Dance of a Burning Sea

by Mellow, E. J.

  Alōs’s brows snapped together. “Why did you not send word?”

  “Does your sandglass not tell you of the time left?” Ariōn challenged. “Besides, I know you have been searching out the pieces of the Prism Stone as fast as you can. Doing whatever you must to find them. Would you have been able to sail the seas quicker knowing this?”

  “I might have.”

  “Even you, brother, cannot slow how fast the grains fall.”

  “You have no idea the things I am capable of.”

  “Don’t I?” Ariōn rubbed the discolored skin on his hands, where brown met silver.

  Alōs’s jaw tensed. He was seemingly filled with too much of everything to respond.

  “Let us not fight anymore,” said Ariōn, a tiredness to his words. “You will find what we seek in time. I have faith. Then I will pardon your sins.”

  Alōs shook his head. “After everything, you still remain so optimistic.”

  “Someone must counter all your sourness.” His brother gave him a small smile. “After my coronation, the law is mine to change, and as we discussed—”

  “Oy! What are you doing back here?”

  A gruff voice rang out behind Niya, and she whipped around. Two guards stood in the hidden doorway at her back. Sticks! She had been so wrapped up in what was going on in the room beyond that she hadn’t been paying attention to the energy behind her.

  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

  The guards poked her with their pointed staffs, forcing her to walk forward, through the curtains and into the bedchamber.

  As Niya neared, she was able to see what she previously could not. Ariōn was blind, his eyes covered in a whitish film. And it was not paint covering the top of his face and hands but skin, metallic in color. Sickly veins ran across the silver expanse, stopping where his brown skin started. She had heard of such a thing from Achak but had never seen it for herself. A marking of death paused.

  “I’m sorry, Your Grace,” one of the soldiers said at her back. “A servant reported seeing someone unfamiliar slip into your private entrance. We found her hiding behind the drapes.”

  “Who are you?” The young prince frowned. “I do not recognize your energy.”

  “She appears to be a spy.” Alōs’s dark voice curled forward.

  Niya’s gaze swung to his, every part of her vibrating with the urge to flee, to run, to escape. Instead she kept herself from cowering under the cool fire now blazing from Alōs’s turquoise eyes. He looked down at her as if he wanted to take the blade from his hip and slice her clean through. Niya wondered what was stopping him.

  “A spy?” Ariōn looked genuinely stunned as the guards grabbed her arms, keeping Niya from her own knives at her hips.

  “No, Your Majesty,” said Niya, though she kept her attention on Alōs. “I am no spy. I came here with your brother.”

  A muscle along Alōs’s jaw twitched, and she gave him a hint of a smile, one that said, Yes, I heard everything.

  Now, what to do with it?

  Leverage. The word sang triumphant in her mind, despite her current predicament.

  “You know this creature?” Ariōn turned to Alōs.

  “I’ve never seen her a day in my life,” he replied coolly.

  “Liar!” Niya spat. “I am one of his pirates, Your Majesty.”

  Ariōn raised a single brow at Niya. “Are you? How curious, for I thought Alōs forbade any of his crew to step onto our sacred lands.”

  “I do.” Alōs’s voice was a thick rumble of foreboding.

  “As I thought.” Ariōn nodded. “Take her from here discreetly, Borōm,” he instructed one of the guards. “And I trust neither of you will discuss anything, or anyone, you may have seen in this room, yes?”

  The unspoken words were there. You have not seen my brother this night.

  “Of course, Your Grace,” answered the guards.

  “Very good. I do not want anyone to think Esrom is under more turmoil, after what we have already suffered these past few days.”

  The guards tugged at Niya, and there was a grain fall when she hung on her indecision about whether to peacefully go with them or to fight and flee.

  But then Alōs’s commanding voice brought her back to where she was surrounded. “And spy, I would not try any tricks,” he said, his tone a cold ice bath of warning. He approached slowly, a storm overtaking the room. “I know you wish to try many,” he continued. “Your kind always do. But I shall remind you that Esrom is not large and rests at the bottom of the sea. Wherever you might look to hide, you will not remain undiscovered for long.”

  Though the gesture was subtle, Niya did not miss how Alōs rubbed the marking on his wrist. Their binding bet his forever connection to her.

  She ground her teeth together, her magic a hot coil of energy begging to be set free.

  Free.

  But Alōs was right.

  While Niya could have done many things in that moment, none would erase the memory of her discovery. None would sever her bond to this man who could track her movements if he so desired. And none would save her from his wrath once they were back on his ship.

  In resignation, Niya relaxed her stance, her signal that she understood and would behave.

  For now.

  Still, Alōs’s fury did not lessen; instead he leaned closer, his deep voice brushing hot along her ear. “You have overestimated my need for you by coming here, fire dancer. And for that there will be consequences.”

  Her eyes gripped his as he stepped back, disgust plain in his features. But Niya did not cower. She tipped her chin up as she was dragged away and smiled.

  For though she might have been caught, so had Alōs.

  And she let him know as her gaze swung to the two figures in the bed between him and his brother.

  A couple. Two crowns.

  Alōs’s parents.

  Dead.

  Alōs wasn’t merely a prince.

  Alōs was meant to be a king.

  Here lay the leverage Niya was searching for.

  And it was in the form of a Prism Stone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Niya was growing accustomed to the insides of prison cells. At least, she assumed this was a prison, given the bars. The rest was all rather . . . comfortable.

  Standing in the center of the room, Niya took in a spacious cot with a thick duvet, a washing basin with a pitcher of water, and a chair tucked into a corner. There was even a finely woven rug beneath her feet.

  It was stars and seas better than her hammock crammed between two pirates inside a pungent hall aboard the Crying Queen. Walking to the pitcher, she poured herself a glass, drinking down the cool liquid greedily, and wondered if she might as well take up permanent residence here.

  Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Niya glanced down, reading the cover of a book that sat beside her washing bowl.

  Repent to Replenish: A Sinner’s Final Prayers.

  Or perhaps not.

  Out of habit, her hands moved to her hips but grasped air. Her knives had been taken from her by the guards, which was more annoying than surprising, given she had just gotten them back. But her boots hadn’t been removed, nor her clothes switched out for a prisoner uniform.

  Her mind spun for what to do next, recalling all she had just learned.

  So Alōs is royalty, was born to rule Esrom.

  Niya ran a hand down her face, unable to hold in a snort of laughter.

  If she had gambled about the truth of such a tale, she would have lost.

  Despite her and her sisters being a part of many twisted stories, this . . . this seemed utterly insane.

  Alōs might exude princely confidence, but he was a scoundrel, immoral, coldhearted . . . all right, so most royalty carried these traits as well.

  Niya shook her head. At least this explained why Alōs’s powers felt so deep and ancient. It was because they were.

  By comparison, his younger brother Ariōn’s gifts felt more like an ember than fire. N
iya assumed that had something to do with whatever disease had given him his silver scars. Alōs and Ariōn were part of the most ancient royal bloodline in Esrom: the Karēks.

  While not many in Aadilor had ever seen Esrom, all knew who ruled the hidden city. The Karēk family was said to have sat on the throne since the lost gods had still walked among mortals. In fact, Niya couldn’t remember any other surname being attached to the crown. Though she’d never been taught who currently sat on the throne, nor whether they had any children. Their father seemed to think such details were trivial when it came to a city that hid underwater for centuries and never traded with any other realm. The name Karēk was all that mattered.

  I ensured both of Tallōs and Cordelia’s children lived.

  So Tallōs and Cordelia were Alōs’s parents . . .

  But what had happened to cause Alōs to need to ensure their children lived?

  The magic in Esrom grows weaker by the day. It won’t be long until we surface, for all the world to rape and pillage.

  The Room of Wells is nearly dry. The High Surbs believe we have a year at most.

  Surb Dhruva’s and Ariōn’s words replayed in Niya’s mind, her foot tapping impatiently as she worked out how to use this to her advantage. She also tried to ignore a twinge of sadness she felt for Esrom and the threat it apparently was under. For Surb Dhruva was right. If such a treasure as this kingdom surfaced, after centuries of hiding from the rest of Aadilor, then it most certainly would be attacked, those who sought sanctuary here destroyed. Rare beauty brought war more than peace, for man was a greedy creature, seeking to master land they felt they deserved despite it already belonging to another.

  But such empathy would not help Niya in her task. She had her own problems to worry about. Like getting out of her binding bet and finally becoming free of the insufferable weight of being ruled by Alōs.

  Prism Stone, her magic whispered through her veins.

  Yes, thought Niya. Whatever this object was, it sounded important and was what had caused Alōs to be banished. But why would he steal from his own people, especially an object that all of Esrom apparently depended on? And how would this have saved his brother’s life?

  While there was much still to learn, Niya had heard enough to know one thing: Alōs needed this stone more desperately than she had originally thought, and that was her leverage.

  With a new plan forming, Niya moved to the bars of her cell, grasping them.

  She hissed in pain.

  They were ice cold, leaving her palms red, nearly frostbitten.

  “Lovely,” she muttered.

  “Better than mine,” said a voice from a cell across from her. In the darkness Niya could just barely make out an old man with a graying beard and glowing green eyes sitting on his cot, a book lying open on his lap. “Lightning,” he explained, pointing to the bars in front of him. “At least that’s what it feels like if I touch them.”

  “Is there a way past?”

  The man laughed. “You think I’d be sitting here if I knew that?”

  Niya frowned, reassessing the metal. Now that she was closer, she could make out waves of magic vibrating from the bars. A spell.

  “I haven’t had company in some time,” said the prisoner, shutting his book. “You must have done something awful to end up here.”

  “Why?” She went to retrieve her own book.

  “There’s little crime in Esrom,” explained the man. “But they still don’t bring pickpockets and drunks up here. That lot are taken to a shared room a floor below. You and me, what we’ve done gets special treatment.”

  Niya threw her book against the bars. To her surprise, it stuck, ice quickly growing over the cover, before it cracked, shattering to the ground.

  “Interesting.” She placed hands on hips.

  “You’ll regret that,” said the man, coming forward. “I’ve read my prayer tome fifty-two times now.”

  Niya ignored him as she called up the powers that sat hot in her veins. Twisting into a quick dance, she spun her arms out. Flames shot from her palms and blasted against the bars.

  The metal hissed, and steam filled her cell. She kept pushing until her limbs ached. Lowering her hands, Niya breathed heavily as the smoke dissipated.

  The bars were still perfectly intact.

  “Well, sticks,” she muttered.

  “That’s a pretty power you’ve got there,” said the man. “Are you a murderer?”

  “Excuse me?” Her gaze snapped to his.

  “Are you a murderer?” he repeated.

  “Uh. I’ve killed people, yes.”

  “Many?”

  “Enough.”

  The man slid her a grin. “Me too.”

  “I didn’t enjoy it, though.” She frowned, turning from the man to search her cell for anything more she could use.

  “I did.”

  Niya gave a humorless laugh. “Then I see why you’re in here.”

  “I think you enjoyed it too.” His glowing green eyes followed her movements around her cell. “With all that heat in you. Yes, I think there are some you enjoyed very much sending to the Fade.”

  Niya paused as she lifted up her mattress, thinking about that for a moment. “Yes, perhaps some.”

  The man let out a cackle of delight. She noticed then that he wore the same blue robe as Ixō and Surb Dhruva, yet he didn’t have the silver marking on his forehead, only an angry red scar. Niya didn’t know exactly what a High Surb was, but she assumed, from the looks of them, that they were some sort of holy order. Every city in Aadilor had its religious sect, people who still gave themselves to the lost gods’ teachings, despite their abandonment.

  “Are you a surb?” she asked.

  His grin held. “Was.”

  “Where is your silver marking?”

  This sobered him. “They removed my chaplet,” he said before he spat on the ground.

  “Is that what it’s called? A chaplet?”

  “Where are you from?” He eyed her. “Not here, I imagine.”

  “No, not here.”

  “You’re strong.” It was not a question.

  “Is that important?”

  “No.” The man breathed in deep before blowing a shot of water from his mouth. His bars sparked with blue lightning as his liquid spell slapped against it. With a wave of his hand, he evaporated it all into mist. He met her gaze again. “Strength is not important here.”

  Niya chewed her bottom lip, sizing the man up again.

  “Do all surbs have the gifts?” asked Niya.

  “In varying degrees.”

  She had felt the magic in Ixō and Dhruva, but it was good to know what else she was dealing with. She also saw an opportunity with this acquaintance.

  “What can you tell me about this Prism Stone?” she said.

  The man’s brows rose. “Now, how has someone not from here come to know of such a thing?”

  “Why did Prince Alōs steal it?” She ignored his question, pushing for him to answer hers.

  The ex-surb’s smile was crooked. “I can see why you are now up here with me, destined for the gallows.”

  Niya did not reply, only waited.

  “You ask of history from long ago, girl.”

  “And you appear like one who might have lived it.”

  His echoing laugh hit against their stone walls. “Oh, I have lived it and more. Which is why I know we do not speak of the banished prince or the heart of Esrom he stole.”

  “Heart of Esrom?”

  “Aye,” said the man with a nod, coming closer to his bars. “The Prism Stone was the last gift the gods gave our holy people before they left. It is filled with their blood.”

  Niya gave him a dubious look.

  “It is true,” he urged. “And do you know what pure blood from the gods is?”

  “Sticky?” suggested Niya.

  “Endless magic,” said the man. “And some was contained inside the Prism Stone, which our ancestors placed in the Room of Wells. All t
he water in Esrom eventually flows through the Room of Wells, where it washes over the stone, collecting power and mixing with the magic of this chamber, before circulating back into our kingdom once more. How else do you imagine we stay safely beneath the waves? Have islands that rise and fall with the tides? A spell of that magnitude is never allowed to grow tired.”

  Niya listened like a starved child being fed her first meal, greedily taking in every word. “But now the spell does grow tired,” she pointed out.

  The ex-surb’s eyes narrowed. “I can see ideas turning in your head, girl, and I suggest you abandon them. Whatever you seek here, no good will come of it.”

  Niya ignored his warning, her mind digging through this history and the story of Alōs later taking such a sacred stone from his homeland.

  Why?

  It was the question that spun around and around and one Niya had no good answer for, besides more proof of Alōs’s dark heart.

  But yet he searches to bring it back, she reasoned.

  Why? Why? Why?

  An image of Ariōn and Alōs in their parents’ bedchamber, Alōs’s concerned gaze as he looked upon his younger brother.

  I would have suffered greater without you.

  Could it be possible that such a dark soul as he could truly care for another? Sacrifice his own livelihood for another?

  Niya’s chest burned at the idea, an old scar she had thought faded transforming back into a scab to pick. If Alōs was capable of such emotion, what did that mean for how he had treated her?

  Niya’s magic hissed with hot revenge through her veins. Her old resolve of hatred toward the pirate captain settling like comforting coals in her heart.

  None of this matters, she thought. The only part that does is the leverage I now have against him.

  But now what?

  Sliding her hands into her pockets, Niya pinched her brows together, growing frustrated with her next move. She could of course wait here for Alōs’s unavoidable wrath, along with the punishment that came with trespassing in Esrom, but Niya was not good at waiting. She might have agreed to leave him and his brother peacefully, but that didn’t mean she was going to lie down and let the pirate, prince, or whatever he thought himself to be walk all over her.