10. Isla
10
ISLA
U nlike me, Konstantin isn’t gripping the varnished railing. His hands are knotted behind his back, his stance wide to keep his body from tipping from the gentle roll of the boat.
“If you keep staring at me, Miss Ríhbiadh, you’ll miss the whale. Again .”
I jerk my attention back to the bay that ripples as a massive forked tail slaps the surface, springing droplets of seawater upward. The bite of the ice-cold foam along my chin and nose is so startling that it tears a tiny gasp from my lips, but the gasp is soon followed by awe when the mammal propels its body upward before slamming down.
Laughter puffs from my lungs as I mop my face. The whale must slip under the galleon and reappear on its other side, for giddy cheers arise from there next.
“Such magnificent creatures.” I hunt the deep for another one, but it seems it isn’t part of a pod. Just then, three smaller black whales leap from the water. “Are those its babes?”
“No. Those are our orcas.”
I grip the handrail even tighter and lean forward as they weave and leap in the ship’s shadow, emitting high-pitched squeals like children at play.
When a cushion of air presses against my nose and forehead, I turn my attention back to the Glacin. “I won’t leap in.”
He doesn’t rein back his air-magic.
I straighten and pop one hand on my hip. “Even if I did, I’m a Crow, not a Serpent, so I doubt they’d enjoy my taste. Not to mention, I’m essentially unkillable.”
“Perhaps, but I’m Fae and—in spite of my amulet— very killable.”
“How would my toppling over be your fault?”
“Because it’s my kingdom, Miss Ríhbiadh.” His gaze lifts to the snow-covered shore that glimmers as though fashioned from sequins, before stroking the horizon crenellated with mountains as spiky as pureling ears. “Everything that happens here is my fault.”
“Mórrígan, you sound like my father.”
“It’s every monarch’s onus.”
“Taking care of their people, certainly, but lugging around guilt for actions out of your control will only end up snapping your spine and mind.”
Konstantin’s lashes flutter as his eyes slide toward me.
I lean my hip against the railing and cross my arms. “Even almighty, magical beings cannot protect everyone , Vizosh.”
His pupils tighten on me before tightening, once more, on the landscape. “A shame your parents had to leave early. I hope the protests in Tarespagia calm.”
Is that the excuse my mother used? Unrest in the west?
“I hope so as well.” I’m about to turn back toward the ocean when I ask, “What irked you this morning? Another derailment? A bombing?”
He’s quiet for so long that I think I’ve overstepped the line of our camaraderie, but then his pale-pink lips move over the word, “Another derailment. Over a gorge. None of the humans made it and some of the Fae are still missing.” Though his knuckles don’t crack, I don’t miss how his fingers flex around one another.
“I’m sorry,” I finally say.
He stares straight ahead of him.
“Do you have any idea who’s tampering with your train tracks?”
The corners of his mouth dip. “Your father’s convinced of this as well.”
“You aren’t?”
“Most of the killings and terror plots that have occurred target people who are friendly with your kind. My trains are mainly filled with laborers—humans and half-bloods: the most vociferous antimorphs. Their deaths don’t align with the terrorists’ narrative.”
“What are your thoughts on shifters?”
He slants me a look. “If I didn’t trust your kind, I wouldn’t be celebrating my reign with the lot of you.”
“ Hmm .”
“What is that sound supposed to mean?”
“That you’re celebrating with us because your sister organized your Jubilee, and she’s mated to a Crow.”
His jaw ticks. “I like most of you just fine.”
“Most of us, huh?” I snort over the orcas’ merry squeals. “I’m guessing I’m not amongst the most after our inimical introduction.”
The barest smile touches his mouth, sloughing away some of his icy demeanor.
“What will you be shopping for in Voshna?” I ask. “New earrings?”
“No.”
“A fancy new suit for the gala, then?”
“And affront my tailor?” His tone is light. “I wouldn’t dare.”
“Konstantin!” His stepmother calls out, traipsing over to us, arm in arm with her sister.
I back up, but before turning, I say, “Thank you for trusting me with your kingdom’s problems, Vizosh.”
“Atsa insists on lunch at our house,” I hear Milana say as I start toward Elio, Zia Syb, and Phoeppa. “I checked with your sister, and she says it’s a wonderful idea.”
I don’t linger to hear whether Konstantin thinks it’s a wonderful idea as well. It’s none of my business. Only his dead sister is my business.
A sister I go looking for that very evening, after the big event, with a most unlikely companion.