“Get below decks!” Captain Emry shouted at me as sheets of rain stung our cheeks.
“Let me help,” I yelled over the wind. The last thing I wanted was to be below decks if the ice punched a hole in the side of the ship. I didn’t want to disobey him in front of his crew, but I would if he tried to order me below again.
He gritted his teeth but pointed to an empty piece of deck. “Stay right there for now. If I give you another order, it’s for your own good. No arguin’. You do it.”
I nodded and moved to stand where he’d pointed.
The boat rose and fell over a large wave. Thunder clapped overhead. A few seconds later, lightning forked across the sky. A wave crashed over the side of the ship, knocking me off my feet and rocking the vessel onto its side. I thought it would spring back up. Ships were built for this. They could withstand large waves and rebound. They could right themselves. But this one didn’t.
All hell broke loose.
“We’re sinkin’!” someone yelled.
The sails and mast were bobbing along the water’s surface as each rising wave dragged them farther into the water. The ship never had a chance to turn upright because there was a never-ending line of waves that wouldn’t let her up.
Across the deck, sailors were holding on to whatever they could. I was plastered against the windows of the Captain’s Quarters; the glass cracking under my weight, splintering beneath my knees and hands. I eased toward the stern. If we were going down, if this was really happening, I didn’t want to get tangled up in any ropes or be dragged under by a part of the boat. I wanted to be at the end of it to keep from being sucked under with the wreckage.
I couldn’t see him, but Captain Emry was still fighting, still yelling orders to his men. There was enough determination and grit in his voice that I thought he could right the boat and save us all.
I was wrong.
RAYA
The ocean’s surface was crusted with ice this morning, but the storm that rolled in this evening broke it all up. Now frothy waves, half as tall as my tower, ruled over the water. Winter storms were the angriest. It was like they became the cold rage that fueled them. Lightning tore across the dark sky, illuminating the plumed clouds.
Tross sat on the window ledge, staring out at the sea. He was antsy. It wasn’t that he didn’t like it here, it was more like he didn’t want to spend too much time in one place. But he couldn’t fly in this. The gusts were swirling and gnashing around the tower. I wondered if they would eventually break it or weather the stones entirely away.
Poor guy. His only choice was to wait until the storm eased so he could fly safely again. He’d been gone for days and came inside just as the storm intensified. Tross wasn’t a pet, exactly; he was the closest thing I had to a friend. “It’ll be over soon. Quit moping,” I chastised.
He turned his head, snapping his beak at me once as I sketched him, my charcoal blurring across the parchment. Tross was getting tall. His wingspan was close to ten feet. Tucked into the narrow window slit, he looked enormous.
He was one of my favorite things to sketch, because despite the fact that he was a bird, he had a larger-than-life personality and I loved to capture it... like I was capturing his avian pout right now.
I set the charcoal down and moved to the fire to heat my hands by the hearth. It was warm inside the tower room, but my hands were always frozen. It didn’t matter the season. And it could use another log anyway. I grabbed one from the basket and tossed it into the flames.
From the sill Tross cried out, his eyes fixing on something outside. He began to pace nervously back and forth, not that he had much room. He’d probably spotted a fish that had washed onto the shore. He was a sucker for an easy meal.
“It’s too dangerous right now,” I warned.
Moving his webbed, gray feet along the stone facing, he shrieked and launched himself into the wind, flapping his wings against the gale winds. “Tross!”
He landed on one of the boulders on the beach and looked up at me. Something was wrong. He was pacing and flapping his wings, shrieking up at me. I couldn’t hear him over the wind, but something was scaring him. My gut told me to go down there.
I grabbed a blanket and threw open the hatch that led to the stairs. Running down and around as fast as I could, I pushed against the tower’s only door, but the winds held it tightly closed. I put my shoulder into it, opening it just enough to squeeze out, and prayed I could get back in.
My blanket was ripped away. The wind took it into the sky, a macabre kite soaring in a lightning storm. The rocks and sand were frigid under my bare feet, but I pushed forward. “Tross?”
He was just ahead, his cries muffled by the raging storm. Tross paced on the sand like he had been on the sill, flapping his wings as much as he could in the wind.
Suddenly, I saw why.
In the surf in front of him, lay a man.
Chapter three
RAYA
My heart skipped a beat. I sucked in a breath and sprinted toward him, falling on my knees at his side. The frigid surf washed up and over his back. He lay on his stomach, his arms limp as I flipped him to his back. “Sir?” I screamed. He was young, his face pale and lips blue, unresponsive to my screams.
His chest wasn’t rising or falling. He wasn’t breathing.
Oh, God. Please don’t let him be dead. Please.
I threaded my fingers together and pushed on his stomach. Hard.
Nothing happened.
Please don’t die. Don’t be dead. Please.
Tears of frustration leaked from my eyes as I tried to revive him. I pushed on his stomach again and again, and just when I thought all hope was lost and I couldn’t help him, I pulled him into my arms and pounded my fist on his chest, wailing.
His body lurched upward and he coughed and spewed foamy sea water out of his mouth and all over me, his body trembling violently.
Oh my God.
He wasn’t dead.
He was alive. But he was so cold.
He wasn’t dead. He didn’t die. I wasn’t alone.
The waves continued to crash all around us, but I managed to sit him up. Threading his arm around my shoulders, I shouted for him to walk, to help me, and even though his head was slumped forward, chin to chest, he managed to sloppily drag his feet forward.
At the door of the tower, I sat him down to pry the door back open and dragged him inside. It was a relief to be out of the wind, but we hadn’t even begun the hard part yet. Panting, I stared up at the winding spiral staircase. The man’s teeth chattered uncontrollably. I hoisted his weight again. I told him when to step and he managed to help. We slowly made it up the stairs one at a time.
When we finally reached the top floor, I eased him down in front of the hearth and closed the hatch door. Pinching my lip, I debated on what to do next. He needed to get out of his wet clothes, but stripping him seemed like an invasion of his privacy. However, if he didn’t warm up soon, he would die and his precious privacy would no longer be an issue.
I argued with myself for a moment and finally decided to strip him and cover him with what I had. He’d pull through or he wouldn’t after that. I’d find a way to restrain him in case he wasn’t a good man.
Blowing out a tense breath, I pulled one boot off and dropped it to the floor. His dark lashes fluttered, revealing only the whites of his eyes. Pulling off the second boot, I forgot to catch his heel and his foot thumped noisily to the floor.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, listening as he groaned.
His breeches were next, and they were literally plastered to him. I had to peel them off inch by inch, and I swear the man was made of steel. He was muscular everywhere, all sharp lines and smooth edges, with a perfect ‘v’ at the base of his stomach. I left his undergarments on and pulled his shirt over his head. His collar got stuck on his chin. His head thumped on the floor when I tugged hard to free the fabric.
“Sorry again.”
He didn’t reply, but shook violently i
n response. I ran to grab every blanket I could find. I even stripped the blankets from my bed and put those on him first, and then ran downstairs. The former lighthouse keeper had a few trunks at the bottom, filled with thick furs. I loaded my arms and ran back up to him, covering him from neck to toe, even rolling him from side to side to tuck one beneath him.
Tross appeared in the window, shaking the snow from his feathers. I looked at my bird and wished he could tell me what to do next.
The man heaved, vomiting more sea water onto his skin and the floor around his head. I rolled him onto his side so he didn’t choke.
His wet hair was mid-length, dark blond but with streaks, like it was trying to hold onto the summer sunshine. His nose was proud and there was stubble on his jaw and upper lip. I noted happily that his lips weren’t blue anymore and there was a pink tint to his cheeks.
I watched from the corner of my eye as I cleaned up the mess around him. As he settled in, his brow relaxed and his breathing began to even out. His teeth stopped chattering, and over time, he relaxed completely and fell into a deep sleep.
I hoped he made it, although I wasn’t sure he’d be happy if he did. There was no getting off this island.
At the base of the tower, in the bottom of the trunks that held the furs that now covered the man upstairs, there was a set of thin shackles. I brought them upstairs and stared at them for the better part of an hour. He’d slept all night, but I didn’t get any myself. I hated to do it, but he was a stranger. I didn’t know if I could trust him, and I was afraid, if I was being honest. What if he was a vagabond? A pirate?
Tilting my head, I tried to picture him as such. He didn’t look like a pirate. His clothes were well made. But I didn’t know why else someone would sail the Northern Sea this time of year. Maybe he was a stow away, and he was discovered and tossed overboard?
Did he commit a crime against his fellow sailors? I just couldn’t risk it. Not until I knew more about him. I wouldn’t be able to sleep, knowing he could jump up at any time and hurt me.
Pushing a heavy, metal chest across the floor, I hooked one shackle to the bolt and the other onto the man’s wrist. When he stirred, I sucked in a deep breath, backing away from him slowly, avoiding the planks that creaked. He didn’t wake, thank goodness.
I laid down on my bare cot and hoped I hadn’t made a monumental mistake in helping him. But I didn’t get to sleep for long. I woke to the sound of iron scraping against iron. My eyes snapped open and fixed on the wall in front of me. I’d gone to sleep facing him, but had turned over during my short slumber. I held my breath and slowly turned my body, aiming for stealth, but the movement against the mattress was too loud. It caught his attention and his eyes fastened onto mine. He was sitting up, every muscle in his body tensed.
“Why am I in irons?” he gritted, tugging against his restraints. “Where am I?”
“Who are you?” I countered, sitting up. I straightened my skirts and waited for his answer.
“Prince Trevor of Galder.”
My eyebrows shot up. He was a prince? “You’re from the Seven Kingdoms,” I breathed. “Do you have news from Paruth?”
His brows pinched together. “Where am I?” he repeated, enunciating the words like I was an imbecile.
“In my tower.”
“Where is that exactly? Near Roane?”
“Roane? No, it’s in the middle of the Sea of Bones.”
His chest rose and fell rapidly. I noticed because mine matched, and because he was only wearing his undergarments. He followed my line of sight.
“Where are my clothes?”
I glanced up at the line strewn across the ceiling. His garments must be dry by now. “I’ll get them for you.”
“Sea of Bones? There is no such thing,” he scoffed.
I stood and walked over to the wall that held a rusted pulley and tugged on the rope. Item by item, his clothing came to me and I gathered each piece into a ball and threw it at him. “The Sea of Bones does exist. It is a particularly treacherous area in the Northern Sea, and you’re in the center of it.”
His eyes were hazel, every color but blue.
He held his clothes in front of him.
“I’ll need my boots.”
Where did he think he was going?
“They’re over there… next to the fire.”
“Can you at least remove the shackles so I can dress?” he asked.
I grabbed the poker by the fire for defense, and clutched the key on the string around my neck. “I’ll skewer you if you try to hurt me,” I warned, holding the poker out toward him.
He scoffed. “I have no reason to hurt you. I’m fairly certain you saved my life.”
“Fairly certain? You should be absolutely certain, because I did. And you’re welcome.”
He growled, “You saved my life and then shackled me, and now you’re threatening to skewer me. I’m sorry if I don’t seem grateful.”
“Apology accepted. Look – I don’t know you, and I may have saved your life, but I will defend myself if you try anything. Prince or not.”
He nodded. “Fair enough. I just want to get dressed and get the hell out of here.”
He still didn’t understand his predicament, but he was stubborn. Some people had to see things for themselves, I guessed. He’d appreciate the situation we were in soon enough. It was about to slap him in the face, like I wanted to.
The Prince stood back as far as he could while I unlocked his wrist with one hand, keeping the poker poised in the other. It took longer than it would have with two hands—one to steady the lock and the other to turn the key—but His Highness would have to deal with it. Besides, we were on equal ground. I was a princess.
While he dressed, I sat in the window sill and kept him in my periphery in case he tried to shove me out.
His movements were sure and efficient. He pulled his breeches on, then his shirt and tunic, threaded his belt around his waist, and pulled on his boots. “Thank you for saving my life. Truly. I appreciate it. I’ll be going now. I’ve obviously overstayed my welcome.” He glanced at the shackles hanging from the chest.
Had I frightened him? I didn’t consider that.
His eyes darted around the room. “Where is the door?”
With the poker, I pointed toward the floor hatch.
Frowning at the poker, he looked in the direction I pointed, finding the hatch’s handle. “Ah, thank you again.” He bowed slightly and then pulled open the hatch and jogged down the stairs.
I heard the door at the bottom floor open and close. From the sill, I saw the moment reality slapped him in the face. The island was small. Very small. There were rocks and the tower was perched on the highest point, but other than the tower, the boulders and sand, there was nothing but ocean in every direction as far as the eyes could see.
The remnants of shipwreck after shipwreck, the bones of ships, like ribs, jutted out from the ocean as the waves gently rolled over them. They didn’t call this the ‘Sea of Bones’ for no reason.
He looked up at me, bewildered, and I pursed my lips together, fighting the urge to shrug. I tried to tell him.
Chapter four
TREVOR
The afternoon sun made the sand at my feet glisten. This isn’t possible. I turned in a slow circle. I was on an island so tiny, I could probably throw a stone across it from any point and hit the sea on the other side.
There were no trees. There was nothing but wind, sea-worn boulders, the sand underfoot, and her lighthouse.
It was tall. Made of thousands of stones and standing taller than any turret I’d seen in any castle before, the pale tower stood alone in the center of the sea, seemingly forgotten by time. But then there was her. Her long, pale hair hung out the window, the strands fluttering on the smooth breeze. Impossibly long icicles clung to the window ledge, dripping water onto the sand below as they melted. She hugged herself as she watched me from her perch.
For a moment, I let myself wonder what would make a
young woman choose such a solitary life. There was a weariness in her eyes, an almost palpable sadness there, combined with the fear that flashed through them when she woke and found me alert.
But enough about her… I had to think. I tugged at my hair.
My father would have no idea what had happened, let alone where I was. When he received no word from me, he would send a letter to Roane. They would respond that I hadn’t arrived. The correspondence each way would take weeks, and when he finally learned of the ship’s disappearance, he’d send a fleet to search for us. But they wouldn’t come near the Sea of Bones. They would know better. Savvy sea captains knew which parts of the ocean were unsafe to sail. Or worse, maybe they would come looking, and the rescue ship and sailors would meet the same fate.
The storm must have driven us far off course. I walked the shore to make sure no one else had washed up.
She was still sitting on the window ledge, but was looking out at the ocean now.
I followed her stare, my breath catching. I’d been so focused on what was beneath my feet on this sparse scrap of land, that I didn’t notice what lay in the water just beyond it. As far as I could see, there were hulls and masts sticking up at odd angles from the shallows.
The Sea of Bones is aptly named.
I raked my hands through my hair. I was stuck here. With her. At her mercy, as I literally had only the clothes on my back and nothing else to give her. How did she survive here by herself? There must be a supply boat that came periodically to replenish her stores. I could leave with them, though I was sure it wouldn’t dare come until spring. Would there be enough to sustain both of us until then?
The light on top of her tower wasn’t lit now, but it must have been on the night of the storm. Why didn’t we see it? We had to have been close. The water was frigid, which meant I couldn’t have been in the sea long, or I would have died like the others.
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