Chapter 8
I am weak. And I hate myself for it.
The sun blazes mercilessly above, not a cloud in sight to offer reprieve. Heat radiates off the deck in shimmering waves that distort the air. My arms tremble as I struggle to keep up with Draven’s pace.
Just like in Verdanthia, he doesn’t take it easy on me, but he’s not trying to exhaust me. He pulls back his strikes when his wooden sword collides with mine, and he slows to give me time to adjust to his movements. I know, because I’ve seen the Fae fight.
I know his true skill.
But despite Draven’s accommodations, I’m a panting, sweating mess. My endurance is non-existent. The magic in my chest is stronger today, but still not entirely mended from my first attempt to cure Darius. My healing power can’t strengthen my weak muscles fast enough to stop them from trembling.
It’s pathetic.
“Tighten your core. Raise your arm,” Draven commands, voice steady, breath even.
I grip the pommel of the wood sword he brought all the way from Verdanthia, my palm slick with sweat. Gritting my teeth, I do what he says and clench my abdomen.
I tighten my hold, determined not to embarrass myself by dropping the weapon. Around us, sailors glance our way as they work, some openly curious, others smirking before turning back to their ropes and rigging.
Sweat rolls down my face. I lift my shoulder and wipe the moisture away with my sleeve.
I’m wearing the second set of clothes Juniper packed for me.
The blouse is loose but firmly tucked into the waist of my skirt, secured by a belt, but the breathable fabric sticks to my body like a second skin.
The breeze today is sporadic. Coupled with the rising temperatures the farther south we travel, my energy is fading fast.
Draven assesses my stance then nods. “Good. Now, attack.”
I swallow my groan and lunge.
My quaking arm swings the sword toward his ribs. He parries easily, our wooden swords colliding with a sharp crack.
“Good. Again.”
I swing. He blocks.
“Again.”
The rhythm builds: strike, block, pivot, repeat. Every muscle in my body screams. Every breath burns my throat. The deck tilts beneath my boots, and I nearly lose my footing.
Draven’s words are minimal. He’s relentless. The sort of teacher I need. But I’m just so damn tired.
When one of his counterattacks sends a jolt up my arm, my hand muscles spasm. The sword hits the deck.
I moan. “I need a break.”
A faint smirk curves his mouth. “I was waiting to see how long it would take.”
I stiffen, then scowl. “I’m not—”
“That wasn’t an insult,” he cuts in. “You lasted longer than I expected. Stubbornness can be a weapon, too. Use it well.”
“Oh.” My shoulders slump. “Thanks?”
He huffs an inaudible response and moves to sit on one of the crates tucked along the railing.
I follow and plop onto the crate next to him with a heavy sigh.
The ache begins to drain from my legs as I stare out at the open sea.
There isn’t a speck of land in sight, and the ocean’s surface is gentle and smooth.
Draven’s low voice cuts through the working sailors’ muttered conversation. “How’s the nausea?”
“Better.” I wipe a damp palm against my skirt. “Jaxon gave me a tonic for seasickness.”
The moment my eyelids parted this morning, I’d braced myself to face Rian, but he wasn’t in the cabin.
I told myself I wasn’t disappointed.
Still, I’d scanned the room, searching for any sign he lingered, but all I found was the tonic set on the captain’s desk, along with a note from Jaxon explaining what it was. I couldn’t pour it down my throat fast enough.
“Good.” Draven produces a waterskin from the weapons belt on his waist and takes a long sip.
He holds it out to me.
I take the offering without a word and gulp down half its contents. I almost feel bad until I notice the Fae hasn’t even broken a sweat, and the feeling evaporates.
“Thank you.” I hand back the waterskin and gaze out at the sea again. “Will you tell me where we’re going?”
“South.” He caps the waterskin and reattaches it to the loop in his belt.
“Obviously,” I mutter. “But where?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.” He tilts his head back and closes his eyes, basking in the sun.
“Then who is?”
“You know who.” Darius appears, as he always seems to do, grinning at me and his brother.
His eyes lock on my heaving chest, and he whistles low.
“Woah, brother,” he drawls as the sporadic breeze ruffles his dark strands. “You certainly put sweet Elara through her paces. She’s soaked through.”
A shadow whips out from nowhere and strikes Darius in the back of his head. The way the marks on my arm slither in response tells me exactly who they came from.
I scan the deck, but Rian isn’t there.
Draven growls. “Why are you such a pest?”
“Someone’s gotta push him.” Darius’s grin turns wicked. “And with my recent illness, he’s less likely to punish me for my insolence.”
Draven shakes his head. “Idiot.”
I press my lips together and avert my gaze, catching the stare of a pair of sailors coiling rope along the railing before they swiftly turn away.
“I’m hungry.” I slide off the crate and face Draven. “Can we train more tomorrow?”
A spark of approval glints in his dark gaze. “See you at dawn.”
I stifle a groan. I barely slept last night, my nerves frayed by the presence of the Shadow Prince sleeping feet away, half afraid the markings on my arm would pull me to his side in the middle of the night.
But I must’ve fallen into a deep sleep at some point, considering Rian managed to sneak out without waking me.
Did I snore?
Who cares?
In fact, I hope I did.
I hope I woke Rian up throughout the night. Maybe he will reconsider sleeping in the cabin.
“Excellent.” Darius stands at attention, wearing another mischievous grin. “Let’s get lunch, Elara. And I will tell you all about our destination.”
“Darius…” Draven growls.
“Relax, big brother. I know what I’m doing.” Darius motions for me to walk in front of him.
Draven mutters something that sounds a lot like, “Doubt it,” but a gust of wind steals the words away.
The ship sways as we make our way down the warped stairs that lead to the galley. Darius hunches over to avoid hitting the low ceiling.
A simple iron stove is bolted to the floor across the room, and the smell of smoke clings to the air, mingled with salted pork and dried fish spread across the counters. Barrels of food line the other wall, making the space cramped for the cook scurrying about, preparing the midday meal.
The cook, an older, wiry man with muscular forearms, doesn’t even look up. “Grab a plate and fill it with what’s on the counter. No complaints about the meat, or you can enjoy slops for the rest of the journey.”
A low chuckle leaves Darius’s throat. “Aye, aye, cook.”
The man stirs something in the pot and grumbles, waving a dismissive hand at the Fae without even looking up.
Darius picks up two pewter plates and offers me one. I follow behind him as he loads up his plate, taking almost everything he does except for the gray meat.
Growing up in Verdanthia, I’m not usually picky when it comes to food. Nor am I wasteful. But I just got over seasickness. I’m not going to risk food poisoning.
We weave past crates to a makeshift dining area, the tables nothing more than planks balanced across barrels. Lanterns hang low, their light dim through smoke-stained glass.
Four sailors sit nearby, loud and half drunk, their laughter echoing off the beams. A pang hits my chest as I’m again reminded of Odden’s Tavern. Of the nights I spent there with friends. Friends who turned on me the moment their general told them to.
Darius leads me past the sailors to a table with a lone occupant.
Silas.
A plate of half-eaten food is pushed to the side, and he sits hunched over a map.
Darius places his plate next to his friend. “Any luck?”
“None.” Silas closes his eyes and rubs his hands down his face before leaning back in his seat. “They’re like fucking phantoms.”
“We knew that. It’s how they’ve evaded the king this long.”
I peek over at the map. A series of land masses are spread across the surface. I can read the words, but I don’t recognize any of the names. Though, I’m pretty sure they’re Fae.
“Who are you trying to find?” I lower myself onto the bench across from Silas, careful not to put my plate on the map.
Silas’s eyes fly open then dart to mine before narrowing on Darius. “Really?”
“What?” Darius shoves a bite of food into his mouth.
Silas shakes his head. “If you weren’t his cousin, Rian would’ve locked you in a dungeon by now.”
“I am the catalyst this movement needs,” Darius replies with a smug grin. “That he needs.”
Silas shakes his head again.
I clear my throat and nod toward the map. “Well?”
Silas sighs. “We’re trying to find the Sea Fae.”
I blink. “The what?”
He doesn’t answer fast enough.
“Sea Fae,” Darius says, mouth full. “There are Lowland, Highland, Mountain, and Sea Fae. You met the Mountain Fae in Port City.”
Erling. The blond giant in furs.
“But…how is that possible?” I scan the land masses scattered across the map. “Why wouldn’t we know—”
“Who is ‘we’?” Silas interrupts. “Humans? Under the Shadow King’s influence?”
He tsks and continues, “From what I’ve heard, you’re intelligent, Elara. Surely you can imagine a world where a ruler chooses to hide various truths from their subjects for their own goals.”
My blood chills.
Like General Ironheart and the Elders…
The leaders in Verdanthia mined astlerium for their personal use while saying it was for the Fae king.
I swallow hard, hating my ignorance, but resolved to rectify it as soon as possible. “Okay. So we’re going to the Sea Fae. Why?”
A long look passes between the Fae.
Finally, Darius says, “Royal business.”
I lift my brows. “Such as?”
“Nothing we’re at liberty to discuss,” Darius says with a hint of remorse.
“If we even find them,” Silas mutters, glaring at the map like it personally offends him. “Sea Fae live predominantly on ships. Rumors say they have a city somewhere in these isles, but no one has been able to find it.”
I press my lips together and look at where he points on the map.
My head spins.
“How’s your magic?” Silas asks.
My head snaps up, and I blink. “What?”
He watches me carefully. “Has your magic fully recovered from the manacles and healing Darius?”
I shove down memories of the astlerium cuffs and the torture I endured while chained by them. “It’s getting there.”
“Good,” Darius chimes in. “I’m ready for you to give curing me another go once your magic is replenished.”
My eyes widen. “Are you in pain?”
“No, nothing like that.” He grins, but it looks forced. “I simply loathe the fact that any remnant of the king’s vile influence resides within me. Even if it’s just a tiny morsel.”
The king?
What does he have to do with Darius’s curse?
Before I can ask, a deafening boom splits the air.
Lanterns rattle. Plates jump.
I yelp along with the other sailors. Silas, Darius, and I exchange startled glances. It was sunny minutes ago. Could a storm have arrived so quickly?
Another boom rips through the air, followed swiftly by the loud shouts of the crew on deck.
The sailors at the end of the table jump to their feet and race out of the mess hall.
“What in—” I start, but the ship lurches violently, throwing me sideways.
Silas and Darius keep their seats, but I slip off the bench and land hard on my side.
“PELAGOR!” someone roars from above. “Pelagor attacking the starboard side!”
Silas is already on his feet.
Darius’s easy grin vanishes, replaced by cold focus.
“Stay here!” he orders, all traces of charm gone.
I push myself upright and grip the edge of the table. “Wait—”
They vanish in a blur of shadow.
The ship tilts sharply. Screams echo from above.
I ignore Darius’s order and scramble to my feet, heart pounding.
The narrow stairs pitch under my boots as I stumble up toward daylight. My palms slam against the walls to keep from falling. I practically throw myself through the door leading to the deck.
And freeze.
The world has gone black.
Clouds churn low over the sea, thunder cracking so close it shakes the masts. Lightning spears the sky in blinding forks. Sailors race across the deck, shouting orders, weapons flashing—swords, rifles, harpoons.
I don’t see the Fae.
Then—
A loud, shrill cry reverberates through the air, punching against my eardrums with such force that I can’t help but fall to my knees and clutch my hands over my ears.
My eyes water.
I look up.
The magic in my veins flares hot with warning as a slick, coiling tentacle, thick as a tree trunk, rises from the churning sea. The stench of brine and rot fills my nose.
Before I can blink, another tentacle flies over the railing and snakes around my waist.
And yanks me off my feet.