Sins of the Sea

by Laila Winters

  She stole the blankets in her sleep. She did not lie still and she flailed her limbs until Fynn let her wrap herself amongst the furs. Once, she had kicked him from the bed entirely, knocking him to the ground where he’d stayed for the rest of the night. Sometimes, the Princess snored, and Fynn wanted to smother her with a pillow.

  But he would not trade those sleepless nights for anything, even if he’d spent more than one on the floor. Fynn had slept in worse places long before he’d sailed across the Emerald.

  He did not understand, did not know where Sol Rosebone had acquired such tremendous power. Silas had been trained in his Element, had burned and raged and nearly won the war all those years ago. Fynn could still see him on the battlefield, dripping with blood and looking every bit the part of a Crown Prince. His armor had glistened in the sunlight, the Sonamire family crest stamped across his chest in gold.

  But Sol only knew what she’d managed to teach herself. She had never had any formal training. Silas had never allowed for it, and although the ocean had been just beyond her bedroom window, Sol had never been brazen enough to practice her Magic from the castle. Rarely had she snuck away to learn, but with the war at an end and her brother home from campaigning, her trips to the beach had been far and few between.

  Fynn was forced from his reverie when the Princess rolled onto her side. She did not wake, her eyes did not so much as flutter, but the unsettling stillness had finally been broken by something more than her fingers. Relief crashed into the Captain with the weight of Sol’s monstrous wave, the one she’d somehow kept from sinking his ship.

  There was nothing Fynn could do to thank her, no favors he could offer that were good enough. The Princess had saved his ship, his family, and he would always be in her debt.

  The silver chain around Sol’s neck glistened in the candlelight, candles that Fynn had painstakingly lit so that Sol would not wake in total darkness. His water-logged skin and dripping clothes had made it difficult.

  He had never glimpsed her necklace, had only ever seen her fiddle with the chain when she was nervous. Sol had once told him that it was a gift from her brother, one that their mother had passed down to him before he’d left to fight in the war. She’d spoken fondly of it, explaining to Fynn that it was all she had left of the late Queen. He had told her to count her blessings, that she was lucky to have anything at all. He himself had nothing of his own mother but a name.

  But she had never shown him the ornament, and Fynn had never asked to see it.

  The pendant slipped from beneath her tunic, sliding along Sol’s collarbone until it clattered softly against her pillow. Fynn frowned at the copper-wrapped jewelry, a sparkling black stone flush against the off-white fabric. This was what meant so much to her, a stone wrapped in wire that Fynn could have found in the market?

  With his own stones within reach, he supposed he was in no position to judge.

  The Captain knew better than to reach for it, to touch something of Sol’s without permission, but Fynn’s curiosity got the better of him. He wanted to see the gem.

  He carefully tugged at the pendant, mindful not to pull the chain taut lest he strangle Sol in her sleep.

  Fynn’s Magic surged the moment the stone touched his skin, the moment he held it gently between his fingers. Power flooded through him, his wind raging, and Fynn only managed to scratch his nail along the stone’s outer edge before he dropped the pendant and gasped.

  He launched himself off the bed, stumbled across his cabin until his back collided with his bookshelf. Tomes scattered across the floor, their pages sopping up excess water from the planks. Fynn stared at his thumb, at the black shavings lodged beneath his fingernail.

  He could not breathe—did not want to breathe. His own Magic was suffocating him.

  The pendant was a nightmare and a dream, together a blessing and a curse.

  Fynn Cardinal had finally found the Dragon’s Heart.

  Sol Rosebone had had it all along.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  SOL

  She hated those first few moments between sleep and consciousness. It was the one thing about Sol Rosebone that would likely never change, even if these days she woke next to Fynn and could curl into the warmth of his chest.

  Sol knew that the horse she was sitting atop was not real, that its glittering mane and the iridescent horn protruding from its head were a figment of her sleep-addled imagination. But the ragged breathing, the quiet, tearful praying to the gods—that was real, and Sol knew that smooth, lilting voice like the back of her scarred hand.

  Her eyes fluttered, and she did not know what she was expecting, but it was not what she found when she opened them.

  The Captain of the Refuge was pressed into the corner of his cabin, perched on the edge of his desk and with as much distance as he could possibly put between himself and the Princess of Sonamire. His head was bowed, and Fynn’s shoulders had caved in around him. Sol had never seen him so vulnerable, so small without his arrogance and swagger. She did not like it, despised whatever had pushed him to such a state.

  “Fynn?” she called, cringing at the way her voice cracked, like she had not spoken in days.

  He lifted his head, and the quiet prayers ceased. “You’re awake.”

  Nodding, Sol pressed her hands into the mattress. She propped herself up against the low, makeshift wooden headboard that Fynn had built from old wine barrels. Pain pierced between her shoulder blades, echoed by an ache in her temples. She groaned. “How long have I been asleep?”

  Fynn breathed deeply as he slid down from his desk, his movement not nearly as graceful as Sol had come to know these past months. He sat next to her on his bed, and as he reached for Sol to brush back a strand of her hair, she noted the way he tremored. “Nearly a day,” he told her quietly. “Luca said you were fine, just exhausted.”

  She wanted to touch him, wanted to hold his hand and offer him that same comfort he’d always given her when she needed it. Sol did not know what had rattled him, what had shaken him so deeply that those were tear tracks staining his flushed cheeks. “What happened?”

  A frown tugged at his mouth. “You don’t remember?”

  The way his brow creased, the way his hands still shook as he inched his fingers towards Sol… She supposed it made sense if something had gone wrong after he’d sent her below deck during the storm. “No,” she told him, her stomach churning. “Is everyone all right? Riel and Amael—”

  “They’re fine,” Fynn assured her. He watched her carefully, his eyes stripping her bare with the same apprehension that Sol had once regarded him with. “You don’t remember the wave?”

  Sol quirked her head. “What wave?”

  A shuddering breath escaped him, one that roused a gentle breeze inside the cabin. Books were strewn across the floor, their pages fluttering open on the warm, salty wind conjured by Fynn’s Magic. “Sol, you saved my ship.”

  She blinked at him, knocked off some precarious balance as she continued teetering the line between consciousness and sleep. She had not rested enough, had not slept soundly through the night, and even her Magic was begging her to lay back down, to sleep off the pain still beating away at her temples.

  “No, I didn’t,” she said, because surely, she’d remember such a thing. “I couldn’t have. I was below deck with Luca and the others. You told me to stay there unless you sent for me.”

  “You’ve never been good at following orders,” Fynn retorted. He finally reached for her, grasping Sol’s hand with such tenderness it shattered the Princess’ resolve. She wanted to know what had happened, why he was telling such a tale, and she wanted to know now. “The ship was about to be capsized, Sol. Sunk by a tidal wave higher than the tallest mast. I couldn’t stop it.” A beat passed, two, and then Fynn continued, “But you could.”

  She shook her head, pulling herself free from Fynn’s hold. “You’re lying.”

  “Sol—”

  Her chest heaved, water trickling through her as
her Magic surged. “I’d remember that, Fynn. But I went below deck with the others, and I must have fallen asleep during the storm.” Sol’s hands began to shake as she picked at her fingernails, tearing at her cuticles until they bled. “I’d remember that.”

  Fynn stretched out his hand, and she thought he was reaching for her hair again, to tuck it behind her ear or to playfully tug on a curl. But Fynn grabbed the chain around her throat, gently tugging free the hidden pendant beneath her tunic. “Do you know what this is?”

  Sol took the stone between her index finger and thumb. “A family heirloom,” she said. “Haven’t I told you about it? Silas gave it to me before I left.”

  “Yes,” Fynn agreed. “But do you know what it is?”

  “A rock wrapped in wire,” Sol answered dryly. “Nothing special. Even Silas made light of giving it to me by insisting he could find a replacement in the garden.”

  The Captain closed his eyes, and the warm draft filtering into the cabin through the open port window became frigid. Sol shivered as Fynn ducked his head. He spoke another prayer beneath his breath. “You truly don’t know what you have.”

  Sol dropped the stone, the sparkling black pendant falling to rest above her heart. “A rock.”

  Fynn looked at her as if she’d slapped him. “A fancy rock,” he said tightly. “Sol, it’s the godsdamned Dragon’s Heart. You’ve had it all this time.”

  Her own heart did not stutter, jump, or stall. It simply stopped beating in her chest. “What?”

  Fynn rubbed tiredly at his face, smearing away the tracks of salt that stained his skin. Weariness settled deep into the hollows of his eyes, into the sharp lines of his cheekbones. His shoulders caved in once more, shrouding him in such terrible despair the likes of which Sol had never seen from him. This was not the Captain she knew, the arrogance she had grown so fond of. She did not like it.

  “I should have known,” he began desperately. “You were learning too quickly, even with Luca’s help. You healed me and barely left a scar, you changed the temperature of the spring in Arrowbrook.”

  Certainly, the Captain was sucking the air from Sol’s lungs, suffocating her with his own Magic and leaving her to gasp for breath. He did not replace what he took, did not care to.

  “I’ve practiced healing before,” she reminded him, the words scraping her throat raw on their way out. “And in Arrowbrook, you said that my Magic was only protecting me, that it didn’t know you well enough to realize you would never hurt me.”

  “It was protecting you,” Fynn said. “But so was the Dragon’s Heart. It strengthens your power whenever it feels you’re in danger. That’s why Indyr gave it to the Ancient who tried to save him—to protect her. To give her a way to defend herself.”

  Sol reached for the chain, for the pendant that reminded her of home, of the family she had loved and lost. “Silas,” she breathed in horror. “Did—did he know? Is this what made him so powerful?”

  Fynn regarded her with a subtle look of pity. “Probably,” he said. “That’s likely why he gave it to you. To protect you where he couldn’t follow.”

  Sol’s hands trembled. “He had this with him during the war. It’s what kept him safe.” She looked at Fynn as her lungs seized, fear and guilt and everything in between coiling like serpents inside her chest. “If I have it, then Silas doesn’t, and if Sonamire and Dyn go to war—”

  “Stop,” Fynn said, conjuring cold air in Sol’s lungs. “Your brother can take care of himself. He knew what he was doing the moment he sent you away, and he knew that a war was inevitable. If Silas needed the Dragon’s Heart, he’d have kept it for himself.”

  No, Sol thought. He wouldn’t.

  She shook her head and forcefully tugged on the chain. Sol hastily unhooked the clasp and removed it from around her neck. “Here,” she rasped, holding the copper-wrapped stone—scale—in her palm. “Take it. I—I don’t want it.”

  Fynn closed her fingers around the scale and gently nudged her hand away. “Neither do I,” he said. “Not when it belongs to you.”

  “I’ve used this unknowingly,” Sol said with mild disgust, dropping the Dragon’s Heart amongst the brindled furs between them.

  Her Magic dwindled inside of her, a power she did not know had lurked beneath her skin leaving her cold and dry. Like the rapids that eddied through the stones in the bend of a river, Sol’s water eddied between her aching bones.

  A whisper of Magic was all the Dragon’s Heart had left her with, the Magic and water she’d been born with. Her natural ability to Wield without the scale’s interference.

  She shuddered. “I don’t want this much power at my disposal.”

  “That power saved my ship, Sol. My crew. Me.” Fynn reached for the necklace, dangling the chain from the tip of his finger. “You stopped a tidal wave, Princess. You stopped it dead and sent it hurtling the way it came. The Emerald split in two until I saw the ocean floor.”

  Sol wrapped her arms around her knees, holding herself together as if his words were meant to cleave her apart. “I couldn’t have done that.”

  “But you did, Sol. Because of this.” He jiggled the necklace. “There’s a reason your mother had this to give. Don’t you think it’s worth finding out why?”

  “No,” she said quickly. “It’s been thousands of years since the time of the Ancients has come to pass. It likely fell into her hands by accident.”

  “Or fate,” Fynn insisted. “This belongs to you.”

  She shook her head. “Three months ago, you told me that if you ever found the Dragon’s Heart, you would take it to the middle of the Emerald and toss it overboard. Let’s do that. Let’s get rid of it.”

  “Please,” he begged, thrusting the chain towards Sol as if holding it bore some terrible, tremendous weight. “I don’t want this for myself, but if it belongs in anyone’s hands, then let it be yours.”

  “Before, you agreed with me,” Sol reminded him. “You said that no one should have this kind of power. Why am I suddenly an exception?”

  Fynn’s voice was barely above a whisper as he said, “If you have the Dragon’s Heart, Sol, then I know you’re safe. I don’t have to worry about someone hurting you.”

  Sol frowned at him, at the way he hung his head. He meant it—he wanted her to take the scale, to go against everything he’d once believed if it made a difference in keeping her safe.

  “I have you for that,” Sol said with equal quiet. “To keep me safe.”

  The Captain smiled wryly. “Indeed you do.”

  Sol took the necklace from the tip of his finger and dangled it from the tip of her own. She stared apprehensively at the Dragon’s Heart, her interest morbidly piqued as she wondered why Silas had never thought to share this with her. Sol had promised to give it back to her brother, but given the scale’s power and Silas’ unwavering temper…

  “We should get rid of this,” she repeated. Fynn’s smile vanished. “Had I gone to Dyn, and had the Grayclaws realized I have it… There’s little I could have done to keep it out of their hands.”

  Fynn shook his head. “It’s not Caidem you’d have to worry about.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “He’s a wary old man plagued by crippling paranoia. There’s little that he could truly do with the scale. But Thane? He’s a conniving bastard who would gladly watch the world burn so long as he could do it sitting down.”

  Sol frowned at him. “How do you know that?”

  The Captain blinked at her. “What?”

  She dropped the necklace onto the bed again, wishing it would disappear into the furs. “I know Caidem killed your mother, but the way you speak of him and Thane, it’s far more personal than a murder. It’s like you know them.”

  The color drained from Fynn’s face, and for the first time since she’d met him, he opened and closed his mouth, words forming on the tip of his tongue that simply would not come out. “I have a friend who works in the palace,” he said eventually. “I’ve told you that.”

  “And
they informed you of all this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Strange,” Sol mused, and strange it was, indeed. “You likely haven’t heard from them in months. How do you know that Caidem and Thane are still looking for it? That they’ve not given up like you nearly did on Dryu?”

  Fynn clenched his jaw. “I just do.”

  Sol took Fynn’s hand and carefully laced their fingers. “No more secrets,” she pleaded softly. Fynn’s eyes snapped to her face. “I told you mine,” she pointed out. “You don’t think I know you’ve got your own?”

  The air turned glacial. Frost coated Sol’s lungs, and the Princess shivered as Fynn’s dark eyes fluttered. Draven whined from the edge of the bed, tucking his nose beneath his tail as he curled further into a ball. Sol gently nudged him with her foot.

  “Of course I have secrets,” he said. “But they’re mine, and you don’t need to know them. You’d likely hate me if you did.”

  Sol scoffed. “I recall saying the same thing before I told you who I was.”

  “That didn’t count,” Fynn quipped. “I already knew.”

  “Semantics.”

  “Maybe to you, but this is different.” Fynn gently pulled himself from her grasp. “I don’t want to talk about this. I should get Luca—”

  “It can’t be any worse than what I was hiding from you,” Sol argued. She did not want Luca, did not want to be poked and prodded at as he assessed whatever state she was in. “I’m betrothed to Thane Grayclaw.”

  “It is worse,” Fynn insisted. “I promise.”

  Sol sighed. “And I promise that I won’t hate you.” She flipped her hand over, resting it atop her knee in silent offering if Fynn wanted it. She would not tell him how her heart ached, how it gutted her to know the Captain did not trust her. She had confessed her secrets to him months ago, had gone against Silas’ every order and told Fynn Cardinal who she was, and yet he refused to grant her that same courtesy.

  “Whatever it is, Fynn, I promise. I will not hate you. I won’t even be upset. It can’t be any worse than being engaged to him.”