Gabriela entered the room with a servant. “Just leave it there, please, Mona,” she said. “Thank you.”
The servant placed the tray of food down on the table and bowed herself out, but not after darting a curious, wide-eyed look at Noa.
Gabriela sighed after she left. “I’m afraid the rumor that I’ve captured Julian Marchena’s sister has spread fast. Everybody wants to get a look at you. Are you hungry?”
Noa mouthed a bad word. Gabriela said, “What was that? Oh, sorry. I forgot.” She spoke in Marrow, and Noa felt her voice return.
She repeated the bad word.
Gabriela frowned. “I see you haven’t thought over what I said.”
“Being tied up isn’t good for thinking,” Noa said.
Gabriela made no reply to that. She looked distracted. She picked up the bowl the servant had brought in and sat down on the edge of Noa’s bed. The bowl was full of onion soup, and Noa felt her mouth water. As much as she wanted to refuse anything from Gabriela, she was too hungry. Gabriela patiently fed her soup until the spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl.
“Better?” she said.
Noa’s thoughts raced. She needed to give Gabriela a reason to leave. “I’m still hungry. Is there any more soup?”
Gabriela nodded, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. “I’ll get you some in a minute.” To Noa’s dismay, she settled on the edge of the bed. Her weight made the blanket shift, almost revealing the torn ropes. Noa’s heart thudded.
“I’ve heard from the king,” Gabriela said slowly. “I sent him a report with one of the wind mages, informing him that you snuck onto the ship—”
“You what?” Noa nearly shouted.
Gabriela didn’t meet her gaze. “He’s ordered me to bring you to Florean City immediately.”
Noa fought against the panic rising inside her. “Of course he did. He wants to use me to hurt Julian.”
Gabriela looked uncomfortable. “He says he’s making arrangements to ensure that you’re happy in the palace. You don’t have to be afraid.”
Noa fell back against her pillow. “I don’t know why I always thought you were smart.”
Gabriela pressed her hand against Noa’s bound one. “Noa, you’re too important to the king. Yes, he will probably send word to Julian about this, to encourage him to surrender. But even if Julian refuses, you’ll be taken care of. I promise.” She sounded as if she was speaking as much to herself as to Noa.
The boat suddenly rocked to one side. Gabriela caught herself on one of Noa’s legs, dislodging the blanket more. Noa’s heart skipped a beat, but Gabriela didn’t look down.
“The wind must be picking up,” she said, frowning. “I’m going to check in with the captain.” And with that, she was gone.
The moment she was through the door, Noa flung the blanket back. She scrabbled at the ropes binding her right hand, taking longer to untie them than she would have if she’d been calm.
The king’s voice floated back to her, just as clear as it had been in the palace courtyard. If I ever manage to get my hands on just one of those brats, I could have Julian Marchena eating out of the palm of my hand. . . .
. . . We could quietly execute them both and finally have done with the whole rotten Marchena line. . . .
Noa’s palms were sweaty. She managed to wriggle out of the rope wrapped around her torso. She rolled off the bed, her palms thudding against the floor.
The shadow. Get to the shadow, any shadow.
The closest one was beneath the table that held the empty soup bowl and the fading lavastick. Noa lunged at it.
“How did you do that?” asked a voice behind her. Noa whirled.
Gabriela stood in the doorway with her mouth open. Behind her were two mages, also openmouthed. Noa lifted the shadow and prepared to leap, but one of the mages gave a sharp command in Marrow, and she froze—literally. Her muscles seized up in an awful full-body cramp, and she couldn’t move. She was crouched on her knees, the shadow gripped in her hand and the safety of Death beckoning underneath it. But it might as well have been a mile away.
“Black seas, Noa.” Gabriela dismissed the mages with a gesture and strode forward, her face white with anger. “Clearly I have to assign someone to guard you at all times. Your powers are more dangerous than I guessed.” She hooked her arms under Noa’s immobile ones, and began to drag her back across the floor. “Let’s get you tied up again, and then—”
The boat rocked, violently this time, and Gabriela fell over and rolled across the floor. Noa rolled, too, ending up on her back with her limbs stuck in the same ridiculous posture, her legs bent and one hand stretched out as if she was in the middle of some weird dance routine.
“What in the thirteen—” Gabriela began, and then something exploded.
Gabriela cried out, her hands going to her head. A long, gaping hole had appeared in the ceiling, as if several boards in the deck had been peeled away. Green vines writhed through the gap like snakes, wrapping around more boards and wrenching them back. People were screaming, and feet pounded along the corridor and across the deck. Thunder crashed and a bolt of lightning illuminated the sky, setting off a new wave of screams. Then a familiar voice called, “Noa?”
Noa’s heart leaped. Slowly, painfully, she managed to wrench open her mouth and yell, “Julian!”
Part III
Whelm
21
The Dark Lord and the King’s Mage Meet Again
The vines swarmed into the cabin, ripping apart the deck. Boards cracked and thumped to the floor, but the vines made a cage over Noa’s head, and she was safe.
“Noa, climb up!” Julian called. A ladder of vines undulated to the floor.
Noa tried to unclench her jaw again. “Can’t,” she managed. “Gabriela—”
Julian hissed, and there came another flash of lightning. The vines withered and died, and Noa realized that one of Gabriela’s mages must have attacked him. She tried to fight the spell, but it was no use. She was as much help as an overturned turtle.
In the first few seconds following Julian’s arrival, Gabriela sat frozen, her face white and stunned, as if she’d walked into a post. Now, though, she drew herself to her feet, her jaw set.
“Look,” Noa cried. She seemed able to manage only one word at a time. “Out!”
She had no idea if Julian heard. From the deck came a series of thunderous crashes and bangs, coupled with more screaming. Some of it seemed to be coming from the water, and Noa wondered if the sailors had thrown themselves into the sea in order to be out of the way as the mages fought.
Gabriela’s eyes narrowed in a thoughtful expression that Noa didn’t like one bit. Rather than going up to the deck, she turned and hurried down the corridor without giving Noa another glance.
Another huge wave sent the ship listing to port. Noa tumbled over and over, banging knees and hands and elbows, until she hit the wall. For a moment, she thought the ship would fall over, and she panicked—if it did, she would simply sink into the depths. But the vessel righted itself.
She tried to yell for Julian again, but all that came out was “Mmmph.” Her face was squished against the floor. Fortunately, her face was also squished against the shadow of the table. She grabbed it in her teeth and tried to pull, but she couldn’t move her head enough to lift it.
The ship listed again, and Noa went into a terrifying spin with the shadow in her mouth, only this time it wrapped around her like a blanket, and as it came free it revealed the familiar door to Death beneath it. Noa fell through with a strangled shriek.
She landed in a sprawl. She felt Gabriela’s spell lift—it was like having a sticky cobweb pulled off her body. For a long moment, she just lay there, dazed with relief. It felt odd to be so happy about ending up in Death, but being alive in the land of the dead was better than being dead in the land of the living.
“Otter?” she called.
“Yes?” A familiar supple shape poked its head over the edge of a boulder. “What do
you want? I’m grooming.”
Noa forced herself not to snap at it. She had to get back to the ship to help Julian. “But why?” she said desperately. “You’re already so handsome.”
The otter paused in the act of rubbing its face. “Do you think so?”
“Yes.” Noa couldn’t keep the frustration from her voice. “I already told you, you’re the handsomest otter I’ve ever seen. Look, I need to get back to the ship, but I need to come out on the deck. Which shadow should I take?”
The otter regarded her unblinkingly.
Noa was nearly hopping up and down with urgency. “Well?”
The otter stood. “I’ve never spoken to you in my life. Are you saying you told someone else that they’re handsomer than me?”
“No, of course not,” Noa hurried on. “I mean—”
“Good day to you,” the otter said frostily. “I hope you end up in the sea.” And it flowed away.
Noa groaned. In desperation, she lifted up the nearest shadow and stuck her head through. She could see nothing except sloshing water. She turned her head and found the ship hovering only a few feet away—she was in the shadow it cast on the waves. There was a sailor in the water, swimming frantically away. His eyes caught hers, and his jaw fell open.
Not the right shadow.
Noa leaned back into Death. She tried several more shadows in quick succession, but none of them brought her onto the deck. She became aware, the more shadows she handled, of how much they overlapped, and she began to be able to sense where each one began and ended. A single ruin might have several shadows clustered beneath it, though they looked like one, and they all led to different places. Finding the right one was like sifting through papers scattered messily across a desk. In Death, everything was closer together, and two overlapping shadows might lead to places that were dozens of yards apart.
Finally, Noa found a shadow that led to the deck of the ship, and the same shadow cast by the figurehead that she had come through in the first place. Noa jumped.
Something was on fire. Smoke hung in the air, and thunderclouds clustered so low above the ship that Noa could probably touch them if she jumped. The deck was a mess of vines, alive and dead, and strange orbs hovered in the air like fallen moons. Several sailors were cowering by the railing. From the opposite end of the deck came a thunderous crash followed by a series of smaller crashes. But Noa didn’t have a chance to investigate, for her muscles seized up and she toppled onto her side.
“Julian!” she managed to holler before her face seized up, too.
“Noa!”
There he was, hurrying across the deck. His hair looked singed in places, and the hem of his cloak was charred and ragged. The sailors cowering by the railing screamed at the sight of him and leaped over the side, though Julian barely spared them a glance.
“Are you all right?”
Noa just looked up at him. Her body had contorted itself back into that ridiculous posture. She looked like she was trying to run while lying on her side. “Gabriela,” she managed.
“She’s done something, hasn’t she?” Julian touched her shoulder and murmured a stream of words in Marrow. After a few seconds of Julian trying different spells, Noa came unstuck. She sagged back against the deck. Julian helped her to her feet.
“How many mages are there?” she demanded.
“There were six. But I didn’t see Gabriela. I’ve dealt with them all except for—”
“Watch out!” Noa yelled. Vines shot toward them and wrapped around Julian’s mouth. A man jumped out from behind the figurehead, chanting in Briar. He advanced, and the vines snaked around Julian’s arms, tightening and tightening.
Noa pulled out her pocketknife and sliced through the vines around Julian’s head. As soon as his mouth was free, he spat out a spell in Eddy, and the mage went spinning backward, over the railing and into the sea. The remaining vines fell away. The deck was suddenly very quiet, except for the creaking of timber somewhere. The ship was listing and taking on water. But all its occupants seemed to be either in hiding or swimming for their lives.
“How did you get here?” Noa demanded.
“Blood spell. The same one I used before to locate you in Death. You were on the ship, so I could track the ship. I used the storm to carry me.” He motioned at the roiling clouds.
Noa grimaced. “So, basically, you flew.”
Julian noticed her expression. “We can take it slow on the way back. I won’t mind if you’re sick.”
“Oh, good,” Noa said. She was always sick when Julian used storms to transport them anywhere. You always got horribly damp and cold riding on a storm cloud, which made it worse. Last time, she’d thrown up on Julian’s arm.
Julian raised a hand to the storm and called out a spell in Squall. The clouds reached out toward them, and a wet breeze almost swept Noa off her feet.
That was when a wave crashed over the deck.
Noa was washed over the railing. She made a desperate grab for it, but it went by so fast that she missed it by a mile. The water was cold enough to make her gasp, and she found herself surging toward another wave that rose before her like a wall. She screamed.
The wave that carried her changed direction as some magical force yanked it back. Noa was swept over the railing and deposited, dripping, on the deck.
Julian hauled her to her feet. He was soaked, too, but had managed to maintain his footing. They both stared at the wave rising before them—and rising, and rising—and it was several seconds before Noa realized it wasn’t a wave at all.
It was a figure made of water.
The figure was roughly woman-shaped, with a lot of wavy hair that seemed unpleasantly familiar. Gabriela sat on its shoulder with her knees folded beneath her, looking like a surfer riding the crest of a wave. Even though her hair was wet and plastered to her head and she had seaweed stuck to her cloak, she looked terrifyingly cool and comfortable up there.
Julian’s expression darkened. His eyes met Gabriela’s like lightning hitting a powder keg, and the air between them seemed to crackle. He began chanting, his brow furrowed in concentration.
“Maybe talk faster?” Noa suggested.
“This magic is incredibly intricate,” he said, sounding almost impressed. “It’s at least a dozen spells, woven together. I can’t—ah!”
The towering water woman raised a fist and drove it toward the end of the ship, clearly set on sinking it. Julian yelled something, and a fierce wind pushed the ship out of the way just in time.
But Gabriela wasn’t done. She stood, her lips moving in a spell Noa couldn’t hear over the wind and waves and thunder.
Julian stepped forward until he was directly in the shadow of her gaze. “Gabriela!” he shouted. “Come down here and fight me! Leave my sister out of this.”
Gabriela didn’t seem to hear him. Noa wasn’t sure she was capable of hearing anything. Her eyes were wild and her face was white. The water woman raised its arms and lunged at the ship.
Noa screamed. Julian was shouting spells so quickly that Noa couldn’t even distinguish the languages he was speaking. To her horror, the wind he summoned was pushing them toward the watery figure as fast as it was coming at them. They were going to plow right into its stomach. At the same time, the ship’s figurehead was beginning to move and stretch. It grew until it was twice its original size, and lifted its crude wooden sword.
Then they struck the water woman.
In the same moment, Julian wrapped Noa in his arms. The water closed over their heads, but it didn’t touch them. They were in some sort of bubble of air, a bubble that spun round and round in the turbulent surf, so quickly that Noa would have preferred to have been in a thundercloud. After what seemed like hours, but was probably only seconds, the bubble burst, and she found herself bobbing amid the waves.
Julian was only a few yards away. The ship was no longer a ship—it was a field of debris scattered across the water. The figurehead floated on its back nearby, no longer huge and t
hreatening, though there was something self-satisfied about its posture, as if it had just lived out a lifelong fantasy.
Noa turned. The water woman stood behind them, its head leaned forward slightly, as if it had fallen asleep. Gabriela was still on its shoulder, darting furious glances at Julian as she shouted spell after spell. The water woman lurched forward, and then it split in two, its top half melting as it fell, no longer anything other than but a wave. Gabriela screamed as she fell with it, and then Noa lost sight of her.
“Are you okay?” Julian swam to her side. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Noa threw up.
“Here.” Julian grabbed a piece of ship and helped her clamber onto it. “We’ll just rest a moment until your stomach settles. Then we really have to go.”
Noa thought it would take longer than a moment for her stomach to settle, and hoped Julian wasn’t wearing his favorite cloak. Then again, given that he hadn’t warned her about any of that, she thought he deserved whatever he got. “Where’s Gabriela?”
“With any luck, at the bottom of the sea.” He didn’t sound at all certain about that, though, and neither was Noa. She thought that Gabriela was probably fine, and would be on them with another terrifying spell if they gave her more than a minute to think of one. Still, that didn’t prepare Noa when a head broke through the surf only a few yards away, gasping and coughing.
“Gabriela!” Noa yelped. “Julian, forget my stomach, let’s go!”
Julian beckoned at the clouds, which had drifted back to their normal height, and they began to sink toward them.
Too slowly. Gabriela opened her eyes.
Julian froze for a moment, then went back to chanting. He pushed Noa behind him, though to Noa’s surprise, Gabriela didn’t look like she was about to attack them again. She looked surprisingly bedraggled, as a normal person would if a woman-shaped wall of water had fallen on top of them. Noa wasn’t used to thinking of Gabriela as a normal person. Her cloak was in shreds and her lip was bleeding, as if she’d hit it on a piece of ship. She looked younger with her hair plastered to her head and her makeup washed away, much closer to her actual age. She flopped onto a broken door, still coughing.
The Language of Ghosts Page 18