Chapter 23 Endless Sea #2
"You cannot walk. It’s not a fault of yours, sweetheart.
" Graves’s tone dipped low. "Don’t let yourself be overcome by it.
" He held out a hand for her, and she stared at his palm, taking it with reluctance.
His fingers wrapped around hers, tugging her to a stand.
She fell into him, catching herself with her hands on his forearms. The purple stone of his amulet was damp from the mist, and she reached out, fingers nearly brushing it before he jerked away, causing her to stumble anew.
"Walking on your tiptoes is not to be done forever, merely a momentary solution until you learn how to properly balance yourself. "
He still held her hand, keeping her upright. She felt foolish, like a newborn stumbling on fragile legs. She yearned to stretch her wings and fly free, even if that meant begging this male for help.
Luella bit her lip. "Then, how must I learn? Teach me," she implored.
And so, he did.
Graves pressed a palm to her back, straightening her spine—nearly touching her wings, but not quite. "I imagine you’ve been tutored on etiquette for a princess," he started. "This is similar, but incredibly different, all the same."
He moved her body just so, crouching to lift her foot and place it back down, shifting the direction of her toes to face forward and not inward.
She watched him as he stood, his eyes never leaving hers as the tips of his fingers brushed up the sides of her legs.
Heat curled inside her veins, roaring hotter as he touched the side of her neck, sweeping her hair back to reveal the pale line of it—the bruises from Bastian’s fangs, healed almost entirely.
Graves’s rough fingers slid under her jaw, firm but slow, coaxing her head straight, forcing her eyes away from him.
"Envision a rope tethered to your neck, keeping you upright," Graves rasped as he stroked over the side of her neck. "You can’t look down, and you can’t look away—you must keep your eyes forward, for the rope demands it.
" He came to stand before her, still holding her neck straight, trapping her. "Say you understand."
"I—" Her voice broke. "I understand."
He hummed, the noise dripping with satisfaction. "Then I will release you, but you won’t move."
This time, she answered before he could ask her to. "I won’t move."
"Good," he hummed, letting her go carefully and walking backward until he stopped by the post a few paces from her. "Begin."
The raven shifter saw to her lessons, sending her wobbling away from him, as he stood by his post, a hand outstretched, poised to catch her as he demanded in that low, gruff voice of his, Come to me.
Again and again, she fell. Each fall earned no judgment, only calm repetition: Again.
Somewhere between one fall and the next, something inside her cracked—not from pain, but from yearning. She didn’t want to fall in front of him. She didn’t want to fail in front of him.
The shame didn’t lessen, but something else began to stir alongside it. Quiet defiance, soft as air. This wasn’t just about pleasing Graves.
This was for her.
Tharen did not speak. He watched quietly, and when she became so wrapped up in walking to Graves, focusing on the tips of her toes as they pointed to the ground, pressing upon the wooden deck in just the right manner, spine straight and shoulders rolled back, she started when she glanced to his spot and found Az, instead.
Her demon watched her with pride—even as she fell—quietly strengthening her. Tharen had reclaimed his spot by the sails, wind swirling from his palms as he forced his Aer magic into the sails. The ship’s speed increased, rocking with greater force over the waves.
When her knees were bruised and cheeks hot with embarrassment, Graves called lowly, voice cutting through the mist that had turned to a soft drizzle, slicing through the air at an angle with the gusts, "We’re done for today. Azgorath, take her below deck to eat."
Az came to her side, hands gripping her shoulders as he murmured, "You did so well, my angel."
Graves’s eyes fell to her hands, her palms red and sore from how many times she had caught herself on the deck. "I’ll tell Tharen to give you a salve for the bruising. Tomorrow morning, we go again."
When they had been at sea for fourteen days and the air grew humid and warm, Luella found herself fanning her face, hair stuck to her temples with sweat and saltwater. She could scarcely believe the Winter Solstice had been a month ago.
And only a fortnight since the postponed finale of the Solstice—where she had lain on the altar, let Tharen touch her, and her wings had torn free in scarlet agony.
Time marched on, and she was left to pick up the crumbling pieces, forced onward, always. Just as the ship sailed true across the sea with Tharen and Vale’s careful command, so too did time continue.
One night, below deck in a windowless room—the others gathered around a desk as they conversed, with her in Az’s lap, Ven curled around her shoulders like a mewling scarf—they had discussed a detour around the warming waters near Syreni, ripe with nymphs and sirens.
And so, their journey was extended by one week.
With two weeks behind and two ahead, the endless sea stretched on. She did not venture into Az’s arms for… relief, nor did she let free the tempest caged inside her, but she knew the others felt the weight of her strain.
Sometimes, when it was just Vale, Tharen, and she below deck, sitting uneasily around a table, plain porridge before her, with fish and stale crackers in front of the other two, she found them both staring at her.
None so pressing as the King’s emerald eyes.
The thread between them was fragile—perhaps the weakest of her five.
Even over Tharen, but something had shifted between them after the Temples.
Some of the fraying, icy threads had been mended, pushing Vale farther away.
Though, she still felt Vale—she felt his war with his inner beast, and something about the near-constant state of turmoil and rage felt akin to what she was going through.
Her lessons had been going as well as expected. She could walk a few paces alone before she succumbed to the wind and fell to her knees. She was making progress—at least, that was what Graves had told her. She wasn’t sure if he was just saying that to make her feel better.
He didn’t seem like one to lie for the sake of it.