“That the Heart’s power went into her. Into the child she carried.” Bash gave her a pointed look, and his hold on her hand tightened. He had put it together—what it would mean if Arlin was indeed her mother. “Before the captain attacked him, my father asked Ortum to attempt the ritual, even if it carried unforeseen risks.”
Bash clenched his jaw, eyes flitting to the shadows that clung to the corners of the room.
“What is it?” she asked, pulling her hand from beneath the covers and placing it on his shoulder.
“Ortum is missing,” Bash whispered, his chin dipping. “We sent for him when you were on the throne, but no one has been able to locate him.”
“I don’t understand,” she said. “I could have sworn I spotted him in the hall on the way to the feast.”
Bash nodded. “I know. It doesn’t make sense, and I know he wouldn’t just leave. That’s why I think something else, something we don’t yet understand, is at play. And then there was the blood on the throne.”
Her brows scrunched together. “What blood?”
He heaved a sigh. “I found evidence of dark magic, blood magic, being used on you tonight. Two intertwined circles were painted on the side of the throne, and when I rubbed it away, the enchantment finally released you. My father outlawed the practice decades ago, but I’d recognize it anywhere. It leaves a distinct smell.” His nose wrinkled in disgust.
Margrete had heard stories of blood magic, of how the practitioner would sacrifice a piece of their soul in order to gain access to power no mortal should own. But that’s all they had ever been—stories.
“Are you sure?” she asked. Bash nodded without hesitation.
“Someone wanted you to sit on the throne, and they wanted you to have that vision. I just don’t know who.”
If what she suspected was true, if Arlin was her mother and Ortum had mistakenly transferred the power of the Heart into her pregnant belly, then did that mean—
“I think you were always meant to come here,” Bash murmured, his thumb still rubbing circles on her hip. “Ortum said the blood of my enemy would bring me salvation, and I think he knew what he’d done that night. I just wish he was here so I could ask him.” Margrete grimaced, her heart aching for him. “But Ortum hasn’t been himself for the last few weeks. I noticed the change, the way he kept to himself, how he seemed withdrawn and guarded, like there was something he was hiding. I could see it plainly in his eyes, but I kept quiet, trusting that if it was important, he would come to me. It got worse when you arrived, and I suspect I now know the reason why. He knew what he’d done.”
Margrete grasped his chin, forcing him to look at her. “Is it truly possible?”
For her to be carrying Malum’s essence? The very power that had filled his heart?
Bash’s eyes grew dark, the flecks of gold dimming. She knew his answer before he spoke.
“I-I never did believe in chance, Margrete Wood.” He gave her a grim smile, and her chest ached at the sight.
Bash brought her to lay against his chest, and her cheek pressed against the silken material of his fine jacket. They didn’t speak, didn’t move. The answers they needed may very well destroy them, but right now, they merely held one another.
It was an hour later, when Margrete’s eyes fluttered open, that she realized she’d drifted to sleep.
Bash was not beside her.
She shot up in his bed and scanned the room until her eyes landed on his pillow. A folded note was placed on top.
I need to speak with Adrian.
Sleep, princess. I won’t be gone long
-B
She dropped the note and slumped against the headboard. Without a doubt, he was discussing what was to be done. Done about her.
Margrete didn’t find sleep again until the first rays of light peeked across the horizon.
Bash never returned.
Chapter Forty
Margrete
The next day, Margrete drifted back to her own chambers, tired of waiting on the king. She was stuck between uncertainty and hopelessness, and she wasn’t sure which was worse.
An hour after she’d bathed and dressed, Casbian arrived at her chambers with two armed guards at his back. Still reeling from the monstrous vision, Margrete couldn’t seem to summon anything other than a polite smile.
“Morning,” she greeted weakly.
“I was hoping I could escort you to the gardens?” Casbian snuck a quick peek over his shoulder, the soldiers glaring daggers at his back.
“Fresh air might be nice,” she replied, heaving a sigh. Staying cooped up with her thoughts wouldn’t do her any good. They trekked down the staircase and through a winding corridor leading to the western side of the palace, where the guards motioned them to a set of stained-glass doors.
Casbian pulled on the handle to reveal lush green plants and overflowing buds. There was a gravel path at her feet, and Margrete stepped out into the untamed oasis.
“I overheard what transpired at the feast,” he said from behind her. She stopped beside a palm and faced him. “You had some sort of vision?
Margrete hardly wished to discuss that with him. So instead, she lied. “I must have had too much to drink. You know how gossip starts.” She continued down the path, Casbian rushing to keep up. Maybe a walk was a bad idea.
“Well, I was hoping to speak with you. About what happens after we leave…together, I hope,” he began, unwavering.
She stopped short.
“I don’t want to be married.” The words were harsh but true, every syllable heavy with conviction.
The count’s eyes darkened.
“Listen, we have much bigger things to worry about than marriage. Believe me when I tell you, we will be lucky if we see tomorrow.”
Casbian’s jaw clenched, and his eyes flashed with what she believed to be anger. “I see,” he said. “Well, perhaps we can speak of this at a better time. You don’t seem like yourself.”
As if he knew her at all.
“You know, I think I was too quick to agree to a walk. I’m still feeling out of sorts,” she said. The second lie came easily. It had been a bad idea to see Casbian, especially since she couldn’t even fake a decent nicety.
“We should get you back to bed then,” he gritted out, clearly eager to relieve himself of the unpleasant situation.
Margrete accepted Casbian’s arm as they made the quick trek back through the palace. It was an uncomfortable walk, and the count had yet to meet her eyes.
They’d just entered the main hall of the palace when she saw a familiar head of auburn hair. She froze, watching as robed figures in blue emerged from a set of double doors, their eyes downcast as they avoided their seething king.
Bash rubbed at his temples, his eyes shutting. He only opened them when a robed man with greying hair approached, his thin lips moving inaudibly.
“There’s no gods’ damned way I’m allowing that!” Bash roared a moment later, his upper lip curled in anger. The man before him flinched, but he continued, speaking too low for Margrete to hear.
Whatever he said only worked to enrage Bash more.
In a flash, the king gripped the collar of the man’s robe and lifted him up into the air. His sandaled feet dangled as he sputtered.
Beside her, the count let out a soft gasp.
“Find. Another. Way,” Bash snarled, every word meant to wound. “That’s your job, isn’t it? Think of something else!”
He dropped the man’s robe, ignoring him as he tumbled to the stones. Turning around, Bash grasped the arm of a passing guard.
“The advisor?”
“N-nothing, my king,” the young guard sputtered, clearly fearful of Bash’s wrath.
“Fuck!”
Bash spun around, stilling when he locked eyes with Margrete across the hall. She’d never seen him look so angry, and the sight of him unsettled her. Something dire had occurred, something bad enough for Bash to lash out in such a way.
He cursed again,
this time softly, and began slowly walking in her direction. His fists were clenched at his sides, but he forced his features to soften. Still, Margrete could taste the anger that rolled off him in waves.
“I’m glad to see you up and about.” His eyes remained on her, ignoring the count entirely. He might as well have not even been there. “I meant to come back this morning, but I got delayed…” He glanced at the open double doors, to what appeared to be some sort of meeting room. “I should have more answers tonight. Perhaps we can talk then?”
“Yes, please let me know what you find,” she replied. Her brow scrunched as she took in the disheveled sight of him. Bash nodded stiffly and finally turned to acknowledge Casbian, though he only gave him a disapproving glance.
“Tonight, then,” he promised, before taking off in the opposite direction, his steps heavy. Before he vanished into the corridor, he paused and twisted back to look at her. In that brief exchange, Margrete saw all the shadows of conflict…and a hint of regret.
When she returned to her stretching hallway, Margrete found the oddest sight: there was a solid wooden door at the end of it.
“What is that?” she asked of the lone guard posted beside it.
He eyed her as if she were a simpleton. “That’s a door.”
Margrete scoffed. “Yes, I’m fully aware of what a door is, but what happened to all the…” She waved her hands about. “The mist and clouds and such?”
“King’s orders,” he replied. The guard opened the door for her politely, and she drifted into the familiar space. While nothing had changed, it seemed as if everything was different.
Margrete was thankful for the time alone, however, and was glad that Casbian had left her to her thoughts for the remainder of the afternoon. She was sure he wanted time to lick his wounds, though his ego was far from her concern.
Out on the balcony, Margrete took in the view of the city and the waves surrounding them. The seas were tranquil, unnaturally serene. Numb.
An hour passed before a lilting voice greeted her.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you.” Adrian crossed through her chambers and joined her on the balcony.
“Not at all,” she replied, refusing to peel herself away from the view. The sea didn’t own a pair of pitying or sympathetic eyes. Ones that would inadvertently make her soul weep even more than it already was.
Adrian settled at her side, resting his elbows on the railing.
Margrete got directly to the point.
“So he thinks it’s true. That Ortum placed the power inside my mother, in me, the night my father attacked.”
“Yes.” Adrian didn’t hesitate. “Since day one, you’ve held an unnatural connection to the island. Your vision simply confirms the reason as to why.”
“And do you believe my vision holds truth?”
“Bash may be more superstitious than I am, but I find I agree. It can’t be argued that the events of that night don’t correlate perfectly with the timing of your birth.” Adrian gave her a pointed look.
She swallowed down the rising anger she felt at the mother she’d never known and asked Adrian about what she’d seen transpire this morning.
“Why was Bash…Why was he so furious when I saw him?”
Adrian’s hands slipped from the railing and came up to grasp both of her arms. “The council members want to…They want to test you. Bring you to the Kardias Cave, to the gates themselves, and try to attempt the transference into a temporary vessel until we find the original Heart. They’ve secured a jewel that belonged to Malum’s lover, an onyx stone the god created just for her. They hope it will be enough to hold the god’s power, seeing as he forged it himself.”
“But what if it doesn’t work?” she asked, fear making her voice small. She didn’t want to be afraid, but unknowns of this magnitude would frighten any sane individual.
“It could very well kill you.”
Margrete’s heart stilled at that.
“You don’t shy from the truth.” She let out a humorless scoff. Adrian glanced at the waves over her shoulder, frowning.
“If this new stone, however sacred it might be, rejects the power, then we cannot say what might happen to your mortal body. That’s why Bash is having such a difficult time. He knows what he should do as king, but as a man? That’s where he’s at war with himself.”
“Well, I don’t really see another option. He needs to at least try. Everyone is counting on him, and, if it works, then that means we keep the world safe from the sea’s children. Especially with Ortum missing, it’ll be worth the risk.” Even before the final word slipped past her lips, she knew it was true.
Adrian nodded in somber agreement. “We’re hoping to find out what happened to Ortum soon, but I’m losing hope.”
Margrete didn’t know the advisor well, but she grasped how much he meant to Bash. A hushed quiet fell over them as they gazed out at the horizon, both likely wondering what the next few days would bring. What terrors they’d encounter.
Margrete felt the foreboding in the air, and it weighed her every exhale.
“I’ve given up so much in my life,” she began after some time passed, breaking their uneasy silence. “But the reason for doing so has always been the same.”
She thought of Birdie. Of the nights she put herself in their father’s path so her younger sister might avoid his wrath. She imagined her sister’s sweet face and hopeful smile, and her heart lifted, knowing her years of suffering had all been worth it.
Margrete grasped Adrian’s hand and squeezed. “I’ve never feared death, or what might come after I take my final breath. I’ve only ever feared regret. And I will not sit by when I could save this island. The very sea itself. The world. The council has to try whatever they can. It must be done.”
Adrian’s fingers tightened around hers, his eyes welling with unshed tears.
“Don’t worry, my friend. Perhaps the gods will have mercy on me,” she said, though this time, she knew it was a lie.
The gods were never merciful.
Chapter Forty-One
Margrete
It was nearly eight in the evening when a knock sounded.
“Come in,” she called out, placing the book of poetry Bash had given her on the bed. She sat up and moved to the far edge of the mattress as the door swung open on its hinges. The sight of it was going to take some getting used to.
Bash shut the door behind him, his lips pursed as he strolled inside. Margrete noted how his jaw clenched, as if each step forward was physically painful.
“Good evening,” he offered, avoiding her eyes. Margrete’s aching heart throbbed against her ribs.
“Bash,” she replied. He shifted on his feet before running his hands through his disorderly strands. The subtle trembling of his fingers didn’t escape her.
Bash opened his mouth as if to speak but promptly shut it, glaring daggers into the wall instead. Margarete filled the uneasy silence.
“Adrian told me about what the council wants to attempt, and I have to say I agree with them.”
Bash’s eyes darted to her, his lips parting as if he wanted to argue.
“This is your last chance, Bash. If they can make this work, tie what remains of Malum’s Heart to another vessel and reinforce the gates, then they should.” She rose from the bed. She’d made up her mind.
“I...” he began as she slowly approached him. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you of the council meeting right away. Of what was said. I should have, but I—I simply couldn’t.”
“Why?” Margrete knew the answer, but she selfishly wanted to hear it from his lips.
His breathing hitched. “You know why, princess,” he said, voice cracking. “Are you really going to make me say it?”
“I didn’t take you as a coward, Bash,” she teased, but it was strained.
Bash breathed in sharply and strode toward her, closing the distance. With fierce eyes brimming with anguish, he took hold of her arms. “You could die. You probably will die
, even if they are successful.”
“It needs to be done, Bash.” She shook her head, tears prickling the back of her eyes. “It may be a long shot, but we need to do anything we can, no matter the risk. If we run out of time to procure the Heart, nothing will hold the beasts back. Especially with Ortum missing.”
If she died, then so be it. At least her sister and other innocents would be spared. She’d been making sacrifices her entire life, so what was one more?
Bash dropped his hands and turned, giving her his back. She could see how his frame shook.
“There has to be something else we can try,” he murmured, beginning to pace. “I wish Ortum was here to help guide us.” His voice broke on the name of his advisor and friend. “I’ve lost too much, Margrete, and for years I made it my life’s mission to protect this island and its people. To put everyone else before myself, and just when I find—just when I find something that could bring me joy, the gods decide to take that away, too.” He stilled and twisted around to face her. His admission warmed her soul. “None of this is fair.”
She sighed. “I don’t think it’s supposed to be.”
It felt decided at that moment, her fate cemented. Death hovered on the horizon—ready to finally devour her—and all she wanted was one more night with him. To act as if they had all the tomorrows to explore what could have been.
She boldly took his hand in hers. “It’s all right, truly,” she promised, praying he believed her even as her voice wavered. “It has to be done.”
Bash wrapped his warmth around her, the raging storm in his eyes beginning to settle. Outside, beyond the balcony, the air sizzled with electricity. Margrete smelled the promise of rain, and she welcomed it.
“I will always cherish our beginning, Bash,” she whispered. “Not many are lucky enough to even have that.”
He didn’t speak, but his nostrils flared slightly as he processed the meaning behind her words: that this could be the end of their story. A story that fate cut short.
The Girl Who Belonged to the Sea Page 27