Hannon broke his reverie, her soft voice rife with emotion. “You can understand now why we call it a sacrifice?”
Dain opened his eyes, squaring his shoulders as he wiped at his face. It was a sacrifice—not only in the way the tears were wrought, but also because this siren now owned a portion of his soul. He did not, however, feel like he’d lost anything, because he also owned a portion of hers. Dain’s heart, though, felt torn in two—one half still faithfully devoted to Sable, the other now in the hands of this merrow. Alis’s history books hadn’t been that far off, but they hadn’t been entirely accurate either. He shook himself as the full force of the new connection sunk in—this was not a single-sided event, this was dual, and Hannon had given her soul willingly, to help him. To indirectly help Sable. He stared at the siren again—if she wasn't already in love with another, then…
Hannon seemed to read his mind. “Don’t fret, Dain Alloway. I have endless lifetimes to get over y—this sacrifice, and it was one I was willing to make. A small price to pay for the hope it might bring.” She waved off her serious tone with webbed fingers, laughing to lighten the mood. “Only good will come of this.”
Despite her laugher, Dain could still hear a stain of sadness in her words. This merrow might struggle the rest of her life to love another—he wanted to apologize, he wanted to take it all back, but he knew it was far too late for that.
Again, she seemed to read his mind. “There was no other way. You needed a portion of my soul. I don’t regret it. I was fated to meet y—” The merrow lowered her gaze and adjusted her robe. “Never mind. What you need to know is that you were born to misunderstand the tale I’ll tell. Your soul would’ve rejected it—it’s been this way since the breaking.”
Dain was curious about Hannon’s unfinished sentence. What had she meant by fated? But she looked so uncomfortable that he didn’t push. Instead, he let his mind wander back to a cryptic statement Ileana had made months before when Sable had questioned her about the existence of other gods. ‘If I were to share the full scope of that story with you, you couldn’t fathom it. You, and most of those who dwell within the four kingdoms, were born not to fathom it. Although, one day, I hope the veil will be lifted.’ Now it seemed as though this curtain would be parted for Dain, and it made him wonder who might’ve sacrificed, and what, for Ileana to see beyond the veil as well.
He set all his questions aside, taking Hannon’s hand tenderly. “Tell me everything.”
14
The merrow’s fingertips traced the design on the Dernamn while she spoke, her voice reminding Dain of the princess’s tone when she’d first told him about her tragic past and lost love. “The dove represents purity, the circles below signify the unity of the four kingdoms, and the three triangles across the center represent the three creators.” Hannon closed her eyes reverently, and a long, silent moment passed before she opened them again. “Magic is not the only thing that was stolen from your world, Dain Alloway. There are three creators; Orthane is one, but there is also Donnamide, and Loark. Orthane created the land and all its inhabitants; Donnamide created the seas”—Hannon touched her chest— “and those who dwell within. Loark created the heavens and the Selteez.”
Dain couldn’t help interrupting, and he guessed it might be a common occurrence throughout her story. “The devoted teach that the Selteez were Orthane’s creation, that they—”
Hannon held a webbed finger to his lips. “Listen to my tale, Dain Alloway, and all will become clear.” The merrow’s arm raised upward in a sweeping motion, her gaze following her hand. “In a time before time, Unity reigned. The Three were complete in one another, eternally content, until Orthane, the most generous of heart, felt led to suggest they share their completeness. She encouraged creation, the making of a world of civilizations who could revel in the Unity with them. In their love for Orthane, Donnamide and Loark were persuaded, and together, in harmony, they created the world as we know it—the four kingdoms, the seas, and the heavens. When the heavens were complete, Loark poured the final ember of his creative power into the Selteez. They were beautiful, beyond compare, and Orthane admired them above all else. Knowing Loark’s race far exceeded her own creations, the goddess begged the King of Heaven to permit the Selteez to dwell among her own.
“In his great wisdom, Donnamide cautioned against this—he warned that the Unity would be unbalanced by such an act. Alas, Loark could deny Orthane nothing, and the divine Selteez were fixed below with her creation. They were settled far away from their natural home in the heavens, to guard and to guide the peoples of the four kingdoms. Loark’s race intermarried with humans, producing offspring of great power—the Selts, or as you call them now, the Adept…
“Inevitably, Donnamide’s prophecy came to pass and the Unity weakened. Blinded by the beauty of the Selteez, Orthane’s request to include the Selteez in her own creation created a rift, a crevasse, and it was wide enough for corruption to evolve. In an attempt to forestall their doom, Donnamide created the Dernamn.” Hannon reached toward the pendant again. “The symbols were begat in the depths of the sea, wherein aquatic beings willingly sacrificed portions of their soul to the pendants. It was an act of brave hope. Donnamide planned to defer the destruction of the Unity by offering the medallions as gifts to Orthane, and she in turn bestowed them on her favorite Selteez. It worked. By imbuing a portion of his creation, albeit uninvited, into the dalliance between Orthane and Loark’s creations, Donnamide bought creation some time.”
Dain’s jaw hung slightly ajar. “You’re saying that this pendant is—?”
“Yes, it was forged by my grandmother’s soul.”
“That’s why it summoned her.” Dain turned to stare at the snoring old merrow. “But that’s not all, is it?”
“No, that’s not all.” The young siren stood now, pacing gracefully through the small library as she finished her tale. “Orthane’s obsession with the Selteez took her further yet. She bore a son by the mightiest of their ranks. His name was Lore, and their child was called Dorthane Loremight—”
Dain interrupted again. “I’ve heard that name before—in a story—but I never knew who it was.” Hannon nodded, and he couldn’t help asking, “Why didn’t the creators intercede? Why didn’t Loark and Donnamide do something?”
“The Unity has a codex. A divine will of its own. If the others directly interfere with Orthane’s choices, the Unity will be severed. Donnamide and Loark love Orthane and all of creation far too much to risk that—chaos would reign if the Unity fell. The King of Heaven and Lord of the Deep are only able to work in favor of the Four Kingdoms in an indirect fashion. So, in an effort to help, Donnamide created the Dernamn and later made the seas deadly to stalkers. Loark tried to help by calling the Selteez home, ending their corruptive presence in the Four Kingdoms. These acts were done in hopes of restoration, but they were not enough, because Orthane herself was imprisoned soon after.”
The questions kept flowing; Dain couldn’t help it. “How is it that we know nothing of these other gods?”
Hannon fiddled with her sky-pink hair, her eyes now downcast. “Orthane eliminated the memories. It was an act wrought through the deception and corruption of her son. The demigod was born immortal and mighty, but as he grew, pampered and coddled by his mother, he came to understand he was no full-fledged god. That knowledge churned and embittered his soul, and he lusted after the power wielded by the creators themselves.” She moved to one of the bookshelves and ran her fingers over some of the ancient tomes. “The tale is too long to tell in full, but Dorthane manipulated his mother, via her love, to his will. Then he created the first stalkers, and his hunt for power began. He believed by stealing the talents of the Selts, he’d accumulate enough strength to rival the creators. As a part of this power play, Loremight had his mother wipe Donnamide and Loark from the memories of all who dwelt in her creation. But Orthane was not commanded to erase all memory of the Selteez, and so because she loved them so much, she cataloged them in
the memories of man alongside her own creations. Eventually, the goddess herself was imprisoned by the son she loved so dearly, but—” The young siren turned her golden gaze on Dain again. “In her final moments of freedom, Orthane repented of her follies and attempted to restore some of what she’d destroyed by erasing her beloved son from all creation as well. Loremight simply ceased to exist.”
Hannon returned to the sofa to sit beside Dain.
“So if Loremight is gone, then how—”
“The wheels had already been set into motion. Besides the stalkers, Loremight trained minions, Selts of substantial power who have carried on his legacy for centuries after. We do not know how many remain.”
The villain from Ileana’s story sprung to Dain’s mind. “Rectlor?”
Hannon’s salmon brows drew together in question. “Rectlor?”
“It’s also a long story, and he may have had other names in the past, but I bet he’s one of the Selts you mentioned, a minion of Loremight.”
The siren nodded. “Perhaps.” Her voice dropped low as she stared at the medallion again. “What you wear around your neck is the last Dernamn in the four kingdoms. All the others have been destroyed. That medallion, that portion of my grandmother’s soul, might be the only thing keeping the Unity from—”
Hannon didn’t get to finish, because her grandmother’s raspy voice cut her off. “Return the Dernamn to its rightful bearer, and find the keys. Only then will salvation come.”
Dain turned to see the old mer-woman’s crooked pointer fixed shakily on him. Her golden eyes were narrowed, sharp and flinty as she repeated herself again. “Return the Dernamn to its rightful bearer, and find the keys. Only then will salvation come.”
Dain splayed his hand in frustration. “That’s what I’m trying to do. I’m trying to save her, trying to return it—”
The old merrow cackled harshly. “Fool.” She rubbed at the jelly still coating her wrinkled chin, smearing it over the sleeve of her robe. “You’re not trying to save anyone else, you’re trying to save yourself. You’ve lost your way—you’ve no sight left but your own desires.”
Dain stood, taking a swift step back. “If I’m so sightless, then tell me who the rightful bearer is.”
The old merrow suddenly seemed to lose interest, her eyes straying to the empty tray of treats.
Dain rocked on his heels.
Hannon interceded, reaching toward her grandmother’s arm, giving it a gentle tap. “What do you mean by the rightful bearer, Grandmother? If it’s not the person Dain Alloway speaks of, then the original bearer would be a Selteez, but they left the four kingdoms centuries ago.”
The old woman swatted Hannon’s hand away roughly, then pointed a crooked finger at Dain again. “I didn’t say the original bearer, I said the rightful bearer. If the boy gets his priorities straight and follows his dreams, he’ll know who that is when the time comes, and the keys will be drawn there as well.” Then she pushed herself to her feet with a groan and shuffled awkwardly toward the door. When she reached the coral writing desk, she wobbled, leaning into it for support. Her next words were barely audible. “If he doesn’t, he’ll doom us all.”
Dain didn’t even glance to the left or right as Hannon led him up through the black sea toward The Wildflower, his eyes remaining locked on the glowing siren while his mind continued to repeat the old merrow’s last words. It wasn’t until the pink rays of dawn pierced the never-ending darkness that Dain looked away from his guide toward the surface. Hannon reached for his hand as she drew him toward the waves. There was no lure in her now, but he didn’t resist her touch. It was difficult to think about parting. Dain knew, with their souls so irrevocably entwined, that it wasn’t going to be easy for either of them.
Their heads broke the surface, fresh air searing his lungs as it replaced the seawater. The Wildflower’s crimson sails billowed some distance away, but the ship advanced steadily toward them. He had no idea how Hannon had known the vessel’s exact location. Yet another of the mer-people’s mysteries. Her grip on his hand grew tighter, her golden gaze burning bright in the light of dawn. He couldn’t tell if her lashes were still wet from the sea or covered in tears, but the sight made his throat swell. Pulling Hannon against him, he held her gently as he watched the sparkling ochre hull of The Wildflower draw nearer. The siren didn’t stay in his arms for long; it was only moments before she pulled back and stared him straight in the eye. “Heed my grandmother’s words. And don’t waste our sacrifice, Captain.” Before he could reply—before he could promise to try, she brushed a feather-light kiss to his lips and dove.
Treading water, Dain watched Hannon’s glowing form grow distant beneath the waves, and when she completely disappeared from sight, a deep, longing ache formed in his chest. He considered following her—considered leaving everything behind—but when the familiar sea wind swirled over his wet face, his halved heart turned again to Sable. His Sable, his first love.
Dain forced his eyes from the sea, waving frantically as he called out to The Wildflower.
15
Sable’s tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, her lips so tight she could barely move them. Ripples of pain laced through her skull—she was alive.
A dry groan escaped her, and she felt a quivering tug on the flesh rope secured to her wrist. She couldn’t turn her head to look; her form, like always, was firmly frozen to the cell cot, but she could hear Idris’s small sobs from the floor beside her. It felt like he was rocking, and she thought she heard him mutter, “He’ll kill her now—he’ll kill her…”
Her throat seized as she listened. This was her fault. She was desperate to console the child, but an agonizing exhaustion reverberated through her body when she tried to speak. All she managed was another painful groan.
The boy kept rocking.
Moments later, the familiar sound of the greaseless hinges on the cell door echoed off the stone walls.
Sable recognized the footfalls that followed.
Idris rocked harder.
The smell of ash and frostbite filled her nostrils long before the emperor’s face came into view. He towered over her, silver-lined robes glinting in the dull torchlight as his amber eyes bore into her own. She cringed internally, barely able to hold the villain’s gaze. His eyes flicked toward the vibrating boy beside her, and Sable started to cry. Idris would pay for her choices. She tried to speak, tried to plead for Idris, but her strength failed her again.
“Stand up!” The emperor’s voice sent an internal shock wave through Sable’s prone form, the command drenching the cell with shadow and power. An unnatural chill leeched from the stone walls. Sable couldn’t shiver, but the frozen shadows bit at her throbbing limbs mercilessly.
Idris shot to his feet, his body quivering uncontrollably beneath the glare of his master. She marveled at how the boy had any strength left considering her annihilated state—he was stronger even than she’d realized. The power this child would wield when fully grown would be staggering.
Valir paced menacingly around Idris, the shadows in the room warping and waving as he spoke. “She isn’t your friend, Idris.” The emperor waved a condescending hand toward Sable. “She used you—tricked you. And now, because of your rash actions, your sister will suffer the consequences.”
Idris doubled over, vomiting at the feet of his master.
Valir smiled.
Sable’s heart skipped a dozen beats. She’d known Idris was in thrall to the emperor, but she hadn’t known about a sister… She tried again to speak, but this time, Idris shut her throat. He didn’t want her to talk.
Tears welled again.
Sable didn’t know if the boy could hear her thoughts, but she pleaded internally anyway. I’m so sorry, Idris. Let me say something, let me tell him I should be punished. Not you—not her. Her throat remained closed.
The emperor’s tone was dead, emotionless. “First we’ll remove her fingernails one by one, and then gouge out her eyes, and after that we’ll soak her wou
nds in vinegar. Perhaps we’ll even make you watch.” Valir looked down at Sable, and she realized that this was the first time she’d ever been truly afraid of him. She’d waded through minor streams of fear since her arrival, but she’d always leaned on her stubborn will to get her across to the other side. She’d never cowered, always remained rebellious in spirit, but now, as she listened to Idris vomit again, she gasped for breath. Despite her practical nature, she’d always been too rash, too quick to speak or act before she thought, and these innocent children would suffer for her thoughtless actions.
Valir smiled again.
Idris was still heaving on the floor when the emperor began to pace the cell, his shadows seeming to recede with each step. He said, “The sooner you realize that no one cares about you, that nothing will save you, the sooner we can focus on destroying the Unity and freeing the kingdoms from divine enslavement. Your only hope for salvation is through faithful obedience to me.” Sable thought she heard the emperor’s teeth grind. “I spent generations in torturous servitude to divinity, clawing my way up through Loremight’s ranks. No one came to save me, but now I’m going to save them all. The kingdoms will be free of the divine once and for all, and I will rule properly in their stead.” Sable could hardly fathom Valir’s words, but she could taste his bitterness. When the emperor’s feet stalked back toward her again, she shut her eyes to avoid his amber glare, but the spittle spraying from his lips was audible. “Listen carefully, both of you. No one will stand in my way, especially not two young, pathetic worms like you.”
The Lion of the Sea (The Maiden Ship Book 2) Page 9