Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Doing my best not to attract unwanted attention, I shrink down to the deck and keep my gaze low. I’m invisible. Nothing to see here.
It doesn’t work so well. A stranger with white hair who managed to somehow annoy the King’s Sword right after a fight with a sea drak? Yeah. The most exciting thing to have happened in days, I’ll bet.
No wonder, then, that I’m cast lots of curious looks, but the good news is, everyone is busy steering the barges around a steep bend of the slow-moving river, and night is about to fall. Eyes on the task, and everyone is focused on avoiding a crash against the rocks.
Once the bend is behind us, the riverbank evens out. We splash softly sideways as the long poles are pushed into the muddy bottom, until we thump against land.
It looks like an often-used docking spot, the bank shored up with wooden stakes. Just another stop on the journey from the human towns to the Sea Palace.
I think about the sea drak as the long line of barges drifts to a stop by the bank. Merfolk is thought to be native to this world, although it’s possible the sea draks fell with the water still trickling down the World Pillar with the last Reversal.
Some say they aren’t sea draks at all but a kind of dara, the Great Dara of the Seas, but I, for one, don’t believe it. I know for a fact that sea draks are born in two different ways: either from sea drak eggs or drowned souls. I wonder if the airborne dragons have such a split, too.
Meanwhile, landing is in process. Torches are placed on their barge prows and along the riverside, as well as around the landing site. Shouts echo back and forth between us and the shore.
Being forgotten in the frenzy of work feels nice. I’d prefer not to be noticed right now, to just drift with the convoy to the Sea Palace. The World Pillar glows in the distance. I wonder how long it will take us to reach our destination.
I try to imagine the palace and how I’ll reach the fae king, but the truth is, the shadow warrior remains fixed at the center of my mind like a dark star. Who is he? I’d heard that the King’s Sword had died in a drak attack many years back, but I hadn’t known he’d appointed a new one.
To be fair, I lost track of time at some point, only resurfacing to life now.
Athdara, though… The memory of that handsome face and broad shoulders sends an arrow of heat through me.
Then I recall his stillness. That bitten-off “Hells, no,” he’d uttered, which had felt… dismissive.
Insulting.
So why does the heat linger?
Shaking my head, I step off the barge, following the guards. The cages with the humans on the barges behind ours glitter like ghosts, made of white argent and black nightgold. Not that it’s needed to keep the humans inside, but this is a sacred procession, every part of it a ritual.
And here I am, after all this time. Stepping onto solid ground.
My bare feet sink in the mud a little. I wiggle my toes, ignoring the pain in my soles. A smile teases at my mouth. It’s like a long-forgotten and once-cherished feeling, though I don’t quite recall loving mud.
What about loving solid ground? That might be why.
The fae men—they are mostly men—are gathering around budding fires, roasting flatbreads on pans, and cooking the occasional fish on a sharpened stick. The aromas are simple and hearty, and my stomach knots so hard that the sound it produces is less of a rumble and more of a wail.
I can’t remember the last time I ate. Memory plays strange tricks. It can’t have been long, and yet the realization of how hungry I am makes me lightheaded when I was fine a moment ago.
Strange how the mind plays not only tricks but entire elaborate games, how?—
“Human girl, come here.” One of the guards—Arkin, the redhead, I realize—offers me a piece of his flatbread. “Eat.”
Expecting a ruse, a prank, or another leer, I hesitate, trying to read his face. He’s definitely not ugly, this fae guard, with his blue eyes, strong jaw, and the many silver hoops on his sloped ears. But he hasn’t exactly endeared himself to me.
When I don’t move to take the bread, his gaze hardens, and he opens his mouth to say something more.
That makes up my mind in a jiff. It’s now or never, and hunger wins out. I grab the hot piece of flatbread from his hand and stuff my mouth with it as I step back. It burns my tongue, but I don’t care.
“Look at her. She’s half-starved,” another fae man says. “Is it true you’re mute, human girl?”
I wonder if he expects a reply. I nod and turn away, surprised when they let me go and don’t drag me back to toy with me.
Honestly, I’d expected more questions and suspicion, more physical acts and violence. I realize, though, that superstition may be the reason I’m left alone. Wights and sprights can take away your voice. I bet they think that’s what happened to me, that I’m under a spell.
They aren’t entirely wrong to be afraid.
These people are nervous. Distracted. The merfolk attack I witnessed can’t have been the only one on their way here, and we still have some distance to go.
The fae king’s soldiers have to be hardened warriors, selected for this sacred mission. Torn between being bored to death, seeking distractions, and getting chewed on by monsters coming at them from the water and sky, they are kinder than I’d expected.
Still not to be trusted.
Don’t let your guard down.
Turning back toward the barge, munching on my still too-hot bread, I don’t expect to see him . The sight of him gives me a start.
He’s standing by the barges, looking toward the glowing Pillar.
Athdara.
I keep chewing on my piece of bread, watching him, a statue of a man cast in shades of black and gray. A light breeze toys with his dark hair, lifting longer strands, whipping them across his eyes. The plain leather-bound hilts of his twin swords jut over his broad shoulders, and the handles of several knives decorate his belt. Another short sword hangs at one hip.
He’s armed to the teeth.
Does he ever go about without his weapons? I suppose not when he’s on guard, but he doesn’t seem the type to ever relax. Rather, he seems the type to wash himself, eat, and sleep with his weapons.
“He’s checking that monsters aren’t attacking the cages with the humans,” a male voice says beside me, startling me. It’s Tru, the pale-haired guard. “The argent and nightgold the cages are made of makes them nigh impenetrable, but you never know.”
“The humans are his charges,” Arkin says, stepping to my other side. “He’s responsible for them.”
“He feels responsible for everyone,” Tru grumbles. “Did you see him, how he controlled the sea drak?”
“That was insane,” Arkin says. “He shouldn’t have tried such a stunt.”
The man isn’t standing all that far from us. Do they think he’s deaf, as they sometimes think of me?
“With great power comes great responsibility,” Tru says, “and he knows?—”
“I wouldn’t want such power,” a new voice says, making us all turn. “Not if it drives me batty, like him.”
“Batty?” Arkin grins. “Well, that’s a mild word for?—”
“Shut your mouth,” Tru snaps, turning to the newcomer.
“You don’t get to tell me what the fuck to say,” the unfamiliar guard grumbles. “Everyone knows he’s crazy.”
“You don’t get to talk about him like that,” Tru snarls, hands curling into fists.
“Oh, come on.” The man is weaselly, I decide. All fae are beautiful in a near-painful way, their features perfectly symmetrical, their skin flawless, their bodies tall and strong, but this one manages to look unpleasing and sniveling, narrow-faced and cold-eyed. “Can’t deny what’s clear as day.”
“He’s not crazy!” Tru grabs the front of the man’s tunic and shoves him backward, snarling with sharp teeth. “Shut your fucking mouth, Fenki, and keep your opinions to yourself.”
“Fine, keep licking his boots or other parts of him, for all I care,” the fae man mutters, lifting his hands and walking away. “Besotted with him, you are.”
Tru shakes his head and returns to my side. “What an idiot.”
Arkin is still grinning.
I swallow the last of my bread. This Tru fellow seems to actually like the Ice Prince. The guards earlier cheered Athdara, but didn’t interact with him, keeping their distance. Now these two, Arkin and Fenki, talk as if they pity him, and Tru seems ready to enter a fistfight to defend his honor.
Not that I like Tru. He is a fae, and that’s reason enough to loathe him. But I do want to know more about the shadow warrior, not least because he’s the King’s Sword, and I need to know more about the king and his court.
“Fenki isn’t wrong, you know,” Arkin remarks, his grin turning into a smirk. “That power?—”
“Enough,” Tru snarls.
“You know Athdara is only doing the king’s bidding because he craves?—”
“Shut it.” With a huff, Tru walks away. Arkin twists from the waist to cast him a look, then shrugs at me as if to say, What can you do?
Impossibly, I feel a grin tugging at my lips.
I point at Athdara who is still standing with his back to us. Then, at Arkin. Rub two fingers together.
“No, we don’t sleep together.” Arkin sighs. “Tru neither, in case you were wondering, although he tends to act like an old wife.”
I stare at him, my eyes surely big like dishes. I shake my head. That was certainly not what I meant. No.
He snickers, the sound strangely endearing. “If we’re friends? Is that what you’re asking? Athdara has no friends, little human.”
I bristle at the repeated nickname. I tap my chest and shape my name with my mouth, willing him to read it.
He frowns. “What was that? Is that your name? Ri? Ray?”
Clenching my jaw, I try again, tapping my chest and shaping my name with my lips.
“Oh, Rae . Okay. Pleased to meet you, Rae.”
Gods above. “ Lady ,” I form the word. “ Lady Aeth ? — ”
“Lady? Lady Rae?”
Oh, for all the Gods’ sakes, can’t he see the shape of my lips? Sure, the light in the sky has mostly faded, and the fires are behind us, but I can still see. He’s fae. What about the legendary fae senses I’ve heard so much about?
“You’re a lady?” he asks quietly after a few beats. “A human noble?”
I nod. I mean, I used to be.
Skies, I miss being able to speak. Lifting the skirts of my still-sodden dress, I wonder what I look like. Certainly not like a noble.
“A lady, huh? And why were you in a sinking boat? What were you doing there? Where are your traveling trunks and your servants?”
I’m ready for this line of questioning. I mime violence, lift my skirts to give him a close-up of the gashes on my legs, mime things being torn away from me, my arms reaching for them in vain.
A good performance, if I say so myself.
“You were robbed?” He’s frowning, but still doesn’t appear entirely convinced. “Look at your dress. Ruined by the water, of course, and yet… You can’t be a high lady, not with a plain dress like that. Then again…” He rubs his chin. “You’re human. Humans’ wealth and skill can’t compare to ours. I need to keep that in mind.”
I bristle and clamp my jaw. That godsdamned fae arrogance never fails to grate on my nerves. If I could speak, I’d give him a much-deserved answer.
Not being able to speak may be a blessing, after all.
Insulting the humans when the fae are the real reason behind their misery is infuriating. Nowadays, most humans live at the fringes, close to the Circle Sea that surrounds the world, struggling under the thumb of the fae king. There are entire human kingdoms out there waging war on the fae, as are the Finnfolk who have sworn never to stop fighting back.
Humanfolk and finnfolk are still in a rebellion despite the centuries that have passed since the Reversal and its massive destruction, followed by the fae who dropped into a weakened world, razing the new cities and towns to the ground.
Grabbing what wasn’t theirs.
Thinking they can mock and insult and grin, like Arkin here.
And all the while we’re talking, Athdara is standing as if hewn of stone, staring out over the cages on the barges, toward the Pillar and the Central Sea.
We have always known that we live somewhere near the middle of the Nine Hollow Worlds. This world is quite balanced between the elements. It’s not dominated by water, rock, fire, or air.
We call this the Seventh World, counting from the top, since the worlds are stacked in a pile. However, we cannot be sure as they occasionally flip, and the numbering changes with every Reversal. Not to mention, nobody has been able to confirm which world we are. Some say we may be the Fifth World, the very center, but it’s unlikely. Just because the fae upon arrival decided that we are the Seventh World doesn’t mean anything.
After a while, Arkin shifts on his feet, his leather boots crunching on pebbles, then squelching a little in the mud. “He’s a pretty one, isn’t he?”
What? My gaze swings back to Arkin, my brows hitting my hairline.
“We fae prize beauty, as you know.” He nods at Athdara. “He’s been quite the sensation at the court ever since the king discovered him and brought him in. You know what I mean. Men and women swooning right and left as he passes. Offering him gifts. Showing up at his door, trying to seduce him.”
But… I tap the side of my head with my finger, twirl it, and roll my eyes.
“Yeah, he is crazy, despite Tru’s protests. Or going crazy, at any rate.” A crease appears between Arkin’s brows. “It seems to be getting worse.”
I point up at the sky, at the dragons crossing it, and tap the side of my head again.
“You’re asking if it’s his power to command dragons that’s driving him insane? Only the Gods and the Great Dara know.” Arkin frowns harder at me. “You’re attracted to him, aren’t you?”
What? No. I shake my head many times to make sure my denial is clear and convincing. No!
“You are.” He grins again. “Pretty human girl from the swamps falls for the aloof army commander of the fae king. A tragic love story.”
Asshole . I kick mud at him. Wave my hands about. This is nonsense. I’ve only just seen the man twice! He brushed by me as if I didn’t exist! He’s just standing there! What!
Arkin laughs and turns to go. “Yeah, yeah. Keep protesting. Beware of beauty, little human lady. It never fails to injure.”
I lift my little finger at him.
It only makes him laugh more as he goes. “Happy Pillar celebration and a good year to you.”
Whatever. I jab my little finger upward harder. Go away, fae prick.
By the time I turn back toward Athdara, I find him gone, too.