Chapter 31 Caspia
Thirty-One
Caspia
T he golden castle of Roslo blinked out of sight.
My fingernails dug crescent grooves into the ship’s wall as the captain shouted orders to his crew. As the white fabric of the mainsail caught the wind, tears dripped down my face, falling into the sea as I floated away from the man I’d left on Quentis’s shore.
…
“Caspia.” Kos pinched my arm.
“Ouch.” I winced and rubbed at the spot.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, staring at the table.
I followed his gaze to the grooves in the wooden surface. Scratches from my fingernails. Fuck. “Oh, um…sorry.”
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Just tired, sweetling.” I forced a smile and covered the marks with my palms.
I’d started calling him the same endearment I’d given Graciella. The more I learned about Kos, the more I realized how different he was from my niece. Yet they were also so similar it made me miss her that much more.
Kos picked up his spoon, scooping a bite of his oats and milk from his bowl.
My own breakfast stayed untouched, my appetite having vanished over the past few suns. Ever since I felt that thrum in my chest, I hadn’t been hungry.
The visions of Emery’s death had stopped. For two blissful moons, I’d slept soundly on Andreas’s chest from dusk to dawn. But I should have known the visions wouldn’t stay away for long.
Last moon’s vision played through my mind on a loop.
What did it mean? Why had the thrum returned? Was this my body, my blood, preparing to shift? Had my ritus not actually failed?
Was this a different call? Was I meant to return home? How was I supposed to walk away from Andreas? How could I leave Xandra behind?
The unknown was eating me alive.
Kos’s spoon froze in midair, his gaze locked on my hands.
They were shaking. I slipped them onto my lap beneath the table.
“Are you excited to start lessons today?” I asked.
Kos nodded, taking his bite. A dribble of milk escaped the corner of his mouth. His feet kicked at the legs of the chair. He was never great at sitting still, but today, his energy couldn’t be contained.
Faxon had sent a message to the house last evening that Kos could begin his lessons.
While Kos ate, Andreas was upstairs getting dressed. Then he would take the boy to the library.
“Do you know how many summers you are?” I asked.
“Summers?”
“Years,” I corrected myself.
Kos only shrugged. “Don’t know.”
“Do you remember your mother or father?”
He shook his head. “I had a sister. She looked out for me when I was little.”
Kos was still little—though he’d likely kick anyone in the shin if they said as much. As far as he was concerned, he could take care of himself. Unfortunately, it was mostly true.
If he decided to run away, I had no doubt that he’d survive on the streets of Roslo like he had in Skanshon. But he didn’t have to simply survive, not anymore.
In addition to lessons with Faxon, Andreas had arranged for a nanny to live with Kos.
They were sharing the bedrooms on the first floor of the house.
There was a cook who made all of our meals, and now that the boy was beginning lessons, I suspected his life would fall into a routine. Much like the Nestlings in Showe.
Would I be here to watch him grow? The pit in my stomach, the thrum in my chest, was answer enough.
Andreas walked into the dining room, adjusting the lapels of his coat. “Ready?”
Kos leaped out of his chair and, abandoning the rest of his breakfast—he never left food behind—ran through the house for the front door.
I laughed. “He’s excited.”
Andreas bent over the back of my chair to kiss my forehead. A crease formed between his eyebrows when he saw the scratches on the table. “Are you all right?”
“Fine.” I stood, rising onto my toes to kiss his jaw. “You’d better go before Kos leaves you behind.”
“Caspia.”
“Go. I’ll see you later.” I cupped his face and offered the most reassuring smile I could summon. Then I slipped past him, hurrying to the staircase and our bedroom on the upper floor.
I hovered at the largest window, listening for the door to open and close, watching as Andreas set off down the street with Kos at his side.
The castle loomed in the distance, the morning rays reflecting off the golden exterior. Teal Quentin flags stitched with the royal emblem hung from its towers.
It was mesmerizing. As impressive as it was bold.
But when I closed my eyes, all I could see was it winking out of sight.
A shudder ran over my shoulders as I turned away, crossing the room to the balcony that overlooked the city.
Andreas’s house was perched atop a hill, and the balcony gave me an unobstructed view over the city’s buildings to the aquamarine waters of Roslo Bay.
There was a line of ships docked in the port, but my eyes caught on one with collapsed white sails.
My breath caught in my throat.
The ship from my vision.
The thrum that pulsed through my veins made me want to vomit.
What did these visions mean? Why was I seeing myself, my future, after a lifetime of only seeing the past?
Was there someone on that ship I was supposed to meet? Was there a reason I left Andreas? It would have to be life altering. It would have to be my only option. A last choice.
I pushed off the balcony’s railing and raced through the suite, stepping into the slippers I’d left in the dressing room. With my shoes on, I hurried downstairs to scribble a note for Andreas. Then I hurried out of the house and along the road.
After disembarking from the Snail, we’d taken a carriage from the docks to Andreas’s house. I hadn’t planned on returning to the docks, so I hadn’t paid attention to the route.
I should have paid attention.
Countless wrong turns and dead ends later, I finally stumbled onto a road that was cluttered with people and smelled like salt, fish, and brine.
The wooden-planked walkways of the docks were bustling with visitors and traders. The crowd ebbed and flowed through the various paths leading to a cluster of market stalls.
It reminded me of Skanshon, with merchants selling all types of goods from vegetables to herbs to fish to tonics. A man carrying a basket of carrots bumped into my shoulder, not sparing a backward glance as he barreled through the masses.
“You need a bracelet, love,” a woman called from behind a table cluttered with metal jewelry.
I offered a kind smile but kept walking, standing on my toes to try to see past others. I pushed through the crush, moving toward the water, scanning masts until I found the ship with white sails.
Ducking off the main walkway, I followed a line of boats tied to pylons until I reached the ship at the end of the row. It was secured with thick tan ropes, rocking gently as water lapped against its hull.
“Hello?” I called, searching the deck for a crew member.
A figurehead was carved into the bow, a woman with flowing hair and an ample bust. Beneath her body was the ship’s name. The Malynn. That name meant nothing to me.
“Hello,” I called again.
Boots thudded on the walkway, and a man with tanned skin and glossy black hair dressed in a tailored cream coat approached. “Can I help you, miss?”
“Is this your ship?”
“I’m its captain.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest. He was so tall I had to crane my neck to meet his gaze. The amber starbursts in his eyes seemed to glow beneath the sun. “Why?”
He wouldn’t believe me if I told him the truth. “What’s your name?”
His eyes narrowed. “Let’s start with yours.”
“Caspia.”
“Caspia what? What’s your last name?”
We didn’t have last names. There was no need in Nelfinex, so I gave him the only answer I could think that fit. “Starling.”
“Caspia Starling,” he said. “You seem rather keen on my ship. Why?”
Because this ship may or may not take me across the Marixmore. “What has been your longest journey?”
“These are strange questions, Caspia Starling.” His mouth flattened into a thin line.
“Sorry. I’m just curious.”
He frowned but answered, “Two months, nine days.”
“That’s not enough,” I murmured.
“Pardon?”
I sidestepped past him, walking away as I replayed the vision.
“Oi,” he called to my back. “What do you mean it’s not enough?”
I ignored him and retreated along the walkway until I was swallowed up by the people in the marketplace.
Why would I get on that ship? Why would I leave?
Was it for Xandra? She was the only reason I’d leave Andreas and return home.
If we could even make it home. Unless the thrum was calling me to Showe, there was a good chance we’d be lost at sea.
My head began to throb as the noise in the market grew louder. Men shouted. Women yelled. It was so crowded that every other step, someone knocked into me, sending me off-balance.
A young man, lanky and tall, bumped into me from behind as he tried to push his way past.
I jammed my elbow into his ribs and shot him a glare.
One look at my eyes, and he shied away.
Divine, I needed out of this market. The crowd parted ahead as a street came into view. I exhaled and quickened my steps until the chaos and smells of the dock began to fade. Then I picked up the skirts of my gown, lengthening my strides as I searched for a familiar building.
In Showe, we had street names. But the buildings in Roslo only had numbers, and I didn’t understand the arrangement.
A man leaning against the open door of a small office with square-paned windows dipped his chin as I approached. “How about a paper, miss?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t have any coin.” I kept walking.
“Here.” He pulled a folded paper from his back pocket and pushed off the doorframe, stepping into the street to block my path. He didn’t move out of the way until I took the paper from his outstretched hand. “Read it. When you want a subscription, you know where to find me.”
Considering I didn’t know how to find my own house, it was doubtful I’d be back at this office again.
“Good day, my lady.” He grinned, then whistled a tune as he ducked into his office.
I tucked the paper under an arm and marched forward. But just before I came to a corner, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.
The man stood in his open doorway again, his whistle carrying along the street.
Something about the way he’d looked at me, the familiarity in his gaze like we’d met before, made me take the paper from under my arm. I unfolded it and skimmed the front page.
Andreas’s name was inked at the top of a full-page article.
I read every word.
When I was finished, I crumpled the paper into a ball. Then I put one foot in front of the other, moving through the pain. I didn’t try to understand the numbers on buildings. I didn’t bother finding a familiar street.
I walked aimlessly through Roslo.
Because the last place I wanted to go was home.
My slippers dangled from my fingers as I stood in front of a pile of rubble. Strange that such delicate shoes could cause such awful blisters. My heels were shredded.
I’d taken the slippers off when I reached this neighborhood of cobblestone streets.
I studied the stains of my dark blood. Mixed with the dust from the dirt roads, the shoes were unsalvageable. Like this heap of wood and stone.
The houses on each side of the ruined house were small but cozy. One was painted white. The other slate blue. They were lovely, adorable homes with desolation in between.
Grass sprouted in patches amidst the rubble. Moss covered the stones. A tree with yellow and orange leaves grew through a section of the collapsed roof. The entire structure was caved in at its center, like an enormous rock had fallen from the sky.
Except this house hadn’t been cratered by a rock. A crux had likely destroyed this house during the last migration. And it had been left like an open grave.
How many lives had been lost with it? Why hadn’t anyone rebuilt or carried away the remains? Maybe there was simply no one left to care.
Even after all that Andreas had told me, after visiting that art gallery, I still struggled to make sense of this devastation.
Was there a way to stop the crux? Was it possible to change their migrations so they’d breed somewhere else?
That was a question for Aunt Oleana, a queen on the other side of the world.
While I was lost somewhere in Calandra.
A throat cleared.
I blinked, tearing my eyes away from the ruined house.
An older woman walked my way, her steps cautious, like she was approaching a wild animal. Her face was lined with wrinkles. Her short hair was frizzy and gray.
The memory of a vision from aboard the Cirrina wasn’t quick to resurface. It floated, more than popped, into my mind.
…
A woman stands at a washbasin, her forehead dewy with sweat. She rinses a green liquid from her hands, the color so dark it’s nearly black.
A younger woman with yellow hair rushes for the basin, dunking her hands into the dirty water. “Hali, the blood—”
“Quiet, girl,” Hali hisses. “Remember the agreement.”
The blond woman nods, staring at the murky water.
Hali finishes washing and dries her hands, then rushes out of the room.
“What kind of monster is this?” the young woman whispers. Then she gets to work cleaning her hands.
…
“Can I help you, miss?” the old woman asked.
I blinked, letting her features come into focus. Hali. This was Hali.
“I seem to be lost.” I offered her a small smile. “I was walking around and came upon this house.”
She turned to face the rubble and crossed her arms over her chest. The sleeves of her tan dress were rolled up her forearms. A white scarf was tied at her neck. Her shoes were sturdy with thick soles.
I’d have to ask Andreas for something more like those shoes than these awful slippers.
“Was this destroyed in the migration?” I asked.
She nodded. “Most of the houses on this street were ruined. Mine is three down. It took a year to rebuild. The woman who lived here left Roslo. She was a nice lady, but she lost her daughters and husband. I believe she moved to Saltmore. It was better for her to leave.”
“I suppose so.”
“Do you need help finding your way?” the woman asked.
“No, thank you.” I still wasn’t quite ready to see Andreas.
The woman nodded, then walked away.
I stared at the house and pressed a hand to my chest as the thrum pulsed in time with my heart.
“Not yet,” I whispered and threw my slippers, one at a time, into the wreckage.
By the grace of the Divine, not yet.