Chapter 26 Something Grave
SOMETHING GRAVE
LUELLA
Graves drew away from Luella like the sun drew from the sky as the moon rose to take its place.
Humidity clung to them all, working in tandem with the tension that blanketed their ship amongst the sea. The air lost its chill; the sea lost its icy blue, turning a warm green shade.
On the horizon, the outline of the Isles loomed. Dark and jagged against the fading light of evening.
The sight knotted her stomach.
"Land." Vale’s voice broke the silence, wind whispering an echo of the declaration.
They were all here, standing on the quarterdeck.
Graves lowered the spyglass, hand shaking. He was above them all, a gloveless hand wrapped around ropes, booted feet braced against a post. He fell to the deck with a low thud. "It’s quiet this evening."
"I say we sail in now. Better than waiting here for them to spot us come dawn’s light," Tharen said, crossing his arms.
Though the air had warmed, a shiver ran through Luella. Behind her, Az’s hands traced over her arms, offering warmth.
Bastian stood by the railing, looking out over the sea, his back to her. His voice made her remember that day below deck, when he had knelt before her and tasted her blood. He had not drunk from her in the few days since, but the bruises on her wrist ensured she did not forget.
"It is the best call. Vale, what do you suppose?" Bastian said.
They slipped into their roles with ease.
"Graves, is it wise?" Vale asked the raven shifter.
They all turned to him, and Luella watched as his deep blue eyes fell to hers only briefly, before jerking away, his jaw clenching.
"Waiting is foolish," Graves answered cryptically, "but so is being here." He spoke no more after that.
"Then it is decided. Prepare to anchor." Vale reached for the spyglass, fitting it to his eye. The brass shone, even though the sky was covered with puffy clouds. His golden hair whipped around him. He pointed a long finger, rings glittering. "There, among those rocks. We can hide the ship."
Luella followed the direction he pointed, squinting as she tried to make it out with her weaker fae eyesight. Through her blurred gaze, the Isles loomed as jagged shadows—rocks draped in splashes of dark green. Each shape felt like a silent threat.
And Vale pointed toward a lonesome collection of grey shadows further in the distance.
"Angel, let’s get you hidden," Az grumbled from behind her. He steered her down the steps, helping her walk; though, her lessons with Graves had aided her some. In the last few days, the raven shifter had called them off, growing withdrawn.
Below deck, in the dark, Luella felt like she could breathe again. Facing Az, her head fell on his chest as he wrapped her in his arms.
"I’m scared," she uttered.
"I will always keep you safe, Lu. I love you." Az’s voice rumbled through her, and her wings shivered in response.
"Love you," she mumbled against his chest.
He bent down to catch her chin, lifting her face to his as he pressed his warm lips to hers. Soft and innocent—a reminder of what she should hold on to in the face of chaos.
Though, Luella could not help but feel like something was coming. Something grave.
Water lapped against the shallow sides of the rowboat as the oars cut through the water, rocking and swaying with every tiny movement.
Luella was still as a statue, her cloak bundled around her, hands tangling in the clasp around her neck, as she pulled it closer to her face.
She found comfort in it, as the hood over her head blocked out her line of sight.
Her wings were kept hidden with the cloak.
It was stifling, but Vale had demanded it.
The dark evening played tricks with her eyes, and she swore she saw shadows running alongside them atop the water. Like reaching hands.
They had to take two boats. Az, Graves, and Luella in one—Vale, Tharen, and Bastian in the other.
Az sat in the front, shoulders flexing as he rowed, with Graves silent behind her. He had donned his hood and cowl, shrouding himself in shadows once more.
She closed her eyes, unable to look at the water stretching on either side of them. Every bob of the boat made her quake.
As they slipped quietly over the water, the rocky expanse of the Isles loomed.
This close, she could see the rugged beauty of it.
Pointed, grey mountains dappled the skyline, lush greenery dotted further behind. The mountains wrapped wholly around the islands, nestled further within.
A large archway of rocks dripping with sharp stones greeted them like jagged, monstrous teeth.
"W-we’re going under that?" she asked, voice wobbling in the quiet night.
From the boat beside them, sitting rigidly, Vale said, "We must. It is the only entrance."
"Let’s just hope they don’t enjoy roasting unwelcome visitors over a fire," Tharen grumbled, arms moving as he rowed.
Fear made her lock up. Did the Fallen… do that?
Her head tipped back as the archway loomed, towering above them all. Graves pressed his hand to her head, forcing it back down.
The water echoed against the high stone as they quietly paddled underneath. Waves splashed. Seagulls swooped low, cawing a foreboding tune. She gasped as one dove right for them, wings catching as the seagull rose higher in the sky at the last moment.
Her eyes darted nervously to the thick shadows beyond the arch, where stone spikes jutted out from the face of the rock unnaturally. She really did not feel good about this.
She wasn’t the only one on edge. Az’s head kept roving before her, knuckles white as he gripped the oars.
Though she couldn’t see him behind her, a soft zing whispered through the air, and she pictured Graves twirling a dagger.
In the other boat, smoke curled from Vale’s mouth; Bastian’s eyes flashed deep scarlet, while the two blades strapped to Tharen’s back peeked from beneath his cloak—a menacing promise.
The water curved deeper into the mountains, stretching to where she could not see.
Rustling echoed off the high stone, sharp and sudden, pricking her nerves. Her hands clenched her cloak tighter.
Wings.
The thought barely formed before a sudden flurry erupted—low calls pierced the stillness, dark feathers flickering like shadows, and the zing of blades slicing the air.
They were surrounded.
Six Fallen hovered in midair. Black wings stretched wide, feet barely skimming the water. Spears pointed, deadly, and unyielding. And held right toward them.
Luella made a surprised, shocked sound. Az dropped an oar, the other raising from the water, droplets trickling from the wooden end as he held it up like a weapon. Graves was silent behind her.
"What is your business here?" one of the Fallen spat, his bare chest tanned, water racing down his honed muscles as he held the spear out toward them. His dark hair fell to his shoulders.
Vale held up a hand, a silent plea for stillness, and the Fallen near him poked the spear closer in warning.
Luella couldn’t see well with her hood, too scared to make any sudden movements.
Fingertips brushed over her lower spine atop her cloak, as Graves silently granted her comfort; her wings trembled, rustling the fabric in a fragile whisper.
The Fallen closest to her turned his head at the noise, dark brown eyes filled with threats as he flew, wings sending water flying up as the spear in his hands was shoved against her, the tip a hair’s breadth away from her neck.
The other Fallen drew closer to the rest of Luella’s Vincire, trapping them.
The male who had first spoken snarled, "Speak or die, intruders."
The spear’s tip grazed her jugular, warm blood trickling down her neck.
She tipped her head back, trying to get away from it and the prick of pain.
Her wide blue eyes searched for Bastian, finding the vampire snarling, eyes flashing, but trapped with a spear held against his own neck, the blade digging in.
Tharen’s jaw clenched, and Vale hissed, low and menacing, green eyes deadly as they both looked to her—the spear at her throat, and the small line of blood trailing down from the cut.
"Do not touch her," Vale snarled.
How were they going to get out of this? What were they going to do?
"I don’t think they like it when we mess with this one," the Fallen with the spear at her throat observed, trailing the tip up under her chin, forcing her head further back, her hood nearly falling off.
The darkness made it hard to see, but a glimmer of curiosity shone within the Fallen’s brown eyes.
"Apprehend them," the leader said, head inclined toward her, "but leave that one unharmed."
"W-wait," she stuttered softly, forcing the spear deeper against her neck. Az’s answering growl to her fear rumbled from his chest, raising the hairs on her neck.
The boat rocked, and the Fallen stared behind her, to Graves. The tip of the spear fell, hovering over her chest—not quite touching.
Luella turned, watching as Graves unfurled from his spot, standing tall and shrouded in his hood and cowl.
Utterly covered. He pushed back his hood, revealing his deep black hair.
Then, he tugged down his cowl below his chin, the shadow of unshaven hair along his jaw making him appear gruff, the scar cutting through the side of his mouth fading as it curved upward.
Gasps rippled through the air, and her wide eyes found the warrior Fallen, disbelief and reverence filling their faces.
The air seemed to hold its breath.
"Prince Sorren Graves Damaris," the Fallen whispered, trembling with awe, "You’ve come home."