Sins of the Sea

by Laila Winters

  But they did not cover his mouth.

  Fynn took a breath and blew, his wind tearing out of him in a gust so strong it nearly toppled him back. But his Magic struck a wall of solid air, the same unwavering barricade that Sol and Luca’s water could not pierce. The Wind-Wielders aboard Dinah’s ship cackled at their effort, a force more powerful than Fynn had truly bargained for. A force more powerful than him.

  He could not smother the flames, could not save his crew as they coughed and inhaled smoke.

  “You said you’d let them live if I came with you!” Fynn shrieked. He choked on the smoke beginning to curl into the air. He did not bother using his Magic to send it drifting away from him.

  “I said I’d let them live,” Dinah grinned. “I made no promise not to burn your ship and make you watch. Whether they live now is up to them. Aren’t you glad I let you say your goodbyes? You owe me.”

  He did not care if the crew on board burned or asphyxiated from the smoke. He also didn’t let Fynn watch.

  Fynn was still staring at the flames, the Elemental fire burning through the mizzenmast and cracking the beam in half, when Dinah struck him in the temple with the pommel of a rusted sword.

  Fynn collapsed to his knees, his vision going dark as the sound of Sol’s screaming reached him from above the roaring flames.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  FYNN

  These hallways had not changed, were still the same stark grey that Fynn remembered from his childhood. He had always hated this palace, the midnight darkness that seeped from every such corner, the lack of all things that would have made this place his home. Even the burning braziers did little to chase away the shadows, their flames rising high until they scorched the slate stone ceiling.

  He winced away from the fires.

  The silver cuffs encircling Fynn’s wrists flashed in the flickering yellow light, and if he looked hard enough, he could see his reflection in the metal. The eyes staring up at him were hollow, carved into his skull with no purpose, because he certainly did not want to see. Their spark had gone out months ago, one that likely could never be reignited. Dirt smeared his cheeks, and his lips were cracked and bleeding.

  Once the Captain of the Refuge, Fynn had seen better days.

  His legs ached with disuse, having spent the last three months crammed into a cell that was barely big enough for him to stand. It was not the cabin he was used to, the wooden floor of a ship’s stinking bilge not the mattress he’d once taken for granted.

  These hallways had not changed, and Fynn did not need the guidance of the guards who flanked him, of the bounty hunter who led him to his fate. He knew where they were taking him, could have found it on his own despite not having been here in ten years.

  Pointed archways loomed above pillared columns, their cracked foundations sinking into a dark marble floor. The throne room had not changed, either, a state of despair symbolic of Fynn Grayclaw’s end. A guard gripped his bicep, and Fynn did not have the strength left to fight. He let himself be thrown to the floor, his knees cracking against the bottom step of the dais. Pain pierced through his bones.

  “Well, isn’t this a pitiful sight?”

  Hunched over his thighs, his shoulders shaking from the effort it took to keep himself conscious, Fynn lifted his gaze to the man who sat perched atop the throne. Like everything else in this palace, his half-brother was still the same, his harsh mouth quirked with a smile that shamed a snake’s deadly venom.

  Thane had grown tall in the years since Fynn had seen him last, rising to his fullest height as he abandoned his jewel-encrusted throne. His curled black hair, several shades darker than Fynn’s own matted locks, was swept into an elegant braid that twined through the silver of his crown.

  Sauntering from the top of the dais, Thane’s startling blue eyes were as frigid as snow-capped mountains, as glacial as the ice that hung like spears from the windowsills. Time had not thawed his demeanor, had not so much as even cracked the ice around his heart.

  Fynn bowed his head. He did not want to look at him, could not stand the sight of his roguishly handsome face. But Thane did not grant him that courtesy, gripping him by the chin with enough force to bruise. He jerked Fynn’s head up to face him, his nostrils flaring as he sniffed at Fynn’s foul-smelling clothes. “I don’t suppose anyone let you bathe before tossing you at my feet. You smell worse than a pig that’s spent a day rolling in its own filth.”

  He did not speak, did not think he had the voice to do so. Fynn blinked at him as if it were an answer, his eyes lingering shut a moment longer than necessary. There was a part of him that prayed they did not open, that he never saw the light of day again.

  Thane’s upper lip curled over his teeth in a snarl. “Have you nothing to say for yourself?” he asked, digging his fingers into the hollows of Fynn’s cheeks. “Ten years, and you haven’t so much as sent a letter. Did you enjoy making a mockery of me on the battlefield? Of our father?”

  Fynn’s eyes moved sluggishly towards the throne.

  “The King has recently fallen ill,” Thane informed him. “They say it’s a condition of the heart. Good riddance. His time will come soon enough, as will yours.” He shoved Fynn back in disgust. “If the old fool were of sound mind, perhaps I’d let you tell him goodbye. Avedea will come for him any day now.”

  “I have no desire to see him.”

  The words were a breath of air, a low rasp in the back of his aching throat. He could not remember the last time he’d had something to drink, the last time he’d bothered to speak.

  “Then you’re an even bigger fool if you think I care what you desire.” Thane reached into the pocket of his ornately threaded robe, one that Fynn recognized as King Caidem’s. He was not even dead yet, and his brother had helped himself to their father’s wardrobe. Thane procured a small leather pouch, tossing it to the man who had decimated the life that Fynn had built for himself. “For your troubles,” Thane said. “I can’t imagine he was easy to capture.”

  Dinah weighed the bag of gold in his palm. “Where’s the rest of it?”

  Thane’s eyes flashed with such rage, such unbridled fury that it struck Fynn like lightning. “Be lucky I’ve paid you at all,” he snapped. “It took you nearly a year to bring him to me, and I’ve heard little word from you since your departure.”

  “We agreed—”

  “I am the future of Dyn,” Thane spat at him, reaching for the jeweled hilt of the knife that hung from his belt. “The Crown Prince and Heir Apparent to King Caidem. I decide what we agree upon, and I decide whether those agreements are to be amended.”

  Dinah pursed his lips. “That bastard stirred up a wind storm that nearly sank my ship and killed three members of my crew. This bag of gold is horseshit.”

  Thane quirked his head, a predator monitoring its prey just before it struck. If Fynn cared at all about the fate that Thane would deal him, he would warn Dinah to shut his mouth. “If it’s not to your liking, then give it back. There’s no point in holding on to such ‘horseshit.’”

  Dinah blinked at him. “I want the rest of my payment.”

  “And I want the Gods to bestow immortality upon me.” Thane flipped his knife, blade over hilt. The silver flashed in the firelight. “But we don’t always get what we want.”

  He flung the dagger, hurtling it into the center of Dinah’s chest. Blood spread across the front of his dingy white tunic, and he gasped like a gaping fish before collapsing to his knees next to Fynn. He did not look at him as Dinah clutched the weapon, sliding it from between his ribs with a sickening squelch. The knife clattered to the floor, Dinah following suit, landing face-first in a puddle of his own blood.

  Thane retrieved his dagger, wiping off the blade on the back of Dinah’s shirt. “Apologies, brother. I rather despise ungrateful men making demands of me.”

  “I suppose some things never change.”

  A serpentine smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth, one that had Fynn’s gut twisting inside him
. “Careful, Fynn, or perhaps you’ll be joining that crew of yours far sooner than I planned.”

  Words like blades meant to break him, meant to make him scream and cry his fury to the Gods. His crew was dead, Dinah having assured him that they’d burned to ash with the Refuge. Fynn’s will had burnt along with them, and he had raged for days in the aftermath of waking in his cell, his clothes still smelling of smoke.

  Riel and Amael, Luca and Gracia, Arden, Milo, and Jax, they were gone. Sol Rosebone of Sonamire… Fynn could still hear her screaming. Could still imagine her burning amongst the flames she’d once told him she feared.

  He blocked out the sound of her cries, pushed them all to the back of his mind and blinked into the face of his brother. “My family is dead,” he said. “Kill me, if that’s what you want.”

  Thane touched the tip of his knife to Fynn’s cheek. “I’m your family,” he reminded him. “And I don’t recall you dying for me.”

  Fynn did not so much as wince as Thane dug the blade into his skin. Blood bubbled to the surface. “You are no family of mine.”

  The Crown Prince of Dyn sneered. “What was it like to see them burn?” he asked. “I told Dinah to let you say your goodbyes, to make you watch as he set your ship on fire. Could you hear them screaming?”

  His nostrils flared, and a small spark of Fynn’s extinguished power flickered to life inside of him. “You gave the order to kill them?”

  “I gave the order to make you watch. Killing them was father’s idea.”

  Wind whipped between the pillars, tousling Fynn’s knotted hair and skewing the crown atop Thane’s head. He breathed, gritting his teeth as he prepared to rip the air from Thane’s lungs, as he prepared to seek vengeance for his crew. But his Magic quickly sputtered out, exhaustion grabbing hold of him and settling deep into his bones. He did not have the strength left to fight, to conjure even the slightest breeze.

  Thane grinned. “Such disappointment,” he mused. “I’ve heard so many things while you’ve been away. Tell me, little brother, have your winds finally died out?”

  Fynn panted as he clenched his fingers. “You’ll pay,” he snarled. “You will pay for what you did to them.”

  “And you will pay for what you’ve done to me,” Thane retaliated. “For turning our family name into a laughing stock the day you ran scared from the battlefield.”

  “Maybe I ran,” Fynn said. “But you were too scared to fight at all.”

  Thane struck him with the back of his hand, his knuckles cracking against Fynn’s cheekbone. He spiraled to the floor, his vision darkening at the edges as pain bloomed down his face. “Never speak such words again,” Thane spat at him. Fynn blinked dazedly from the ground. “You pompous, arrogant bastard. If I didn’t need you alive—”

  “Let me guess,” Fynn quipped. “You’d kill me?”

  Thane bent low over Fynn, close enough that their noses nearly touched. His breath smelled of stale wine. “You are alive for one reason, and one reason only,” Thane told him, grabbing Fynn by the collar of his ripped tunic. “I suggest you be sensible and not push me.”

  “And what reason is that?” Fynn inquired. “Surely it’s not because you love me.”

  A smile spread across his mouth, one that revealed the harsh lines of his face. “No,” Thane agreed. “It’s certainly not because of that.”

  The Prince rose to his feet, then motioned for Fynn’s guards to haul him up onto his own. Fynn staggered in their embrace, was likely only standing thanks to the tight grip at either elbow. “What’s your reason?” he asked again, swaying on his feet.

  Thane returned his knife to its sheath, Fynn’s blood drying on the blade. “I hear you’ve encountered the Dragon’s Heart,” he said. Fynn’s heart stopped beating in his chest. “I hear you know where it is, and you’re going to tell me where to find it.”

  “Gone,” Fynn told him. In his cabin when it had burned. “I took it to the middle of the Emerald and tossed it overboard.”

  Thane’s laugh chilled Fynn to his core. “No,” he said. “You didn’t.”

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Mom — You’ll skip to the back of the book and only read the acknowledgements, so obviously, I have to put you first (though I should stick you somewhere in the middle and make you search for your name). Thank you for always pushing me and giving me copious amounts of tough love whenever I need it. Thank you for also instilling such a love for reading and writing in me from a very young age.

  My Grandparents — Nannie, you’re always so willing to listen to me ramble and complain about this book and these characters. I’m sorry that you’re probably not happy with where I’ve left off with Fynn, and I’m sorry that I haven’t shared any spoilers for book two with you. But thank you for staying up late at night and getting up early in the morning just to discuss this book with me. And to Pawpaw, I miss you. Every day. I wish I’d gotten to share even a page of this book with you. I think you’d like Fynn.

  Jen — Thank you for tolerating me. Seriously. I know I’m not the easiest person to love, especially when I’m half asleep and still trying to put words onto a page. Thank you for never getting angry with me when I disappear for hours on end, either to write or read, and for always talking me through scenes and plot twists and character arcs. And thank you for never getting angry when I bring a new book home to add my mile long TBR list. You’re the real MVP.

  Mariah — My beloved “M” on Twitter, and my darling niece who I’m not convinced I didn’t secretly give birth to. You are the absolute light of my life, and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Thank you for all the pictures you’ve drawn to go along with the book, for offering to buy a thousand copies with borrowed money, and for spinning such wonderful, elaborate tales that inspire me every single day. I love you, kid. More than all the stars in the sky.

  Kirstin McFarland — I am so fortunate to have met you. Thank you for always being down to bounce ideas and talk me through my fears as we both navigate this strange, strange world of publishing. There’s no one else that I can talk to about the various ways to hurt and kill our darlings.

  Shannon Rohrer & Leigh Davis — You lovely, lovely humans. Thank you for beta reading SOS and for constantly being unwavering pillars of support. I don’t know what I’d have done without you guys these past few weeks.

  Moo — You’ve spent countless hours sitting by my side while I’ve written and edited this book. Your cuddles are endless, your love is conditional, and your puppy heart is pure. I love you, you giant wrinkle of a dog.

  Additional thanks to: Ida and Bill McAndrew; Jesse McAndrew and Lacey Heath; Kim, Kevin, and Kevin Nathan Neal; Allison Zawisa; Danica Garret and Messiah; Bree, Will, and Wendy Hall, Chrissy Godsey, Brenda Stooke, Steve Casalinuova, Kay Woods, and the entirety of Twitter’s Writing Community.

  And to you, the one reading this novel — Thank you for supporting a young girl’s dreams of someday publishing a book. I appreciate it more than I could ever put into words.