The Cursed Sea

by Lauren DeStefano

  “I wanted you for your power,” he said. “And last night I saw what that sort of greed can do. It almost killed you.”

  Wil considered this for a moment. “You’re not the same as Pahn,” she said. “Or your father.”

  “No,” Loom agreed. “But if I use you for my own gain, then there’s no difference.” He sat up, gently breaking his hand out of her grasp. “The Southern Isles is my kingdom. If I want it to be saved, then I should be the one to save it. Espel feels the same. Whichever one of us ends up on the throne will have earned it.”

  Wil found herself wanting to argue. Months earlier, when they first met, helping Loom had been the last thing she’d wanted. Rather, she’d wanted to toss him into the sea and steal his ship for demanding her aid, and again for the awful things he had said about her family.

  So why, now, was she so eager to change his mind? The answer was simple, and for the very same reason, she was going to let him go. Because she loved him.

  She sat up to face him, and then she leaned forward and placed a soft, lingering kiss on his closed lips. His hand cradled the back of her head.

  “Be careful,” she whispered.

  The castle would never be what it had been when Owen and their father were still alive. Gerdie knew that. He also knew that Wil’s return would be short-lived. Without the rigid rules of their upbringing to hold her in place, she was like a fish that had found its way out of the fisherman’s net. Her instinct was to swim and swim, until the yawning black of the sea had swallowed her up.

  There was a time when Wil’s wanderlust exasperated Gerdie. Now, though, he didn’t care if his sister sailed the world’s every sea. He didn’t care if she jettisoned herself into space and swam among the stars, so long as she was not pinned beneath the rapids as he had once been told.

  In the summer, the castle would meet even more changes. Addney would be back, carrying the new heir in her arms.

  Baren didn’t know this yet, and Gerdie could almost pity him for that. It was late when Gerdie arrived at his brother’s chamber door, but he knew that Baren would be awake.

  “Just tell him to come in,” Baren muttered to the servant who announced Gerdie’s arrival.

  “I’ve brought something to help you sleep,” Gerdie said.

  Baren was sitting up in his bed, staring into the fire. Had he been sitting like this all night?

  “It won’t work,” Baren muttered. His eyes were heavy.

  Gerdie drew up a chair and sat by his brother’s bed. He placed a vial on the nightstand; its candied green color warmed in the firelight. “Come now. Don’t underestimate me,” Gerdie said. “I’m quite familiar with insomnia. I get it from Mother.”

  Baren eyed him warily. “Isn’t it just?” he said at last. “Owen and our sister inherit our mother’s flights of fancy, while you and I inherit the demons.”

  Gerdie laughed at that. He never expected to have anything in common with Baren, but he supposed that was true.

  Baren lifted the vial, inspecting its contents. “You could be trying to poison me.”

  “Only one way to find out.”

  Baren set the vial down again. He went back to staring at the fire. “She used to speak to me through the flames,” he said at last. “Our grandmother.”

  Gerdie betrayed nothing even as his stomach flipped anxiously. He had spent his whole life evading Baren, and now suddenly he found himself eager to know more about him. He didn’t say a word. He scarcely breathed. He didn’t know what small thing might break this fragile line of trust that Baren had cast.

  “It began in the days after our sister was born,” Baren said. “It was mid-October, and it was quite cold. The fire burned through the night as I slept, and I used to . . . see things. I saw our entire castle in flames. I saw Mother dying in such horrible ways. I saw the tides rising up and flooding the Port Capital. And I knew she was to blame for all of it. I knew she was cursed.”

  Gerdie fought to stay silent. The Wil he knew had been very different. When he was ill, she climbed onto the bed, beside him, and read from his notes so he wouldn’t fall behind in his experiments, or told him stories. And when he was well, she chased him through servants’ passages in the walls, or goaded him to sneak sweets from the kitchen. The Wil he knew had been stubborn, infuriating, and kind.

  At last, when Baren was silent, Gerdie said, “We were all cursed.” It was a big concession for him, a boy who would have insisted curses were a fairy tale only a few months ago.

  Baren’s eyes turned on his brother and he said, “I see that now. She killed Owen, and I killed our father. I let myself be used as a pawn.” He lowered his head, and for the barest moment he looked like a child. “I don’t know what was real. I suspect it will take me a long time to sort it all out.”

  “I could help you,” Gerdie ventured, cautiously. “I’m good at solving things, you know.”

  “Not everything,” Baren said.

  “A few things are still a work in progress,” Gerdie admitted.

  “Why would you want to help me?” Baren said. “We’ve hated each other all our lives. I’ve killed our father.” Something in him broke after he said that. His jaw tightened, and Gerdie saw his fists clutching the blankets.

  All of them, cursed by the horrible thing their grandfather had done. All of them broken. Not just Wil.

  “Because I want to save our family,” Gerdie said. “What’s left of it.”

  Thirty-Seven

  AS THE SUN ROSE OVER the Port Capital, Wil stood at the port to watch everyone depart. Loom was the last to climb aboard, and before he did, he took her hands.

  She didn’t tell him to be careful, or even that she loved him. It felt like tempting fate. And though Loom had not been raised by a superstitious wanderer, as Wil had, he seemed to share the sentiment.

  “I suppose with your brother still acting as king, an alliance between our kingdoms is asking too much.”

  “You’ll have your alliance,” Wil said.

  He laughed, but when it became evident she wasn’t making a joke, he said, “What makes you so certain?”

  “Do you trust me?” she asked.

  “I do.”

  She tugged at the lapels of his coat. “You worry about claiming your throne, and let me worry about an alliance.”

  And there was quite a bit to contend with, she was coming to remember. Northern Arrod had the coffers to repair the damage done; it would be unwise to rely on ally kingdoms now. And there was the matter of Baren yet, and whether or not it was safe to return citizens to Northern Arrod while he was still on the throne.

  She stayed at the edge of the Port Capital until the ship was well out of sight. In its place came the sun, warm with harvest shades of red and gold. It warmed the winterscape, Wil thought. But it didn’t console her. Already she was beginning to worry about Loom, whose curse turned his own palace into a poison, and whose sister was as elusive as she had the potential to be duplicitous.

  Gerdie came up alongside her, and he was silent for a moment before he dragged her back into the reality they both had to face for their kingdom.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “Hm?” She looked at him. “Fine. The stitches are surprisingly sturdy and—”

  “Not that,” Gerdie interrupted. “You haven’t turned anything to stone since your return. Don’t you feel ill?”

  From the time Wil arrived home, she’d had little time to consider how she felt at all. But Gerdie had reminded her. She paced to the edge of the port and brushed away a dusting of snow. The grass beneath it didn’t change. Little surprise there; the kingdom’s curse would cancel out her own. But as she stood and looked around, Arrod no longer seemed cursed. Its sky was blue, patterned with gray winter clouds, but still bright. The buildings were tattered and abandoned, but they didn’t seem dreary and dead, but rather patiently awaiting repairs.

  Had Baren lifted the curse? Or had she, when she’d driven their grandmother’s spirit away? But if the curse
had been lifted, then why wasn’t the grass turning to stone?

  Her concentrated expression was beginning to worry her brother. “What is it?”

  “Usually, if I can’t use my curse, there’s a horrible pressing feeling like there’s an animal trapped in my blood that wants to burst free. But it isn’t there now.”

  “Could your curse be gone?” Gerdie presented this theory so simply, as though it wouldn’t change her world entirely and forever.

  “How?” She tugged at the collar of her shirt and stared down at her chest. Her mark was still there, overlapped now by her latest wound, which formed a gruesome X.

  Beneath the bruises and scars, her body still looked the same. But she didn’t feel the same.

  Thirty-Eight

  ESPEL DIDN’T TRY TO KILL Loom even once on the journey home, which was promising.

  On the journey, they began to formulate a new plan, one which took Pahn’s death into account. Without Pahn, their father was reduced to a man and his soldiers.

  “All the soldiers will turn on him if he loses power,” Masalee assured as they sat huddled in the kitchen the morning of their departure. “He hasn’t taken care of any of them. Half of them have children who are starving or dying of Gray Fever.”

  “My father won’t turn,” Zay said. She knew her father’s loyalty to the king better than anyone; he had been willing to cut off her head to maintain the king’s favor. She let out a loud sigh into Ada’s hair. “You may have to kill him, if it comes to it. He won’t swear loyalty to either of you.”

  She had just given them permission to kill her father. Loom put a hand on her shoulder, but she ignored his attempt at comfort. She was steely when she was sad, cold when she was determined.

  “You still won’t be able to set foot inside the palace,” Espel said. “We’ll have to lure our father away from it. To the mountains would be best.”

  “How?” Loom pressed. “What makes you think he would follow us up a desolate mountainside after banishing us?”

  “There is no need to get short with me,” Espel said pertly. “We had a perfectly stable plan thanks to Wil, and you’re the one who left her behind.”

  “I’m not risking her life again,” he growled. “This is our mess to sort out. She’ll be busy sorting out her own.”

  Espel rolled her eyes, but there was something playful about the gesture. She wasn’t at all disdainful, and for once Masalee’s presence was not entirely to thank for it. For just a second, she and Loom were allies. Siblings, even.

  “We could scare him out,” Zay said, and looked to Masalee. “You could create an illusion that the palace is on fire. Generate heat and smoke and things.”

  “Lure him out like we’re smoking out a bee’s nest,” Espel emphatically agreed. “Yes. You steer the soldiers toward the city and guide our father through the west-most balcony of his chamber. He’ll be forced to jump the railing and seek refuge in the mountainside. We’ll be waiting for him there.”

  Masalee smiled, happy to be useful. Then she said to Loom, “I can’t break your curse, but there may be a way out of it.”

  “Cutting out my heart?” Loom asked dryly.

  “Your curse was an order given by the king,” Masalee said. “If he’s no longer king, the order no longer stands.”

  “That isn’t true,” Loom countered. “It was meant to keep me away long after his death, to ensure I’d never be able to claim the throne.”

  “He intended for Espel to inherit the kingdom, which means she inherits it. It’s hers to command.”

  Espel stiffened her posture, unable to hide her smugness. Loom could gather that she had already known this.

  “Well, I won’t do it,” Espel finally blurted. “If you’re the one to kill our father, you’ve earned your place as heir. If I am, you can take a position on my council if you want it and come and go as you please.”

  She held out her hand, and Loom took it. A firm shake sealed their deal, but coming to trust one another was a different matter entirely.

  The last night of the journey was quiet. Loom muttered and tossed in his sleep; Espel heard him as she passed his cabin on the way to her own. He would be dreaming of his Northern princess again. Loom was never one to accept the present; rather, he would dwell on the most torturous bits from his past over and again, reliving not just that memory, but all the possible ways it could have been made worse. Espel knew how he wondered about their mother, though she hadn’t lived long enough to give either of her children any memories of the fond or terrible sort.

  It was a waste of time. The past was a dark sea filled with lessons to be learned, but it was no place to linger. One could drown doing that.

  Espel turned into her own cabin and closed the door behind her.

  Masalee was there, standing against the wall beside the door frame. This had been her favored spot in the palace, ever ready to strike intruders who came for her future queen. Masalee had been waiting in the dark, the only light coming from a lantern that hung over the dressing table. It was the old-fashioned sort, with an orange flickering bulb that mimicked candlelight.

  Espel didn’t turn to look at her, but the way she moved for the dressing table was its own invitation.

  The Northern patterns on this ship were quite different than what she was used to, but now that she had been inside Arrod’s castle she realized that every bit of Northern architecture was meant to mimic it. The exposed oak beams made even newer things, such as this ship, feel ancient and enchanted.

  The dressing table wasn’t much—just a mirror framed by oak that had been carved in the shape of antlers, and a glossy wooden table bolted to the wall.

  Espel stared at her reflection, her light brown face and shining silver tunic floating in the dim of the room behind her. She reached behind her head, working at the elaborate loops of her hair until it shook loose and fell all around her shoulders like a confession. She laid the gleaming pins on the table before her in a neat row. This small gesture was the only thing to betray her just then; she always sorted and counted things when she was worried.

  Masalee came up behind her and crouched until her chin was on Espel’s shoulder. Her arms coiled around Espel’s chest, and Espel could have floated away, she felt so light.

  “You are the most beautiful thing in this life,” Masalee said, and Espel tried to ruin the moment with a dry laugh and a wrinkle of her nose. She had never felt worthy of love, and yet Masalee seemed to be in endless supply of it.

  Still, the laugh faded from Espel’s lips. Her dark eyes became serious and thoughtful as she stared at their reflections. This time tomorrow, they would be invading her own kingdom under the cover of nightfall. It wasn’t that she feared death, but it was a possibility. Loom could betray her, or her father could prove stronger than she expected.

  “What is it?” Masalee asked. “What are you thinking?”

  “How much I enjoy staring at your face,” Espel said. “And what a shame it would be if I was no longer able to.”

  Masalee’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “You think you’re going to die?” This had never been among Espel’s small supply of fears.

  “I think it’s good to be prepared for all outcomes.”

  “You aren’t going to die,” Masalee said with no obstinacy. “You forget I’m still your guard.”

  “This isn’t your fight,” Espel said, sharp. She was still addressing their reflections in the mirror. “You’re not to do anything. Not a thing at all, do you understand?”

  Masalee’s gaze turned fixed. Her jaw tightened, the same way it had in the palace when Espel made a show of barking commands at her in the presence of others. Anyone who did not know Espel had thought her a monster; they had pitied Masalee for being tethered to her side. They could never know that Espel’s cruelty was the only tool she had to protect the girl she loved.

  Now there was no one to see them. There was no reason to put on an act, and yet Espel caught herself being hard and vicious and cold. Once aga
in, she had meant to protect Masalee.

  The way that Masalee’s arms tightened around Espel said that she understood. This was not anger. This was fear. There was no one else in this world to hold her when she was afraid.

  “This is my fight,” Espel said. “If I expect to rule my kingdom, I have to be the one to fight for it.”

  Masalee considered for a moment, and then she sat beside Espel on the bench, and instinctively their bodies turned to face each other. They held each other’s hands.

  “If Loom betrays you and tries to kill you, then you destroy him,” Masalee said. “But you don’t be the one to turn the fight dirty.” She took Espel’s face in her hands, and then she pressed her palm against Espel’s heart; it fluttered, but not at all due to marvelry. “Fight with all the honor you’ve always had,” Masalee said.

  Espel pushed forward and kissed her, if only to stop this talk of death and of honor. This time tomorrow, she would step up to claim her throne, mortality be damned. Tonight she only wanted to be here, in the middle of the Ancient Sea, her entire world only as big as the sphere of lantern light. Just two girls and their hearts, and all the words webbed between them that never needed to be said.

  Thirty-Nine

  THE KINGDOM FELT STRANGE WHEN it was empty.

  Guards lined the stone wall that surrounded the castle, and for a long time, Wil sat perched on the wall’s edge, watching them. All her life she had evaded guards to do her father’s and her brother’s bidding. But it hadn’t been entirely for them. She would take any excuse to leave the castle.

  At dawn’s first, she had scaled the wall and stolen away to the Port Capital, but there were no smuggled chemicals to bargain for. Rather, she had seen the skeletal beams of buildings Baren had already ordered to be rebuilt. He was using the family’s coffers to restore them.

  A train would be arriving soon with Northern Arrod citizens returning to sweep away the ashes of their homes and start anew.