Chapter 50
The Mirrored Sea was vast and endless.
Quentin braced against the railing of The Vesper, one of the largest merchant ships in the Riqueti’s fleet. The wind billowed through his loose white shirt. His baldric lay across his chest, as it always did, his wild red hair blowing into his eyes.
“The Sea is calm today,” the ship’s captain, Cecco, said in a gruff voice. He halted at the railing, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
“I know,” Quentin said. “It bothers me.”
The captain chuckled. “Take the blessings when they come, Armature. If the weather holds, I expect we’ll make port in Kizar in less than two days.”
Quentin tipped his gaze up to the clear, cloudless sky. There was a slight breeze, enough to fill the merchant vessel’s sails, its deep hull designed for transporting cargo skimming through the blue-green waves.
“Respectfully, Captain, I expect very few blessings where these pirates are concerned.”
“Indeed.” Cecco ran a hand over his long, braided beard, weathered face crinkling in thought.
The Riqueti’s had called in a personal favor to get him to captain the ship for this trip.
Though he was older and nearing an age of retirement, he was by far their most experienced when it came to dealing with the Kizar Islands.
If anyone had a shot of getting Quentin and Delaynie safely to the island’s shores, it was him.
“Tell me more about the pirate lord.”
The captain shifted. “I’ve only met him once,” he said, “and truthfully, I’d rather face a thousand storms than deal with him again. He’s a temperamental son of a bitch. As erratic and unpredictable as the sea. And I hear he has a son who is even worse.”
“Are they insane? Or just monsters?”
“Easy, lad,” Cecco said with a chuckle. “They’re pirates. It’s not a matter of insanity; it’s just who they are.”
Quentin scowled out over the horizon, the ship rocking gently.
He’d never been on a ship before, and he’d be lying to himself if he hadn’t been a little nervous about getting sick when out at sea.
But he’d surprisingly found his bearings quite quickly and couldn’t deny the sense of easy calm that covered him as the waves lapped at the hull.
Of course, it wasn’t enough to shake his irritation at their destination.
“Why do we even bother trading with them, anyway?” he growled. “Seems like it’s more trouble than it’s worth. I think we should cut ties with them and focus solely on the other kingdoms instead.”
“Oh, should we, now?” Cecco lifted a bushy eyebrow.
“And where would we get the products that only come from the Kizar Islands? They have metals there that we can’t find anywhere else on the continent.
Those daggers of yours were surely forged from Kizar-mined ore.
And we can’t forget their crops: sugar and fruit and hemp.
We can grow a lot here in Onita, or import it from Vatha, but there are some things that are irreplaceable. ”
The captain turned his gaze out across the sea. “And there are things they need from us, as well. Many, many things. They may be erratic and make questionable choices, but they would turn to far worse actions if we denied them trade.”
“Questionable choices?” Quentin barked a dry laugh, unable to stop his seething. “Those animals attacked my city. Murdered my people. I would say that’s far from questionable.”
Cecco sighed. “I heard about what happened in Verith over the winter. I’m very sorry for your losses. I wish I knew what spurred their actions, and perhaps you can uncover as much on this visit of yours.”
Quentin snarled. “If I had my way, we would be using this visit to tear them all apart for what they did—”
“But we’re not.” A sharp, feminine voice cut through Quentin’s words.
He glanced over his shoulder, some of his hot anger cooling as he caught Delaynie’s icy stare.
She stood by the door leading to their quarters below deck.
Her tight breeches hugged her delicate curves, light-blue tunic flowing in the breeze, auburn hair pinned up off the thin column of her neck.
Quentin forced a swallow. He really needed to stop noticing things like that about her. It wasn’t productive for anyone.
Delaynie’s chin tipped up. “Perhaps when we get there, the Armature should let me do the talking and not risk everything we’ve been sent here to do.”
Quentin blanched. “Of course, Del; I would never actually—”
She was already gone, the cabin door slamming closed behind her. Quentin released a heavy exhale, shoulders slumping as he again faced the sea.
Cecco chuckled, deep and rumbling. “Sounds like you don’t need to wait for a meeting with the pirate lord to be faced with a challenge, boy.”
Quentin pushed a hand through his unruly hair, grumbling.
The sudden pitch of the ship, followed by a bone-chilling boom of thunder, jolted Quentin awake.
He blinked into the darkness, heart hammering in his throat. The ship tossed again, this time the other way, and he almost rolled into the wall at his back. The wood creaked, bludgeoned by waves, salt and the static of lightning tanging the air.
“Fuck.” He reached blindly for his baldric and threw it over his chest.
A storm. A bad one, by the sound of it.
Thank fuck he hadn’t gone to sleep naked.
He tried to shove his feet into his boots, cursing as he struggled against the violent heaving of the ship.
Where the fuck had this come from? The seas had been clear and calm since they’d left Sacale.
Nothing had loomed on the horizon when the sun set and the moons rose, bright and almost full with the approaching Solstice.
Quentin staggered out of his cabin, slamming into the walls. The wood creaked and the door next to his cracked open, revealing a pair of wide eyes.
“Where are you going?” Delaynie’s voice was sharp and cutting, the only sign of her fear.
“Stay below deck, Del,” he barked, bracing against the wall. “Please. I’m going to help the crew.”
“Why do you think you can help? What if you just get in the way?” She inched further out, a foot breaking past her cabin threshold.
Another wave slammed into the ship, sending them both staggering.
“I won’t,” Quentin ground out. “But please. Just stay here. Where it’s safe.” He held her stare, willing her to see all the desperation and fear coursing through him.
He couldn’t get through this storm if he had to worry about where she was, too.
Finally, as more thunder and lightning boomed and crackled outside, Delaynie gave a quick nod. She retreated into her cabin, slamming the door.
Quentin heaved a relieved exhale. The momentary bliss vanished as something popped through the air, hot and charred. Thunder shook him to his bones. Panicked voices leeched through the door to the main deck, footsteps pounding across the wood.
He surged up the stairs, gritted his teeth, and threw himself into the onslaught of the storm.
The deck was in mayhem.
Deckhands raced from port to starboard. The sails billowed and snapped, ropes flailing about in the furious winds. Massive swells washed over the sides of the ship, flooding the deck, as rain pelted from above.
“Oy! Over here, lad!” Cecco’s voice boomed over the chaos. The captain gripped the helm, fighting to keep the ship righted against the storm’s onslaught. Quentin launched up the stairs, clothes already soaked.
He came to a breathless halt beside the captain. “How can I help—”
Another wave crashed into the starboard side of the ship, even larger and more violent than the ones before. The spokes of the wheel were wrenched from the captain’s hands, spinning out of control.
The ship tipped dangerously to the side.
“Help me! Grab the wheel!” the captain bellowed. “We’re going to lose her if we can’t keep her righted!”
Quentin’s mind was numb, the panic of the moment coursing through him, sharpening the world to only the things he could see, touch, feel.
He grabbed the spinning wheel, throwing his shoulder into the spokes, letting out a cry as he used his body to stop the violent spinning.
Cecco gripped it on the other side, heaving down with all his weight, fighting to get the wheel to turn.
They had the wheel caught, but still the ship listed dangerously to port. The hull groaned, the floorboards shifting.
Quentin realized his eyes were closed. Between pants, fighting for his breath, and shoving down the burning in his muscles and the bite of the wheel on his shoulder, he cracked them open.
His world narrowed with terrified, icy dread.
The horizon, dark and frothy with the rage of the storm, had tilted. Waves continued to crash into the starboard side of the ship—where the bottom of the hull was almost fully exposed.
It didn’t matter how much he and the captain fought.
The ship was about to capsize.
Cecco strained beside him, and Quentin saw his same fear reflected in the captain’s eyes.
“We have to abandon ship,” Cecco said, voice nearly a whisper, almost impossible to hear over the roaring of the storm.
“How is this possible?” Quentin gritted his teeth, biting out the words as he fought against the pull of the wheel. “Where did this come from?”
Cecco only shook his head. “Some things about the sea cannot be explained, boy,” he said. “Perhaps the stories the pirates tell about the return of their vengeful goddess are true.”
“The return of their…”
Oh, fuck.
“What are your orders, Captain?” Cecco’s first mate appeared on the steps to the helm, gripping tightly to the railing as the ship tilted and creaked around them.
A hard, quiet resolve filled Cecco’s weathered expression. Rain lashed around him, his long beard gnarled and tangled in the wind.
“Get the lifeboats unstrung, gather the fire-wielders to ready signal flares—”
Another massive wave—perhaps the largest one yet—crested over the starboard side of the ship, fully engulfing the tipping vessel. A monstrous onslaught of water and rage, fury and destruction in liquid form.
Somewhere, Quentin swore he heard a feminine battle cry amidst the storm, followed by the roar of a dragon.
He couldn’t search the skies. He was plunged viscously into dark, biting waters. The currents yanked him from the helm, and he hit the depths with a furious pull.
Rushing water was everywhere. It was all he knew. He fought and struggled, water filling his mouth, his nose, his ears. His chest burned, and he felt everything begin to waver, begin to fade…
Delaynie.
Her name thrummed through him like a pulse. A lifeline thrown to him beneath the waves. Quentin’s eyes flew open, burning in the salty water.
Above, he saw the surface, the ship’s lights still illuminated.
With every ounce of strength he had left, he pulled himself toward those lights. His body screamed, protested, fought against him, but still he swam up, up, up—
He broke the surface with a desperate, coughing inhale, head swimming as sweet, beautiful air filled his lungs. Men screamed, wood snapped and broke, and pieces of the ship fell into the sea. He sputtered, wiping the salt from his eyes.
“Delaynie!” His furious call tore through the chaos of the night.
Panic sank into his chest like a knife when he caught sight of the deck, half submerged and sinking in the waves. Of the door that led to their quarters, still closed.
Somehow, over the din of the capsized ship, he heard a hand banging against wood.
He threw himself into action, arms stroking and legs kicking. He fought past debris and unconscious bodies, through barrels and crates and canvas sails. He reached the deck, rising vertically from the waves.
The storm still raged. Water still pelted the now-exposed underside of the ship, pushing it further toward the horizon.
With a thrum of soul-crushing dread, Quentin raced for the door. Sweet, momentary relief greeted him when he still heard the banging, Delaynie’s sharp cries seeping through the wood.
“Delaynie! I’m here!”
“Quentin?” Her voice was muffled but audible. “The door is stuck. I can’t get it open—”
Her words were swallowed by a great, terrifying groan.
The ship tipped.
Tipped, tipped, tipped…
Quentin drew in a great breath of air, bracing himself as the ship flipped completely.
Trapping both himself and Delaynie beneath it.