Chapter Twelve #2
He thought Theron had been right, that he should have dragged her away. But Einar merely answered her question. “You wouldn’t have been able to bring everyone.”
“No, and I couldn’t abandon them. So I went to the temple, and I raised a wall of water around the island. At first, just high enough to stave off the flooding. But I had to keep building it higher and higher. And I had to hold it.”
Aleksi trembled behind her, but his voice was low, even. Soothing. “For three days.”
Three agonizing days. Naia could have borne the effort of raising the wall, the pain of holding out the crushing seas beyond it.
She did not even begrudge the vast amount of power she’d had to burn through in order to keep the barrier whole, though by the last day, only the island’s magic had kept her standing.
No, the true torment had been in watching Theron break down.
The first day, he’d begged her to reconsider. By the second, he’d moved on to threats, insisting that he would physically remove her from danger if necessary.
On the third day, he had a different threat entirely. He’d warned her through angry tears and lightning strikes that if she died protecting this island, he would sink it into the ocean in retaliation.
But she could not say that aloud—especially not to Einar. “I held the wall until the earth calmed and the seas receded. And then . . . I let go.”
He rubbed a thumb over her fingers in a slow, soothing rhythm, his gaze never leaving hers. “Is that the last thing you remember?”
“I suppose it is.” There were other images and impressions, flashes of something that might have been memory or just fancy.
Screams, tears. A wordless song of gratitude and grief.
But nothing she knew. Einar probably had a better idea of what had happened in the aftermath, simply by virtue of growing up with stories about the goddess’s sacrifice.
“It must have worked, at least to spare some of them. Because the people are still here.”
“They survived. They thrived.” Einar touched her temple, smoothing back a lock of disheveled hair before stroking her cheek.
“And they taught their children to stand strong and wait for your return. Generation after generation. Even after the Empire came. So many people who Sorin conquered lost their history, but your island was too damn stubborn to be conquered. You gave them that.”
How could she have done all of that when the thought of returning had never occurred to her? “I only wanted them to live, Einar. Not to grieve me for thousands of years.”
“Maybe there was grief in it,” he said softly. “But there was also joy. That was what Petya taught me, more than anything. To love the sea, to protect my people . . .” He smiled. “To believe that impossible things can happen if we fight hard enough to make them real.”
Was that why Einar could not remember, because she had not tried to make him? Did she have to push him, as everyone had pushed her, however inadvertently, since her arrival?
She took Einar’s hand. There was only one thing she could think of that Theron would have to understand. The thing that had brought memories of him rushing back to her.
She traced a small spiral on Einar’s palm. It was a tiny gesture that she and Theron had shared, a way to silently say, I am here. I see you, and I know you.
A tiny furrow appeared between his brows as he stared down at their hands. Then the confusion gave way to affection, and Naia’s heart leapt. But Einar only lifted her hand and kissed the back of it without a hint of recognition.
Her heart splintered in her chest.
She could not let Einar see her pain, so she turned in Aleksi’s arms and hid her face against his chest. “I’m so tired,” she whispered thickly.
“Then come.” His arms tightened, and he lifted her as he rose from the rug. “Let’s get you back to bed.”
Before Naia could respond, a shock jolted through her. Her entire body felt like a struck bell, vibrating and jittery. She gasped sharply and clenched her hands in Aleksi’s open shirt in an attempt to ground herself.
Instantly, Aleksi went tense. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“I don’t—”
A voice cut through her words, echoing not in Naia’s ears, but through everything—the room, the aether, even her very soul.
hurry
Einar’s fear, loud and metallic, clashed with the strange sensation still ringing through her. “Naia?”
Hurry
Naia’s mind went blank as she pushed against Aleksi’s chest and slid out of his arms. But the moment her feet hit the cold stone, the struck-bell sensation intensified until it nearly rattled her teeth.
One word spilled from her lips, unbidden. “Sachi.”
Aleksi was first through the door. Before the three of them reached the end of the corridor that led to the room assigned to the Dragon and his consorts, they heard it.
Screaming.
Naia burst through the already open door. The rest of the High Court had already stumbled in, the sleep driven from their eyes by the pained shrieks.
Sachi was slumped on the floor in her nightdress, clawing at the rug as she gasped in sobbing breaths between screams. “I can’t feel—feel them—”
Zanya and Ash knelt on either side of her, their arms around her, as if they could protect her from the agony that was shredding her. Their frantic, devastated expressions showed that they knew their attempts were futile.
Naia rushed to them, hitting the floor on her knees in front of Sachi. She cupped her friend’s face, lifted it to the light. “What’s happening?”
“It’s the new Dreamers,” Zanya replied grimly.
“They’re dying.” Sachi shoulders shook with the force of her sobs. “I can see them. Lights in the dark. And then they’re gone . . .”
“The Voidlings?” Naia asked.
“The same.” Zanya swallowed hard, as if she could swallow her grief, as well. “But nowhere near this many.”
Sachi threw back her head and screamed, a visceral sound of anguish that slowly turned into rage. The fire flared out of the hearth, and the icy windows fractured. Even the furniture began to rattle as Sachi heaved in another breath, her eyes burning now with frozen blue fire.
“They’re killing them.” Sachi’s voice thundered through the room, even louder than her unrelenting screams.
A nearby table shattered, the pieces crashing to the floor.
Naia laid her hand flat on the floor. Power flowed from the stone, and she sent it back, along with a plea. Settle, I beg you.
The furniture stilled. Sachi fell quiet but continued to seethe.
“We have to go.” Ash’s words were subdued. Stricken. “Whatever this is—”
“Of course you’ll go,” Aleksi cut in firmly. “Whatever you have to do. Naia and Einar and I will handle things here.”
“No.” Inga stepped out of the shadows on the other side of the hearth, her expression just as resolute. “I’m not leaving Aleksi again.” She sought Naia’s gaze as magic flared pink in her dark eyes. “And you’re going to need me here.”
Naia did not want to believe it. But Inga’s voice echoed deep in the stone and soil beneath her, ringing with truth . . . and a warning.
Whatever was happening, they could only see a tiny part of it. There were machinations that none of them could understand yet, plans that might only become clear when their enemies stood before them.
And the danger was just beginning.