by Uncle Amon
Goddess of the Sea
Lisa Morrow
Copyright © 2014 Lisa Morrow
All right reserved. No part of this publication may be produced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the author.
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
ISBN-13: 978-1511843836
ISBN-10: 1511843837
First Edition
DEDICATION
There are so many people to thank, I don’t know quite where to begin. To my parents - who are the reason I believe in magic. To my brother and sisters - who were my first readers. To my Seven Evil Dwarves - who taught me that writing could be a group sport. And to my husband and children - your support gave me the strength to move mountains, or perhaps, just my pen, which sometimes felt just as heavy. Last but not least - to my readers, this story would’ve stayed buried in my computer if not for you.
~Lisa Morrow
I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the man whose eyes held death. Even though a crowd of people separated me from him, I sensed his hunger for bloodshed. It prickled against my flesh, coaxing me to give in to my baser needs, the needs of my ancestors. To go wild on The Feast of Darkness.
Don’t hold back, Dessi. This is a night of freedom. Of no consequences.
The whispers seemed to come from all around me. My legs shook as adrenaline raced through my veins. But I wouldn’t give in. I bit my lip and turned back to the man, who prepared to unleash in a way that was forbidden to me.
He withdrew his long, jagged sword. Spit dripped out of the corners of his mouth, getting caught in his wild beard. He beat his beefy fist against his chest, and the voices of dozens of men and women rose up around him, chanting his name.
Krell the Killer, Krell the Killer.
Where only moments before, the immense dining hall had rung with the sounds of livery and music, now only the chanting resonated off the stone walls. A trickle of sweat made its way down my spine. Something buried deep within me wanted to join in with my people, The Islanders, but the logical part of me knew that the lords and ladies in this room would pay for whatever bloodshed occurred on The Feast of Darkness.
My grandmother’s warning rang through me. The Goddess of the Sea no longer cares just for sacrifices; she’ll punish all those tainted by blood this night. A messenger had come, riding a horse half-dead, to deliver her warnings. And my father and I knew, the great witch was never wrong in her prophesies.
But our people loved The Feast of Darkness. It was usually a night when any person’s darkest desires could be sated. A night when dark souls ran free, killing, robbing, and harming. When trolls and evil creatures would creep from the shadows, searching for foolish humans to feast on. I’d shared my grandmother’s warning, but it seemed as quickly as people heard it, they forgot.
Don’t fight, foolish lord from Tarak. You don’t know what this night does to us. It’ll be your doom.
My silent hopes went ignored as Lord Bagley squared off with Krell. He withdrew his own sword, one with a hilt sparkling with gems. He was a tiny man with greasy hair and a mustache that wiggled when he smiled. But he wasn’t smiling now. Instead, fear cast an ashen color to his face.
Beside me on the dais, the princess sat rigid. The hunger in her eyes showed her true nature, shallowly hidden beneath golden hair and big blue eyes. “That’s it,” she whispered. “Take his life.”
My hands curled into tight fists. Even though she knew of my grandmother’s warning, she’d required me to be at the feast tonight. I’d hoped she might try her best to keep things peaceful.
Such a hope had been foolishly naïve.
“Dessi,” she said, licking her lips as the two men circled each other. “Do you see? Those cursed Tarakians thought they’d taken our fire, our strength, but I knew the truth would show itself tonight. We are children of The Goddess of the Sea. We thirst for blood and death!”
I forced my gaze down. Arguing with such a violent woman could be dangerous, but perhaps reminding her of her greed might bring a quick end to the fight.
Leaning closer over her throne, I whispered, “but if the man dies tonight, it might impact our trade.”
Princess Gaudius swore. “If I were next in line for Tarak’s throne, The Bloody Isles wouldn’t need to change our ways, just to appease those peace-loving creatures.”
“You’re right, but your aunt and the king have a son now. Our only chance at continuing to trade with them is to keep things peaceful.”
She snorted, waving her hand. “Or we could simply go back to killing and taking what we want, like our ancestors did.”
King Gaudius laughed beside her. But for a few moments, said nothing else.
I stared at him, waiting with bated breath. His wrinkled face looked calm. His long beard and wavy hair were uncharacteristically slicked back, giving a startling shine to the pure silver locks. In both appearance and personality, he was a warrior wearing a king’s crown.
His sharp gaze focused on us for the first time that evening. “Daughter, let it go. Life is good now. Men aren’t dying in the prime of their youth. And look at this,” he said, splashing red wine onto the floor in front of him, which was quickly cleaned up by a servant. “Good liquor. I won’t go back to drinking that swill.”
“So we’ll become weak for good liquor?” the princess sneered.
Her father raised a brow. “You truly are your mother’s child.”
Princess Gaudius flinched, and the conversation died. Even I lowered my eyes. What must it be like to be compared to a woman cruel enough to try to kill her only child?
“I hope Krell cuts the little man to pieces,” the princess whispered, hatred dripping with each word.
I looked back to the center of the dance floor. The men circled each other, but their gazes flickered to the king. Would he stop this madness?
“A Challenge has been made.” King Gaudius said, amusement lacing his words. He leaned back in his gray marble throne, carved with the powerful bodies of sea serpents. His gaze slid over the crowd. “But should we let them fight?”
Movement swept through the room as our men thumped their mugs on the tables, beer sloshing onto the wooden surfaces. The Tarakian lords and ladies sat silently between them, eyes wide. For once I saw what they did, my people, with their beards and wild hair, looked crazed tonight. It seemed only a short time ago, we thirsted for nothing more than raiding towns and fighting to survive.
I’d thought we’d changed. Remaining strong warriors, but with a purpose.
Apparently, I was wrong.
“Perhaps we’ll give Krell some time to reconsider, given the great witch’s prophecy.” The king grinned. “Sit down and decide if you truly want to challenge your opponent.”
Krell sheathed his sword and perched on the edge of a chair just off the dance floor. People immediately crowded around him. Given the eager expressions on their faces, I had no doubt they were urging him to fight. And with the fury painted across his own face, I was certain he wouldn’t need much urging.
Lord Bagley, on the other hand, had been ushered to the opposite side of the dance floor. A Tarakian lord gave him a glass of wine, while two other men helped him into a chair.
Anxiety strummed through me. There would be a fight, and as much as I’d usually enjoy it, I prayed for it to happen any night but tonight.
My gaze swept over the crowd celebrating with wild abandon. It was painful to stand still beside the princess when everything in my heart said to abandon my fears and celebrate too, and everything in my head said to sleep away the
remainder of this cursed night.
But then Lord Smit Croswell strode through the crowd, heading straight for me.
I couldn’t look away as he approached. He was even more handsome than usual, in a deep blue tunic, cut short at his hips, as was the style in Tarak, and black leggings. His finely tailored clothes drew attention to his broad shoulders and trim waist.
“Lady Quinn,” he greeted, bowing and reaching for my hand. A lock of his deep brown hair fell over one eye, and I had to curl my fingers to stop from touching it.
A memory came of when he’d first arrived here at the beginning of summer. His hair had been ridiculously short, and his face as bare as a young boy’s. But over the past few months, he’d slowly let his hair grow longer, and allowed stubble to dust his face with fine, dark hairs. I’d thought such a look would only make him appear more like an outsider, trying to fit in, but something about it gave him an unexpected ruggedness that stole the breath from my chest.
My heart fluttered as he pressed a soft kiss on the back of my hand, lingering a second longer than necessary.
A smile touched my lips. Perhaps over the summer he’d changed in more than just his appearance, learning to drop some of the uptight ways that seemed second-nature to the Tarakians. “Lord Croswell,” I greeted, keeping my tone even.
He released my hand and turned to greet the princess, but she was whispering quietly to her