The Deepest Blue

by Sarah Beth Durst

  Mayara pointed to the prone body of Lord Maarte, lying untouched in a ring of sand, surrounded by spirits. “He can sail. If we can make him.”

  Garnah smiled humorlessly. “I can make him—I can make a man do anything. Bring the queen’s daughter.” Raising her voice, she said to the queen, “Asana, we need a path to Lord Maarte, then a path to the ship. Can you do that?”

  Mayara wrapped her arm around Roe’s waist. “Roe, we have to go!”

  Roe fought her, elbowing Mayara in the stomach and trying to yank herself out of Mayara’s grip. “I’m not leaving my mother to die alone! My father died without my even knowing! I can’t leave my mother!”

  Wincing at the stomach jab, Mayara thought of her own parents but didn’t let Roe go. “The leviathans will wake. Assuming she had a plan for how to reach the grove, Lanei has to be warned. If we go now, we’ll have a chance of catching her before it’s too late.”

  Reaching up, Asana laid one hand on Roe’s cheek. “I am not alone. I can feel you and see you through the spirits. Knowing you are gone from here . . .” She then broke into a violent cough. Red spots stained the sand. A drop of blood hit Roe’s forehead. It dripped in a streak down her temple and then mixed with her tears. “Go.”

  “I love you, Mother!”

  “My little Roe, I love you.”

  “I will avenge you and Father!”

  “Avenge us by living,” the queen ordered.

  Mayara kept an arm wrapped around Roe as she shuttled her across the sand. In front of them, the wind wall split, opening a path. Sand flurried on either side of them as they hurried through.

  Reaching Lord Maarte, Garnah blew a handful of powder in his face. He spasmed, then coughed, waking. “I demand—” he began.

  “I am Death,” Garnah said flatly. “You will demand nothing of me.”

  Mayara felt the coldness of the words slide into her.

  Garnah continued. “You will sail us to Yena, per order of the queen, or I will visit every member of your family, down to the most distant cousin, and end their existence. Your line will be wiped from the world.”

  She’d expected that Garnah wouldn’t be subtle, based on how she’d acted already. Still, she wasn’t prepared for that. It wasn’t merely the words that were chilling; it was the way she spoke. Hollow, as if she truly could murder a family and feel no remorse. Mayara did not doubt that she meant it, nor that she could do it. We’re trusting our lives to her?

  “You wouldn’t!” he blustered. “You’d be murdering innocents—”

  “I am not capable of pity,” Garnah said to Lord Maarte, and Mayara believed it. What kind of person has the queen sent us with? She tightened her arm around Roe’s shoulders as Garnah bore down on the island’s ruler. “Or guilt. No regret. No mercy. Your family will die if you do not obey, and I will feel nothing but the satisfaction of honoring my promise to one who valued me. In fact, it will be my pleasure.”

  Lord Maarte struggled to his feet without another word and then followed them through the narrow path between the spirits to the dock. The trading ship was tied to the dock, though it strained against its ropes as the wind threatened to topple it. The dock itself swayed and creaked so loudly that Mayara thought it was going to splinter into a thousand pieces beneath their feet.

  She saw water spirits around the posts, shoving against the dock. Their faces were split with mouths filled with shark teeth, and their bodies writhed in the waves. The water was so churned it looked as if it were boiling. She didn’t know how anyone could sail in this.

  But then, with shrieks as if they were in pain, the spirits retreated. They swarmed the shore, forming a barrier of sand between them and Lord Maarte’s guards and a barrier of water between them and the Silent Ones from Akena.

  The sea around the ship became calm.

  Unnaturally calm. It looked like a mirror, with only the faintest wave to mar its surface. Farther out, the sea bubbled as if it were boiling, but not here.

  Garnah herded Lord Maarte onto the ship. “To Yena.”

  He didn’t protest, which Mayara thought was wise. He had a sense of self-preservation, at least, and his shore, swarming as it was with barely contained spirits, was no place to stay. He ran back and forth across the deck, preparing the sails and untying the ship from the dock. Mayara joined him, helping where she knew how, as did Roe.

  Garnah merely watched them all with arms folded, and Mayara was reminded of the Silent Ones and the way they stood guard, faceless and voiceless. Except that Garnah’s face was her mask, and Mayara didn’t know if there was anything more human beneath it.

  Still . . . it was working.

  In mere minutes, they had the ship ready. Mayara helped unfurl the sails, while Lord Maarte took the helm. She felt an air spirit shift its attention from the shore to their sail, and a blast of wind filled the sail. It puffed out, and they sped away from the dock.

  The air spirit separated from the others, following them. It was lithe and translucent and unnervingly elongated—it looked like a man who had been stretched so much that he’d become thin enough for light to pass through. It had arms and legs that wavered at its sides, thin as seaweed, and its face was distorted in a wordless cry as it blew into the sail.

  “When she dies, you will need to fight it,” Garnah said softly. “Wise that the queen only chose to send one.”

  Mayara jumped. She hadn’t realized how close the other woman had come. Sweat prickled her arms and back—she had been running around the ship, readying it to sail. “I don’t know if—”

  “Kill it if you can. Or drive it toward me, and I’ll take care of it.”

  Mayara swallowed. And then nodded. She’s right. When the queen dies . . . An heir was always present in the grove so that the transfer would happen as smoothly and quickly as possible, but there would be a few minutes where no one controlled the spirits.

  They’d have to survive those minutes, out on the open sea, with a spirit filling their sails.

  “This is unnatural!” Lord Maarte called from the helm. “The ship isn’t built to withstand these speeds!” He hurried away from the wheel to secure a line that had loosened. The sails were straining against the mast, and the ship was keeling in the water as it sliced through the waves.

  “If it breaks, we’ll swim,” Mayara said.

  “Do you have any concept of how far—”

  She stole a little of the cold darkness she’d heard in Garnah’s voice as she interrupted him. “Then you should make sure the ship doesn’t break.” She crossed to Roe, who was leaning against the port railing. Behind them, in the distance, the island of Olaku looked as if it had been swallowed in mist and foam. It was the spirits, she knew, churning up the sea, but it felt as if her island had been erased, smudged out of existence like a smear of paint on a canvas.

  She hoped Kelo had made it home.

  “I thought it was possible I’d die on the island,” Roe said. “I was all right with that. Not that I wanted to die, but I’d accepted it as a possible result of my choice. And I was willing to take that risk, because I didn’t think I could live with myself if I didn’t at least try. But this . . . was not in any of my plans.”

  “I know.” Mayara tried to think of more she could say. She thought of how she’d felt when Elorna had died . . . or when she’d believed her sister had died. But she didn’t want Roe to feel like she was comparing their pain. “I’m sorry.”

  Roe leaned farther out, letting the spray hit her face and dampen her arms. “Lanei will pay for this.”

  “If she’s queen—”

  “Queens can die,” Roe said. “As we’ve seen.”

  “You aren’t a murderer,” Mayara said. She knew the rage that Roe was feeling—after Elorna’s death, she’d had the intense need for someone to blame. She’d railed against the queen, the world, even Elorna herself for not hiding her power better. But with time, the pain had softened, though it had never gone away. “Killing her won’t bring your mother back.”
>
  “She’s a murderer who doesn’t deserve to be queen,” Roe said.

  Mayara opened her mouth. Closed it. “Yes.” She knew she should say more, try to talk Roe out of this unhealthy line of thought. She didn’t know if talk of mercy or moral high ground would have any impact. “But your mother wouldn’t want you imprisoned for the rest of your life. She’d want you free, alive, living your life. After my sister died . . .” She stopped. It was impossible to talk about Elorna now that she knew the truth.

  Beside her, Roe gasped and stepped back.

  Mayara felt it a second later—like a rip inside her. She heard the air spirit scream both in her mind and in her ears, the kind of sound that made her bones feel as if they would shatter.

  “She’s dead,” Roe gasped. “I’ve lost both my mother and my father.”

  If it had been Mayara, she knew how she might have felt: gutted, empty, broken. It was how she’d felt when she’d heard the news about Elorna’s death. She remembered the world seemed to fade around her, the way it did when she dived deep, and she wouldn’t have cared if a volcano had erupted and claimed the island in its embrace. She expected Roe to do the same, especially because of the way she’d shattered on the beach after her mother was stabbed.

  But instead Roe howled.

  She fixed every bit of her rage at the air spirit that was hurtling toward them, with death and blood in its heart—

  And Mayara heard the command echo through the spirit.

  Destroy yourself!

  The force of the command was so powerful that Mayara reeled backward, stumbling against the side of the ship. In the air, the spirit tore at its own flesh, ripping holes in the translucent thinness as if it were tearing paper.

  It didn’t bleed. Instead it rained. Silver drops fell on the ship’s deck.

  And then all was silent.

  The sea barely lapped. The wind barely blew. The ship’s sails fluttered, slapping against the mast. It happened so quickly that Mayara had barely had time to be afraid, much less to react. “Roe . . .” She stopped. She didn’t know what to say.

  Roe was panting, her hands on her knees, her head hanging down.

  “That was amazing!” Garnah crowed. She then turned to Lord Maarte. “Get us to Yena. As quickly as you can. There’s wind still, stirred by the wild spirits. Use it.”

  AS THEY SAILED, MAYARA WORKED TO COAX THE SAILS INTO HOLDING as much of the wind as they could catch. Lord Maarte barked orders, and she scurried over the deck, adjusting lines, tightening pulleys, and ducking under the boom. She would have resented the orders, except he was running back and forth between the lines and the wheel just as much as she was.

  He’d shed his embroidered coat, leaving it in an ignoble heap on the deck, where it soaked in spray from the sea. His sleeves were rolled up beyond his elbows, and sweat mixed with saltwater. Maybe it was self-preservation, but he was at least trying to keep them moving forward.

  In the absence of the queen, the heirs and Silent Ones had performed their duty: banding their thoughts together to “freeze” the spirits of Belene. The spirits would exist in a kind of suspended state until the next queen seized control over them. Which should happen any moment now, Mayara thought. Until then, the ship was sailing on whatever stray breeze came off the wild, untamed ocean.

  At least they’d survived the moments of queenless wildness. Mayara thought again of Kelo and hoped he and Asana’s parents had made it to shelter in time. Now all that was needed was for a new queen to take control before the wild spirits noticed that Belene was unprotected—and before the leviathans woke.

  She hoped it wouldn’t be Lanei.

  A trained heir was supposed to be in the grove, ready for this moment. She should be the one to take charge, and if she did, she’d know how to quiet the leviathans and this whole journey would be unnecessary. And I can return to Kelo and resume my life.

  Or at least she hoped she would.

  She wondered suddenly how a new queen would feel about how she and Roe had abandoned the test. It was considered treason. Elorna’s warning whispered in her ear.

  What if they arrived in Yena and were arrested for treason?

  “Roe . . . what if Lanei is not queen?”

  “Then no one will call it regicide,” Roe said.

  Across the deck, Garnah burst out laughing. “I like her.”

  Mayara didn’t believe Roe would truly kill anyone. It was one thing to feel that rage when it was merely a faraway concept, but faced with looking straight into another’s eyes . . . She won’t do it. She’s not like that. But that wasn’t what she wanted to talk about. “We quit the test. How do you think a new queen will react to that?” Mayara lowered her voice, but it didn’t matter—with the low wind, her words traveled across the ship.

  “You’ll be jailed,” Lord Maarte said cheerfully. He was at the helm, sailing with all the confidence of a man who believes he’s destined to win. “Unless someone with influence intervenes for you.”

  “And are you volunteering for that?” Roe asked. “You, who separated me from my mother? You, who kept us imprisoned, even though we were innocent, for years?”

  “It’s a heavy responsibility the Families bear, to sacrifice the happiness of a few for the safety and well-being of all Belene,” Lord Maarte said.

  Mayara thought of her village and the spirit storm that had claimed so many while the heirs guarded the Neran Family stronghold, miles away from danger. “You never had to sacrifice your own happiness, though. You only ever cared about yourself and your own family.”

  “Not true! Rokalara, were you and your grandparents ever treated unkindly? Were you not given everything you needed? Indeed, you had the best of everything.”

  “Except my parents. Did you know my father was dead? You must have. He’s been gone for years, and you never told me.”

  “We thought it was a kindness to keep it from you.”

  “And my mother? You kept me from her, and now I’ve lost her too.” Roe advanced across the ship. Her hands curled into fists.

  Mayara saw Lord Maarte glance at the sky, as if looking for spirits, and then he relaxed when he didn’t see them—there were no nearby spirits to draw. “As it appeared to me,” he said, a mild tone to his voice, “you were the one who brought her murderer close to her.”

  Roe lunged at him.

  Mayara caught her by the waist. “We need him to sail us to Yena. And maybe sail us away, depending on what we find there.” She tasted the guilt, sour in the back of her throat. He’s right, though. I brought Lanei to Roe and Palia. If she hadn’t chased after her . . . If she hadn’t tried to work with her, instead of labeling her an enemy . . .

  “Just to interject one wee little detail you should be aware of,” Garnah said. “Lord Maarte did attempt to have Queen Asana poisoned, well before your friend with the knife joined us.”

  “That’s nonsense,” Lord Maarte said, though his eyes were wild. “You have no proof.”

  “I have the queen’s word.”

  Roe again launched herself at Lord Maarte, and Mayara held her back once more. Then Roe steadied herself and drew herself upright, looking very much like her mother. “You will face judgment for what you’ve done to my family. I promise you that. You’ll live while we have use for you, and then, for the good of Belene, you’ll die.”

  Lord Maarte smirked. “That’s what I told your mother.”

  “Gag him,” Roe ordered.

  “With pleasure.” Garnah tore a ruffle from her skirt, stuffed it in his mouth, and then knotted it hard at the back of his head. “Remove it, and I’ll remove your tongue,” she said sweetly.

  The wind began to blow again, stronger, and Mayara felt a kind of tickling sensation in the back of her mind. She wasn’t certain what it meant, but she thought—

  “There’s a new queen,” Roe said.

  Yes, that was exactly what it meant.

  “But who?” Mayara asked.

  The ship began to pick up speed as the sa
ils filled with wind.

  Not long after, when they saw the glimmer of the mother-of-pearl-coated city of Yena, the jewel of Belene, they tied the gagged Lord Maarte belowdecks. The three women then guided the ship into the city’s dock alone.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The first thing Mayara heard was the city bells. It was as if every tower and spire were singing, all the melodies crashing together, bubbling like seafoam. She saw the city before her, rising up from the harbor as if it were crowning the sea. It looked luminescent in the sunlight. Every surface was covered in mother-of-pearl.

  I wonder what Kelo thought of this.

  She wished they were seeing it together.

  “Wish they’d stop that,” Garnah muttered. “Damn bells giving me a headache.”

  “It’s tradition,” Mayara said. “The bells both to mourn and rejoice.” Even in their little village, the bells had rung when an old queen passed and a new one ascended. It was a mix of sadness at the loss of life and a celebration of not being all dead.

  “You have irritating traditions.” Garnah lifted her skirts as she stepped off the ship.

  An official scurried toward them down the dock. He wore a crisp white uniform and carried a ledger. Mayara felt a rush of fear—if anyone guessed who they were . . .

  “You need permission to dock,” the man barked. “No ships from the Neran Stronghold are scheduled—”

  “I am Rokalara, daughter of Queen Asana,” Roe said, cutting him off, “and this is Lady Garnah, companion of the queen.” So much for anonymity, Mayara thought. It was too late to shush or interrupt her. She hoped Roe knew what she was doing. “We’ve come to fulfill Her Majesty’s final wishes and pay our respects to the new queen.”

  The official blinked at them.

  He looked at his ledger. Peeked at them. Looked at his book.

  Apparently, this wasn’t a situation he was used to dealing with.

  “Can you tell us the name of the new queen?” Mayara asked.

  “I’m sorry, but it hasn’t been announced yet.”

  “How about the old queen?” Garnah asked. “Any news on how she died?” She was beaming at him, as if they hadn’t just witnessed Queen Asana’s murder on the sands of Olaku Island.