Chapter 43 Meryn #2
Before we go through the gate to the city beyond, I see my father fold his arms around Saela. She leans back in his embrace.
I swivel to face forward once again, doing everything I can to ignore the voice repeating in my head:
She’s happy without you. She’s happy without you.
It takes us two days of hard riding at full direwolf speed to reach Bloomfang.
Lucien, despite constantly projecting the appearance of a spoiled king, travels well. He doesn’t complain about his lack of a feather bed and anyone to fill it. He drinks from the jarred blood Elias buys with only a slight grimace.
His self-obsessed comments grow tiring, but his presence keeps Elias in check. And, to my surprise, the company is more pleasant than we had on our ride into Astreona.
Stark and I are both sleeping poorly, though.
My anxiety over what we’re doing—and the race to beat Killian—keeps my mind working at all hours.
Stark spends his nights tossing and turning next to me, but when I press him about it, he shrugs it off.
I have a lingering feeling that he’s still working through Siegrid’s death.
The landscape blurs around us as we move. It’s all withered desert and cracked dirt. And then, almost suddenly, the air grows heavier with humidity.
Life starts to return to the land, growing thicker and more vibrant.
By the time Bloomfang reveals itself to us, everything is once again lush and thriving. Anassa slows, and my breath catches.
The city is beautiful, with tall, pale buildings that from afar look like carved shells. It’s nestled in a lush green cove, with lots of roads winding around the modest mountain it’s tucked up against.
But it’s the sea that stops me in my tracks.
The sea.
I’ve never seen the sea before. It has no end. I knew that, in theory, but it’s different seeing it somehow. It’s a wide-open blue expanse of freedom.
The late-afternoon sun dances across its surface, like a thousand gold coins caught in a blue-black net.
I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.
“My queen,” Stark says softly.
I look at him and realize there are tears in my eyes.
His jaw tightens. His hair catches in the breeze—a cool breeze off the water, refreshing after our long days of riding in the sun. Even the wind itself smells different here.
I realize he’s asking me if I’m all right, so I smile and give him a hint of what I’m feeling over our bond.
His eyes immediately smile back at me. None of the rest of his face does, but I see it all the same.
We wind our way down into the city as one. Immediately, upon our approach, citizens scramble out of the way and cower from our wolves.
Others must recognize their king traveling with us, because they gather around and stare in wonder. Apparently, Lucien’s presence makes them feel safe enough to stand in the presence of direwolves.
As we draw closer to the harbor, the sound of seabirds crying fills the air. People shout and go about their jobs loading and unloading cargo. Bells tucked into towers ring in the arrivals and departures of ships. I wrinkle my nose.
“What’s that smell?” I ask.
“Fish,” Elias replies, also grimacing.
“And the sea, Meryn,” Noemi adds. “The salt water itself has a smell. Seaweed. Fish. But also just the brine of the water.” She would know; Eisenfall is also on the sea.
“And sweaty workmen,” Lucien adds unhelpfully, very obviously ogling one of said workmen as Venna rides past.
She turns to me and sends me is this guy serious eyes, which makes me smile.
“We’ve arrived,” Lucien says. He then unfurls his arm like he’s bestowing a great gift upon me, and I follow the length of it toward the farthest dock in the harbor.
There’s a magnificent ship floating there with a crowd gathered around it, staring and pointing.
It’s not as big as some of the cargo ships, but it’s got razor-sharp sails, a narrow but long hull with a curling prow, and its boards are painted in waves of cerulean, navy, and flashes of silver to imitate the glint of sunlight on the crest of a wave.
It’s large enough to accommodate our entire party, including our direwolves. Yet, to my untrained eye, it also looks as if it were designed for speed.
Noemi twists around, taking in all the sights. She jostles Elias in her excitement, who wobbles and nearly falls off, only managing to grip fur at the last second.
As we board the ship, something settles in me that’s been white-water churning since we left Brightbane. Or maybe even before that.
We’re on the narrow road that leads to Killian’s defeat. The razor-slim path that takes us to the tower and to the next Tear.
This is right. I know it is.
Whatever the cost.
The prow of our boat slices through the water, and I’m bent entirely over the railing, hair clinging to my clammy skin, insides roiling.
I squeeze my eyes shut as nausea gathers again, but I try to breathe through it.
It doesn’t work. My stomach surges.
There goes another bout of bile over the edge of the ship.
Shadows caress against my face, pulling my hair back so I don’t yak on the strands.
Groaning, I spit and lift my head.
“Are you trying to make me feel worse?” I moan at Stark. “It’s annoying how good you are at that.”
Stark merely smirks. He’s been the Sovereign Alpha for only about a week, and yet he shortly mastered shadebending—something I still can’t manage with any consistency. It’s as if he got some sort of nefarious tutor while I was left flailing.
Then again, he’s always been a master of control. The thought whispers some heat back into me, and the nausea starts to abate.
“Stupid fucking sea,” I grumble. “Fuck you, waves. Fuck you, boat.”
“You don’t find the sea as beautiful now?” Stark asks.
I wipe at my mouth and straighten. “I’ll never set foot on another ship as long as I live,” I grumble. He chuckles. I frown at him and sniff, “I look stunning, right?”
Stark assesses me for a moment. “I swore I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“Lie right now.”
“You are not even slightly green. Very lovely. The sea will settle soon,” Stark assures me.
I sigh and nod, staggering away from the railing.
When I turn, my eyes naturally settle on Lucien, and I’m immediately queasy again.
He’s sprawled prettily across the helm of the ship, one hand on the ship’s wheel.
Yet again, he’s wearing flowing clothes that ripple in the same breeze that fills our sails.
Looking at him, we could all be on a pleasure cruise.
“Don’t,” I warn him.
His eyes light with amusement. He doesn’t listen. “The mighty queen of Nocturna brought low by simple waves.”
I glare at him through my misery. Stark strides past me, glower set on Lucien, and I have to catch him. “Stark,” I say weakly.
He pauses. His anger seems to amuse Lucien further.
“I said don’t, Lucien,” I remind him. “I want to let him kill you. And I think I might’ve vomited up whatever organ it was that produced all my restraint, so my reserves are dwindling.”
Lucien chuckles. “You’re fun.”
I sit on the deck, and Stark follows, arranging himself beside me. “We need his cooperation. None of the Nocturnans know how to steer this damn thing. You’ll have to settle for imagining his disembowelment,” I tell Stark over our bond.
He turns to stare at Lucien. Then, a second later, I sense the edges of his thoughts. Immensely violent thoughts. And slowly, still staring at Lucien, he starts to smile in a terrifying way that doesn’t reach his eyes.
Lucien’s own smile drops, and he moves as far from us as he can while keeping a hand on the helm, eyeing Stark like he’s worried he’s about to pounce.
“Sturmfrost, make him stop that.”
“No.” I settle my head against Stark’s shoulder.
Just then, Anassa completes one of her pacing rounds of the deck. She pauses before me, sniffing, and touches her nose to my cheek.
“I’m still okay,” I tell her. “And before you complain some more, I know you hate this.”
She huffs warm air at me, nudges me with her nose, then sets about pacing some more. She hasn’t settled once since we’ve been on the ship, except for maybe when she has to lie down to get some rest. And even then, she can only manage it curled up against Cratos.
We really are more similar than I ever realized.
Cratos, to his credit, is a lot more composed than she is. He’s laying near the masts where the rocking of the waves is less acute, his green eyes scanning the waves like he’s expecting a sea serpent to jump onto the deck for an easy snack.
I tried to convince Anassa that being at the middle of the ship would help ease the unsteadiness and let her relax, but she growled at me, at Stark, and then snapped at Cratos.
It’s midafternoon and I’m considering sitting down with Venna and Noemi for another sign language lesson. I’ve spent all my nonvomiting time on the boat concentrating on studying and improving, and Venna’s been a patient teacher. Noemi asked to join, too.
But before I can go find them, Lucien calls out from his position at the helm. “We’re approaching the coordinates!”
I grunt and sit up. Stark helps pull me to my feet, and I keep hold of his hand for a moment as I stare out at the endless blue.
Only, it isn’t so endless any longer.
The others all gather at the rail. We shade our eyes against the glare of the sun on the water. And it’s just… there.
A dense fogbank hangs over the sea. The sky around it is crystal clear up until a point, and then it darkens significantly.
There’s a strong wind. Our sails flutter, and the rigging whips as we’re carried closer to the fog. And yet that thick mist doesn’t move.
It’s as if someone pulled a cloud down from the sky and tied it to the waves. No, to the island.
A chill streaks down my spine, and my grip on Stark’s hand tightens.
“Haunting,” Venna says as she steps onto the deck, voicing what we’re all thinking.
That wall of white stretches endlessly across our path, and we’re about to be swallowed up. I swear I can hear whispers in the wind. Moisture gathers on my skin, cold and clinging.
“Do you… feel that?” I ask Stark.
It’s strange. The seasickness that has followed me since we left the harbor is gone. It eases up the moment the first tiny droplets meet my skin.
Now, I have a growing sense of awareness. Alertness. It’s like an instinct I didn’t know I had, pointing my eyes in the direction of the fog, willing me to listen to the wind.
“Yes,” Stark confirms.
Something pulls my eyes from him. I press against the railing, staring, waiting.
Out of the endless white comes the tower. We’re drifting closer to the edge of the fog now, close enough that the sun is lost behind its looming wall and our ship is drenched in shadow.
Even still, I can see the island. It’s a dark mass waiting for us, the jut of the tower unmistakable—as are the pack symbols carved into its face.
Elias gazes in wonder at the sight. I think it’s the first time I’ve seen his expression lack all artifice.
“It’s like legend brought to life,” he murmurs to himself.
We all stare at the foreboding tower in front of us as the mists around the top begin to clear. The black shape grows larger and larger, until it looks impossibly tall, like something from a fantastical story.
“Oh shit!” Lucien shouts. Sudden cold air rushes around us. I gasp and whirl. He yanks the wheel as hard as he can, spinning it so fast that the spokes blur.
“brACE!” he screams.