an idea dawning. “Radella, has Prince Killian been taken to the Land Under the Wave?”
She nods emphatically.
“Does Father Time wish for me to follow him?”
Her next nod is less enthusiastic.
I was right not to listen to Jamison. We don’t need to return to the queen. We can find Markham and I can get the sword on my own.
In my excitement to exit the cabin, I drop the letter on Radella. She climbs out from under the parchment and trills a furious song at me. I apologize and hurry out.
Vevina mans the helm on the upper deck. I dash up the steps to her, arriving breathless. She takes in my flushed complexion and nightgown.
“You all right, darling?”
“Just grand. You’re hunting for treasure, aren’t you?”
“Always.”
“What if I could promise you endless riches?”
Vevina purses her mouth. “I’d be interested if it’s true.”
“Will pearls as big as your head and beaches of gold sand suffice?”
She throws up a hand in irritation. “Stop asking me redundant questions and be out with it, lass.”
“I know where you can find such riches, but traveling there will be dangerous. It’s in a land far away, and it won’t be easy to find.”
Her lips split in an uneven smile. “Do you have a heading?”
I face the headwind, staring into the starry horizon. “Set sail for the nearest storm. We need to track down the Terrible Dorcha. He will lead us to your treasure.”
And me to mine.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A new book and another fantastic group of peers and loved ones to applaud.
First and foremost, my family. John, Joseph, Julian, Danielle, and Ryan, thanks for letting me disappear into my “book world” every day. And my parents, in-laws, and siblings for your endless cheering. Family is forever . . . That’s good, right?
The Dream Team: My agent, Marlene Stringer. This story goes way back to our first months together. Thank you for your constant belief in me. Jason Kirk, it has been my pleasure to get to know you as my brilliant editor. I’m also blessed to have you as a colleague, and I consider you a friend. Thank you for all you do. You’re the best editor in all the worlds. Clarence Haynes, your emails always brighten my mood. You are endlessly optimistic, intuitive, and insightful. Thanks for shining up this story and playing devil’s advocate. I relish the challenge and enjoy problem-solving with you. The team at Skyscape, namely Brittany Russell, Colleen Lindsay, and Kristin King. I can’t forget Kyla Pigoni and Haley Kushman. You ladies are fierce.
A huge thanks to Jessie Farr for recommending a PBS documentary you thought I would like. My fictional ship may not be the Lady Juliana, and Everley may not be the convict Mary Wade, but the spirit of their memory is at the heart of this story.
Hugs to Taffy Lovell for the getaway to Midway that fateful spring. I wrote the first two chapters of this manuscript at your desk. Erin Summerill, Veeda Bybee, and Julie Donaldson—wasn’t that a great retreat? Kate Coursey for reading a very early draft and not telling me it was garbage (it was). You’re my ride or die. Let’s plan another adventure, shall we? And Caitlyn McFarland for bringing out the best in Everley and her cohorts.
Lastly, I am honored to send an enormous amount of love and respect to Camille Junca. Often there isn’t justice or fairness in our world. It makes one wonder what we can do to make a difference. I wrote this story to find purpose and meaning in the chaos. I believe in monsters, but I also believe in heroes who inspire us and challenge us to do better. Camille, you’re my hero. The best revenge is living well.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2015 Erin Summerill
Emily R. King is a writer of fantasy and the author of The Hundredth Queen Series. Born in Canada and raised in the United States, she is a shark advocate, a consumer of gummy bears, and an islander at heart, but her greatest interests are her four children. Emily lives in northern Utah with her family and their cantankerous cat. Visit her at www.emilyrking.com.
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