Pillars of Six
Page 24
That was a win in Ebba’s eyes. For now.
Her fathers had circled their trio and crouched in a ring around them, listening. Verity stood behind Locks, her eyes set on Ebba.
“That crazy thought ye were also havin’,” Ebba said to Caspian. “What is it?”
The prince sighed, rubbing his temple, the purgium still in his belt. “That when we touched just now, a beaming light was pointing to the next object.”
Ebba deflated. “Phew, that’s what I was thinkin’ too. It only happens when three people are holdin’ a magical object each, though, do ye think?” It couldn’t just be when she, Jagger, and Caspian touched, could it?
Jagger glanced at the discarded sword. “Why three?”
“Because the weapon wants to be whole again,” Verity whispered. “The power when you were all touching right now was ten times than when the three objects were apart. When you touch, the objects fuel each other and have enough power to call to their other parts. To the next closest part, or so I assume.”
“That solves the ‘how’ of locating the rest,” Barrels said.
Plank added, “If this be the only thing that’ll get rid o’ these six pillars, we need to collect the rest o’ the parts.”
Ebba set her jaw as determination flooded her body. She saw it echoed on the faces of her fathers, Verity, Caspian, and even Jagger.
Caspian peered in the direction where the beam had shone moments before. “But what’s in that direction? I can only recall the. . . .”
No one spoke, only the fluttering sails overhead and the slap of the ocean disturbed the dark night.
“There lies the part o’ the sea that no sane pirate should enter,” Stubby said finally.
Locks inhaled. “And if they do, no one be returnin’.”
Ebba closed her eyes and said what they were all thinking. “The Dynami Sea,” she said, a shiver working its way up her spine. “The next part o’ the weapon be in the Dynami Sea.”
Thank You For Reading
I hope you loved Pillars of Six! DYNAMI’S WRATH (book four) releases soon. Pick up your copy of book four HERE.
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Acknowledgments
I’ve snuck away from my friends and husband while on holiday in Merimbula to write these acknowledgments. When I say ‘snuck’, I mean they simply told me to do what I needed to get done to meet my deadline. Anyone who has regular deadlines will understand just how much that unconditional support and acceptance of work pressures means.
A lot.
I have the greatest people around me, my husband being first and foremost. And each time I reach this point—after months of writing, edits, and all the other bits between—I’m always overwhelmed by how much my loved ones just get me.
To my beta readers, Lola and Courtney. A lot of hats must be worn, and each of you wear one or more for me. Not only does this prevent me from looking like the Mad Hatter; it stops me acting like the Mad Hatter. Thank you for your ongoing work and support
And to my manuscript team:
Editor One
Melissa Scott
Editor Two
Robin Schroffel
Proofreaders
Patti Geesey and Dawn Yacovetta
Map Illustrator
Laura Diehl
Cover Designer & Illustrator
Amalia Chitulescu
To my readers. There are millions of books in the world and you choose to pick up mine. A heartfelt thank you for being here.
Happy Reading,
Kelly
About Kelly St. Clare
When Kelly is not reading or writing, she is lost in her latest reverie. Books have always been magical and mysterious to her. One day she decided to unravel this mystery and began writing.
The Tainted Accords was her debut series. Her other works include The After Trilogy, The Darkest Drae, and Pirates of Felicity.
A New Zealander in origin and in heart, Kelly currently resides in Australia with her ginger-haired husband, a great group of friends, and some huntsman spiders who love to come inside when it rains. Their love is not returned.
Also By Kelly St. Clare
The Tainted Accords:
Fantasy of Frost
Fantasy of Flight
Fantasy of Fire
Fantasy of Freedom
The Tainted Accords Novellas:
Sin
Olandon
Rhone
Shard (2019)
The After Trilogy:
The Retreat
The Return
The Reprisal
The Darkest Drae (Trilogy) Co-written with Raye Wagner
Blood Oath
Shadow Wings
Black Crown
Pirates of Felicity:
Immortal Plunder
Stolen Princess
Pillars of Six
Dynami’s Wrath
Fantasy of Frost
I know many things. What I am capable of, what I will change, what I will become. But there is one thing I will never know.
The veil I’ve worn from birth carries with it a terrible loneliness; a suppression I cannot imagine ever being free of.
Some things never change…
My mother will always hate me. Her court will always shun me.
…Until they do.
When the peace delegation arrives from the savage world of Glacium, my life is shoved wildly out of control by the handsome Prince Kedrick, who for unfathomable reasons shows me kindness.
And the harshest lessons are learned.
Sometimes it takes the world bringing you to your knees to find that spark you thought forever lost.
Sometimes it takes death to show you how to live.
COMPLETE SERIES NOW AVAILABLE
Bonus Chapter
Dynami’s Wrath
Ebba was about to do something drastic. Something huge. Something . . . unprecedented.
Face propped up on her hands where she lay across Locks’ bed, Ebba watched Verity dress for the celebration. Her eyes tracked the way the woman brushed her long, blonde hair, the way she braided it, and how the ex-soothsayer twisted the shining mass atop her head into a feminine knot.
Locks’ one-and-only girlfriend usually wore plain dresses, occasionally trousers and a shirt, but tonight she’d selected a lavender dress that highlighted her periwinkle-blue eyes. The dress perched on the tips of her shoulders, the neckline plunging. The bodice was tight and flared out at the hips, ending just below her knees.
The simple fact there was a dress on Zol at all, let alone someone wearing it, was testament to how much Ebba’s life had changed in the last three weeks. Their hidden sanctuary in the southern region of the Caspian Sea had never housed anything other than pirates—and the Prince. Now it was filled with landlubbers and females. Females who didn’t behave the way Ebba had seen her only other woman friends behave.
“Hey, Verity?” Ebba asked, licking her dry lips.
The woman grunted.
That’s why Ebba liked her: she made normal sounds and didn’t waste too much time with politeness. Verity was a survivor. She didn’t take shite, she wasn’t bothered by how people saw her, she was beautiful, and yet she was still willing to put on a dress to celebrate Ebba’s eighteenth birthday.
She sat up, swinging her legs over the end of the bed to face the woman who’d single-handedly brought Locks to heel.
“Do ye think it’d be odd-like if I wore a dress tonight?” Ebba asked her.
Verity swished left and right, inspected her appearance in a long, thin mirror. No one else had a mirror in their shack, but the hut she shared with Locks contained many new things that had simply appeared. Though no longer a soothsayer, Verity possessed what she referred to as ‘simple healing magic,’ which clearly included the ability to conjure whatever she wanted out of thin air.
“Of course not. You’re
a young woman,” Verity answered without glancing back.
Asking her had been a test of how the others might react. Ebba released a breath, glad the healer hadn’t laughed. “I’m not really a young woman, though.” She pressed, studying Verity intently. “I be a pirate.”
The healer shrugged. “You’ve already been harping on that you’re a pirate and tribesperson. Why can’t you be more than that? Just because you haven’t wanted to wear a dress until now, doesn’t mean you can’t change your mind. When you’re fifty, you may decide you’re a man.”
“I do wear feathers in my hair sometimes now.” She’d taken that away from her time with the Pleo tribe.
“Exactly, and no one thought that was strange.”
Also true. Her fathers had commented on them, and Caspian, too, on the rare occasions he came out of his funk. She’d even caught Jagger’s eyes on them a few times—though who knew what that really meant. He was probably planning to set them on fire as she slept.
Ebba sniffed and said casually, “I’ve been kind o’ thinkin’ about wearin’ a dress tonight.”
“What prompted the change?” Verity asked.
She toyed with a loose stitch on the bedspread. “Nothin’.”
“Lie.”
“It ain’t—”
“Lie.”
Ebba gritted her teeth and puffed a dread out of her face. “Fine.”
She’d made the mistake of sitting down with the elder of Caspian’s sisters, Princess Anya, last week. The other females, spawn of Barrels’ sister Marigold, had flocked to join them, like a hungry fish to fresh bait, and soon they’d started gibbering about kissing, and fashion, and all sorts of things that Ebba had never really thought about seriously. Or ever.
“I’m eighteen today, and. . . .” Her face flamed.
How to put her uncomfortable realization into words? Last week, all the women had talked about their first kiss. Ebba sat and listened as the younger princess, Sierra, just thirteen, had shared hers. The girl was five years younger than Ebba.
She swallowed. “Do ye think there be somethin’ wrong with me that I haven’t kissed a person my age?”
Verity snorted. “No, Ebba-Viva, I don’t. ”
Ebba hadn’t thought so either, but recently her priorities had shifted. Only months ago, her only urge was to fill her black dreads with beads, go on a quest, and become a fearsome pirate. That was before the crews of Felicity and Malice became embroiled in a war against that turned into something much darker. Ebba’s beads were gone now, and she’d set out on enough quests to last her until her thirties—when she probably wouldn’t even want to do them anyway. Filling her dreads and embarking on dangerous quests weren’t burning ambitions any longer, and Ebba had found her mind turning to other things. Things like not limited herself by ignoring any possible femininity within herself. Things like Caspian’s confession about holding a deeper regard for her.
He hadn’t brought the subject up since—still coming to grips with his father’s death. And she’d never given any response to his red-faced utterings, but like an itch she couldn’t scratch, the blasted confession had burrowed into her skull.She had eyes in her head. She just hadn’t been interested before. Now, Ebba was considering that she might be.
“You don’t feel pressured into dressing a certain way because of the other young women, do you?” Verity had turned from the mirror and stood with her hands on her hips.
“No.” Ebba drew the word out, frowning. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
The healer gestured to her lavender frock. “I’m wearing this because I like to dress up every now and again.”
“It be a pretty dress,” she replied, scanning the lavender dress anew.
The ex-soothsayer was the exact opposite to her. Ebba had the dark skin of a tribesperson, and moss-green eyes she’d inherited from her blood mother. Verity and she were both light-framed, she supposed, but the healer was a head taller. And where Verity’s hair usually hung in a rippling curtain of gleaming gold down her back, Ebba’s fell in thick, ebony dreads that hung to just below her armpits.
The bed dipped as Verity perched next to her. “What I’m saying is that you shouldn’t wear clothing or change who you are for anyone but yourself. Do you want to wear a dress?”
She’d always liked accessories and clothing—though not the dresses that Sherry the brothel matron had put her in—the boning dug in something wicked. Recently on Exosia, Ebba mostly just pretended not to like the dress Marigold forced her into. Overall, Ebba wasn’t mad-keen on how dresses restricted her movement and breathing, but for times like this, for a celebration when she didn’t need to run for her life or dash up the rigging, she was beginning to think that maybe they were okay.
“Aye, I do want to wear one,” Ebba confessed. “Just to see.”
“Then wear one.”
Ebba peeked up at the healer through her lashes. “Ye don’t think anyone will notice or laugh?”
The healer’s face smoothed. “I assure you they won’t.”
Was she really going to willingly wear a dress? Ebba grinned, saying, “Hey, Ver?”
“Don’t call me that.”
Ebba rolled her eyes. “Do ye have another dress?”
The healer arched a brow at her gleaming mirror. “I might be able to rustle up a little something. Did you have anything in mind?”
Ebba spent a portion of every day deciding what she’d wear. She’d spent the last week thinking up exactly what dress she’d wear, if she ever wore one. “Ye could say that.”