Chapter One #2
Einar exhaled sharply. “Not in the mood for subtlety, love?”
The words echoed strangely in Naia’s ears, and she shook her head as she turned to him, prepared to explain that whatever force had swatted aside this ice like a child tumbling a stack of wooden blocks, it had not come from her. “No, I—”
But the face she saw was not Einar’s. The weathered skin was the same color, but this face was thinner, the cheekbones higher. Long silver braids, tied with leather and adorned with bits of shell and volcanic glass, swung as he tilted his head.
And the eyes that stared at her with soft, teasing amusement and familiar, fond affection—
The bluest eyes Naia had ever seen, like a perfect, cloudless summer sky.
She blinked, and the image vanished, there one heartbeat and gone the next. Einar watched her, his dark brows slowly drawing into an impending frown. She opened her mouth to head off that frown, to reassure him somehow, but, to her horror, all that came out was a muffled sob.
He lifted a hand to her cheek, the frown now in full effect, fixed in an expression of concern that bordered on alarm. “Naia?”
Aleksi stepped closer. “Too much?” He wrapped his fingers around the back of her neck with firm, grounding pressure, just as he had during their first arrival, when the rush of magic from dragging down Gwynira’s wall had threatened to overwhelm Naia.
He had no way of knowing that it wasn’t the ocean’s magic that held her this time, bound and speechless, but an inescapable confusion.
She felt like there was something just beyond her grasp, part memory and part realization.
It was like a song she had once known, but whose lyrics had abandoned her, leaving behind a melody she could barely hum.
Her heart slammed against her breastbone. Everything suddenly hurt, and she couldn’t figure out why. “I . . . I don’t—”
“We don’t have to do this,” Einar whispered, an offer and a vow. “Say the word, and I’ll turn the ship around.”
He would—and Naia absolutely could not let him. She dragged herself back under control and grasped his wrist. “And go where? We cannot escape this, Einar. We just have to get through it.”
“She’s right,” Aleksi murmured. “I don’t like it, either, but she’s right.”
Einar hesitated, his eyes flashing teal, and magic crackled around the three of them. The part of the ocean that Naia could still feel thrummed beneath them, churning with fierce, protective power. The Kraken’s power.
Then he nodded, stroked his thumb over her cheek, and slid his hand down to rest lightly on the front of her throat. The gesture mirrored Aleksi’s hold on the back of her neck, though not the pressure. “Then we go.”
“Thank you,” she breathed.
He nodded once more, dropped his hand, and stepped back. “Take us in,” he ordered the crew. “Slowly.”
Naia remained still, right where she stood, half expecting a renewed attack from the withdrawing Imperial ships.
But the Kraken sailed uneventfully into the bay.
In what seemed like moments, they had reached the palace docks.
The crew bustled about, readying the gangplank, and Naia held tight to Aleksi’s hand as they disembarked.
The Grand Duchess’s palace sprawled before them, an imposing structure made of the same white and gray stone as the docks, its windows glazed with ice instead of glass.
Beyond, in the distance, Naia could just glimpse the ancient and oddly beautiful ruined temple that sat at the peak of the highest point on the island.
The last time Naia had set foot in those ruins, she had been answering the call of an unknown magic she still did not understand. The time before that, she had found delicious, bewildering pleasure in Einar’s arms.
She did not wonder if she would enter those ruins again, only what she would discover about herself—and the island—this time.
Gwynira waited for the three of them, flanked by her lover, Isa, and her personal guard, Arktikos.
The Grand Duchess’s hands were hidden under her cloak, but Naia could still see them shaking beneath the thick fabric.
And though Gwynira’s pale face betrayed no expression, her eyes were painfully wide.
When Aleksi had been ill, dying from a poison that should not have affected him at all, much less that gravely, Naia and Einar had asked Gwynira to send a missive to the mainland.
In it, they had begged Sachi and Zanya to fetch Inga and bring her to Akeisa.
If anyone could help Aleksi, they thought, it would be the Witch, the Dream, or the Void.
But Sachi and Zanya never received the message, and Naia had wondered, more than once, if it had ever been sent at all.
And now, here stood Gwynira before her. The woman radiated fear and shock, but also an achingly vulnerable hope, and that was what convinced Naia of the truth.
Though she did not know what had happened to delay or obstruct their pleas for assistance, she knew in that instant that Gwynira had not been directly responsible for it.
She was too damn relieved to see them alive and well.
Belatedly, Gwynira dropped a shallow curtsy as Aleksi approached. She did not shift her gaze from his face, and she had to visibly unclench her jaw to speak. “It is very good to see you, my lord.”
“How formal.” Aleksi’s warm smile melted into a laugh. “Did you miss us?”
“I . . .”
“It’s true. I’m a bit of a bad boy, stealing away under cover of darkness. And without saying goodbye?” He lifted one shoulder in a smooth shrug. “What can I say? I was quite swept off my feet.”
It wasn’t even a lie.
For a moment, silence. Gwynira seemed to be weighing the reality of the situation against the casual cheer of Aleksi’s words.
Einar and Arktikos faced one another, each bristling with incipient protective violence.
And Isa peered intently at all of them in turn, as if trying to decipher the intricacies of a heretofore unseen language.
Finally, Gwynira inclined her head in a gracious nod. “I’m most eager to hear the details of your adventure. Would the three of you care to retire to my study for some refreshment?”
“That sounds lovely.” Aleksi kissed the back of Naia’s hand, then released her to walk ahead with Gwynira. He bent his head to their host’s, and the two of them murmured together like beloved old friends catching up on the grudging time that had separated them.
It was amazing, how Aleksi could just fall into such an intimate moment of connection, even with his very safety—and the safety of everyone around him—in peril.
With anyone else, Naia would have thought it false, a desperate cover to hide his deep turmoil.
But every word, every moment, came from a place of absolute sincerity.
In fact, he seemed able to cover so well because he was unwilling to chance hurting Gwynira—either by making her look weak, or, worse, by making it seem as if she had tried to harm a diplomatic envoy.
Einar folded Naia’s arm through his, and she flashed him a grateful smile. “It’s so effortless for him, isn’t it?” she whispered softly. “Aleksi just seems to know what to say and do.”
“He always has.” Einar squeezed her hand. “He’s good at this sort of thing. Making friends out of strangers. Or even enemies.”
Genuinely making friends, not simply going through the motions to secure someone’s shallow goodwill. “He cares so much.” And now she and Einar were a part of that.
Before she could make the observation aloud, a flurry of movement caught her eye. An unending line of staff—all, it seemed, island locals—had gathered at the palace entrance to welcome them. But they weren’t showing deference to the Grand Duchess as she passed.
They were bowing and curtsying to Naia and Einar. Their long-lost crown-prince . . . and the woman they believed was their goddess.
The reverence on their faces made Naia’s chest tighten. Just like last time, they’d seen the walls of ice fall and taken it as a show of power that confirmed all the stories they’d been told about their island’s ancient benefactor.
Naia couldn’t tell them that she hadn’t destroyed the walls, not this time. She had only minimized the carnage out in the churning bay. Hells, she had not even had a chance to tell Aleksi and Einar the truth . . . or ask them the most important question of all.
If she had not brought down the ice blocking their way . . . what had?