The Deepest Blue

by Sarah Beth Durst

  “We don’t call them the ‘peasantry.’”

  “You should. Nice ring to it. Establishes the hierarchy with no room for confusion. That was his problem—he seemed to think he could talk to you person to person, when he wasn’t, in fact, talking to you at all.” Garnah grew more serious. “Was he?”

  “Of course he spoke to me.”

  “Your Majesty, let me ask you a question: If it were up to you, and if there were no other factors to consider, would you have agreed to save his wife? Would you save all of them? You know the Belenian method of training heirs is not the only one possible. As queen, you could—”

  Asana cut her off. “It’s tradition, and it’s not within my power to change.”

  Leaning back, Garnah propped her feet up on the suka table that held the artist’s masterpiece. “And that, my dear, is the heart of it, isn’t it? You don’t have the power. Not to grant that overly sincere boy his request. Not even to fix the disaster of your city streets, which, by the way, he was right about. They’re a mess.”

  Asana ground her teeth together. Today Garnah’s unrelenting bluntness grated.

  Garnah continued. “And you should. You control all the spirits on Belene—there’s no reason for you to bend your will to others.”

  Oh, there’s reason. And that reason has names: Rokalara, Mother, and Father. “You don’t understand.” She glared at Garnah’s feet, too close to the beautifully carved shell. That piece was everything she wished she could be: the protector of Belene. Except I can’t protect everyone. She knew she was misdirecting her anger—she wasn’t truly angry at Garnah. Or the young artist. She was angry at the Families, who kept her hands tied.

  Garnah removed her feet from the table. “But I do understand. You aren’t free.” She studied the queen until Asana wanted to squirm under her gaze. Squirm and fume. At last, Garnah asked, “What do they have on you?”

  All the anger drained out of her. “How . . . how did you know?” she whispered.

  “Because I’m not an idiot. And I understand power. You don’t have it, which means someone else does—and you don’t seem happy about it, which means it’s not voluntary. Tell me. We’ll fix it.”

  “You can’t ‘fix’ it. Not without . . .” She shook her head.

  “Is it a ‘what’ or a ‘who’?” Garnah pushed. “I can’t help you unless you tell me.”

  There was truth in her words. She really means it. She wants to help me. But . . . why? “What is it you want?” In other words, why should I trust you?

  The thing was, that’s what Asana desperately wanted. To unburden all her pent-up truths. To have someone she could be fully honest with, to share her pain, to understand. . . . She’d never had anyone she could trust in that way. Everyone around her had ties elsewhere, families and people who depended on them, other pulls on them that had the potential to conflict with what the queen needed. But Garnah . . .

  “I want to be needed.” Garnah let out a little laugh. “Isn’t that amusing? Me, who doesn’t value anyone else, likes being essential. I learned that about myself with Queen Daleina of Aratay. I don’t particularly care who lives or dies, so long as I play a vital role.”

  There was truth in her words. Maybe she isn’t trustworthy, not in the traditional sense. But I’m sick of “tradition.”

  Taking a deep breath, Asana said, “They took my family. On the day I was crowned, the Families kidnapped my parents, my husband, and my daughter and took them ‘under their protection.’ If I try to free them or even try to see them . . . They had my husband murdered to prove their power and ensure my obedience, and they hold my other loved ones hostage.”

  Garnah sat up straight, her eyes bright. “Where are they being held?”

  “I don’t know.” Asana spread her hands. “I’m not even allowed to know which Family holds them or which island they’re on.”

  “Then you need to find out.”

  Asana shook her head. “Exactly what are you proposing?”

  “We need to change the balance of power in Belene, and to do that, we need to free your family. To do that, we need to determine where they are.”

  “If I try to find—”

  “Not you. Me.”

  “But everyone knows you’re my adviser. Any investigation you conduct will be traced back to me. I cannot take that risk.” As tempting as it was.

  She’d tried before, though. And had paid the price. Since then, she had been docile, obeying the Families, chafing under their rule, hating them.

  “Then we employ someone who isn’t known in the palace. Someone so earnest that no one will suspect him. Someone who will swear absolute obedience to you, if he knew his actions would lead to saving his beloved’s life.”

  Asana felt a fluttering inside her as she realized what Garnah was saying. It felt an awful lot like hope. She picked up the artist’s masterpiece. “I can offer him a position as royal artist,” she mused. “He’d have permission then to roam through the palace. Perhaps I commission portraits of influential members of the ruling Families. They wouldn’t say no to that, not with their egos. The palace could use a portrait gallery, don’t you think?”

  Smiling placidly, Garnah nodded. “It would greatly enhance the place.”

  “Summon him back,” Asana said. “You will meet with him alone, so that his connection to me is minimized. Tell him what he needs to know. Realize, though, once he knows the truth about what the Families have done to my loved ones . . . if he doesn’t swear to cooperate, you will need to kill him.”

  “Obviously.” Garnah was unperturbed by the idea of killing an innocent man. “I told you the truth. I don’t care who lives or dies, so long as I am useful.”

  “Then go and be useful,” Asana ordered. She then leaned back in her thronelike chair, cradled the shell carving against her breasts, and thought of her daughter.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mayara thought dismantling the snares all over the island was a terrible idea.

  “But we can’t leave them out there,” Roe protested. “They could catch someone else, like they caught Palia. And like they caught me, remember?” The three of them were holed up in the cave, which was now quite cramped. Ever since returning with Palia, they’d been careful to leave only for absolute essentials—quick strikes for food and water and to relieve themselves.

  She’s stir-crazy, Mayara thought. That’s why she’s making reckless suggestions.

  “We know now to watch out for traps around trees,” Mayara said as she shifted, trying to find a better position between the coconut shells. “That’s good enough. We can simply avoid them.”

  “But we shouldn’t have to,” Roe said. “They shouldn’t be there at all. It’s unfair, and it’s wrong. All we’re supposed to be worrying about is the spirits, not . . . sabotage!”

  “I am worried about the spirits,” Mayara said. “It’s why I’m not interested in the traps. It’s unnecessary time out in the open.”

  “It’s necessary if it saves a life.” Roe addressed Palia: “You wouldn’t have suffered if we’d destroyed the snares when we first found them. Tell Mayara you wish we’d removed the snares.”

  Palia still looked terrible, her cheeks sunken and her lips cracked. They’d used up the majority of the angel seaweed on her many cuts, most of which she’d gotten before the snare. She’d been on the run ever since they’d landed on the island, and she hadn’t been as lucky as Mayara and Roe. “It would have been nice not to be caught.”

  “See? I’ll do it,” Roe said. “We know where they are—it’ll be quick.”

  “Roe, think for a minute, please! We’ve only stayed alive so far because we’ve been smart and careful.” She kept her voice low even though she wanted to shout. “This is reckless! We don’t even know that anyone else is still alive!”

  “I said if I got another chance to help someone, I wouldn’t hesitate,” Roe reminded her. “And you promised you wouldn’t stop me. Mayara, I couldn’t do anything when the Families took
us away from my mother, and I couldn’t help my father when they took him away from me. I can do something to save someone here—someone who might have a family they want to see again.”

  She was so earnest that Mayara knew she wasn’t going to talk her out of it. Mayara glared at Roe, then threw her hands up in surrender. “Fine. But if we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it as safely as possible. So that means you can’t be the one to go out there. Your leg isn’t perfect yet. I can run faster. Besides, you’re better at sensing spirits anyway. You watch for them. Give three bird chirps if the spirits notice me, and I’ll bolt for the nearest cave.”

  Thanks to their explorations, they knew the island was like a beehive of stone and bone beneath the surface. The coconut grove was near at least three openings. If Mayara was quick enough, she should be able to outrun the spirits, hide in the tunnels, and return via underground routes. Provided there weren’t any spirits in the caves, of course.

  “I’ll be your lookout,” Roe promised. “I won’t let the spirits catch you.”

  “Just because I’m agreeing to this doesn’t mean it’s not a terrible idea.”

  “I need this,” Roe said. “I can’t just hide here any longer. It’s the same reason why I forced Lord Maarte to send me here—yes, I may have been ‘safer’ as his hostage, but at some point choosing to be safe can destroy your soul.”

  Maybe that’s true, Mayara thought. But this better not get us all killed.

  AS THE SUN DIPPED BELOW THE HORIZON, MAYARA CRAWLED OUT of their cave and scrambled over the rocky shore. The sky was an array of colors: clouds stained rose and deep orange; the sea was black with blue, amber, and rose glints. It crashed against the rocks in rhythm. Out above the reef, water spirits were dancing. Three of them, vaguely human-shaped with bodies made of water, pirouetted on the waves. Their watery arms stretched and waved like grass in the wind. Every once in a while, they’d seem to merge, swirling together, and then they’d break apart.

  Ugh, this is a terrible idea.

  But Roe hadn’t given her much choice. She has too much of a selfless streak in her. I just want to go home; she still thinks she can save the world.

  Mayara kept low and to the shadows. They were far enough out and so absorbed in their dance that they shouldn’t spot her, but she wasn’t going to take that chance.

  Creeping up to the coconut grove, she unearthed the first snare, half buried in the sand. Using her glass-shard knife, she sliced through the vines, dismantling the trap, and then she moved on to the next one. How did anyone have time to set so many? she wondered. And why would they do it? There were traps on nearly every other tree. She worked as quickly as she could, relying on Roe to be her lookout.

  She was halfway through when she heard three bird chirps.

  She did a quick calculation: the closest bolt hole was on the other side of the coconut trees, behind a clump of suka berry bushes. Dropping the vine she was cutting, Mayara ran. She cast her mind out—it was the three spirits who’d been dancing on the waves. Drawing a stream of seawater behind them, they were speeding toward the land. As Mayara ran, they slashed through the sand.

  And then, up ahead, near the mouth of the cave, she saw movement.

  Another spirit!

  She tried to feel with her thoughts and met only emptiness.

  Nothing’s there.

  It wasn’t a spirit, she realized. A spirit sister? Or a Silent One? Mayara didn’t see the telltale gray robes or white mask. Instead she saw a wave of bright hair as the woman jumped back into the hole. She didn’t remember any of the other spirit sisters having red-streaked hair.

  Who is she? How did she get here?

  And why is she fleeing from me?

  Did she set the snares?

  Maybe the stranger had alerted the three spirits as well.

  Mayara chased after her. She reached the hole as the spirits’ wave crashed behind her. She didn’t slow—she jumped in and kept running. Pulling out a clump of firemoss, she squeezed it until it shed enough light to see the rocks directly in front of her.

  Ahead of her, in the darkness, she heard the footfalls of the other woman. Behind her, she heard the spirits—they’d followed her into the cave. They shrieked to one another in wordless screams. She hoped they couldn’t see in the dark. She held the firemoss close to her chest, ready to snuff out its light if they drew too close.

  Moving as quickly as she dared, she kept trailing the stranger, hoping that the other woman had a plan for escape. At the same time, she needed to make sure the spirits weren’t led back to Roe and Palia.

  Ahead she saw the glow of firemoss light—I know this place! It was the cavern with the underground lake. She saw the silhouette of the woman just before she dived into the water.

  Brilliant! she thought.

  Without hesitating, Mayara dived in after her, plunging herself into liquid darkness. She felt the cool water close around her as she propelled herself deeper.

  It was dark, and though her eyes were open, she saw only murky grayness. She hoped she’d been fast enough and the spirits hadn’t seen them dive.

  As the swimmer went deeper, Mayara followed, trusting the other woman knew where she was going. Mayara didn’t know if this pool was endlessly deep or if it led anywhere. But she knew she couldn’t return to the surface, not if she wanted to live. She figured the woman wasn’t suicidal, so she pressed on.

  The water had a greenish glow to it, as if there was another light source ahead. With it, she could see the faint outline of the other swimmer, as well as feel the movement of the water. She kept her own movements as smooth as possible so that the other woman wouldn’t sense her.

  The woman began swimming up—there must be another cave, deeper but with air. Mayara doubted the stranger could hold her breath for as long as an oyster diver could. She waited just a bit until the woman surfaced and started moving away again. Mayara then followed, and her head soon popped out of the water.

  She was in another cave with a ceiling covered in firemoss. It glowed as if the stars had been stuck between the stalactites. Gathering herself, she saw that the other woman was swimming for the cave’s shore. Mayara swam faster, reaching the shore first, scrambling onto the rocks, and drawing her glass knife.

  The woman pulled herself out of the water and lay on the shore panting. She was mostly in shadows, and it was difficult to see her face. Her ribs were visible, pressing against her skin as she panted. “If you’re going to kill me with that, please wait until I’ve regained my breath.”

  “I’m not going to kill you—not yet anyway,” Mayara said, hoping her voice belied her revulsion at the idea of killing another. With more conviction, she asked, “Why are you trying to kill us?” She expected the other woman to deny it.

  But the woman didn’t. Instead, she said, “It was nothing personal.”

  “My death is extremely personal.” Mayara gripped her knife, but the other woman didn’t make any move to go for a weapon. Mayara wasn’t sure what she’d do if the woman did. She’d never even punched anyone, much less used a knife against another person.

  Glancing around, she saw that the other woman had set up a camp here. Or more accurately, a home. There were driftwood shelves that held rows of coconuts, an array of palm fronds in one corner, a pile of shells in another. She had a bed—a bed!—of leaves and even a stack of clothes. How long had she been here? And how had she survived the spirits? Mayara had thought she and Roe had done well with their little hole in the sea cliff, but this seemed . . . permanent. “Who are you? What do you want? Why did you set those traps?”

  The other woman hadn’t moved. “My name is Lanei.”

  “Why are you here? What do you want?”

  Lanei didn’t answer her. Instead she said, “You’re lucky those spirits didn’t follow us here. If they’d found this cave, we’d both be dead.”

  “Then I’d say you’re just as lucky. But I’m not sure you’re actually all that worried about the spirits.”r />
  Lanei just lay there.

  Mayara pressed harder. “Your traps nearly killed my friends. We’re supposed to be surviving the spirits, not each other. Why would you do this?”

  “For the greater good,” Lanei said simply.

  “No.”

  “No? Just ‘no’?”

  “You don’t murder innocent people for ‘good.’ Try again.”

  “Then I did it for all the women and girls who wake up one morning and feel the spirits dancing on the waves and hear their thoughts and know if they tell anyone, horrors will befall them. I set the traps to end the test for all those future spirit sisters.”

  “Still not a good excuse for murder,” Mayara said. “You’d better start making sense, or I will call those spirits and tell them where you are.”

  “Then they’ll find you too,” Lanei said, shrugging, and propped herself up to sitting, and for the first time, Mayara got a good look at her. She had bronze, sun-beaten skin and black hair with fire-red streaks. She was wearing a tunic made of a black leathery hide that didn’t look like any animal Mayara had ever seen. Could it be a spirit hide? She was barefoot, and her feet were cracked and calloused. Her hair had been chopped just above her shoulders and was matted. She was thin, only muscles and bones, with the look of someone who never had enough food.

  “How long have you been here?”

  Lanei shrugged again. “I lost count of days. A week, a year, forever? Sometimes I think I have always been here.”

  Mayara thought of the snares near her and Roe’s cave. Her first reaction had been to think they’d been laid a while ago, before their group of spirit sisters came to the island. She hadn’t imagined that the person who set them was still on Akena. “How did you get here?”

  Lanei pried herself off the ground and stood.

  Crouching, Mayara gripped her knife tighter, but Lanei made no move toward her. Instead she crossed the cave and plucked a mango off a pile. Sitting on a rock loosely shaped like a chair, she began peeling its skin with a sharpened sliver of stone. “Want a slice?” Lanei offered.