Chapter 31
We set sail in a stolen tradesman ship without a banner, headed around the southern border toward the east of Erleya.
It seems the safest, given that there would only be one territory—Erleya—to deal with rather than Caldeon and Ardall in the north.
I rest my forearms on the handrail and lean my weight against them, peering out at the orange and pink waves beneath the rising sun.
There are so many questions I have that will remain forever unanswered.
How is Durvla my sister? Who was my mother with before my father?
Did my mother know the extent of the turmoil within Erleya, or was she as ignorant as I was?
For all the secrets that she apparently kept, it hurts to think it’s possible she was very much aware.
That she concealed it to keep herself safe. To keep me safe.
Morwenna, the Good. Yet based on what she condoned, she might as well have killed all those Mages with her own hands.
My body starts to feel weightless, a fog misting over my mind, until someone rests a hand on my forearm.
I flinch so hard that all my muscles twinge.
I lift my gaze to Odgar’s, forcing myself to breathe in steadily, forcing my pulse to settle.
Odgar’s hand gently squeezes my arm, and I hang on to the sensation, to the focus etched into his rugged face.
“Stay with me,” he says.
I frown in confusion. Where does he expect me to go?
“Tell me what you’re afraid of.”
Myself. The word is on the tip of my tongue, but I clench my jaw to keep it from flying out. “Being imprisoned again,” I say instead.
He tucks his lips in for a moment before releasing them. “I won’t let that happen.”
I turn my face to the brightening horizon. The world around me feels hazy and intangible. My legs start to feel numb.
A large hand suddenly appears in my view.
I startle again before seeking Odgar’s face.
His lips are a straight line for a moment, though there’s a softness in his eyes that irritates and draws me in at the same time.
The tightness in my chest is uncomfortable.
I press my hand against it and somehow it still surprises me to find my amulet absent.
Odgar continues to offer his hand.
My eyes dart between his palm and his face as a soft smile curves his lips.
“What?” I snap.
His smile grows wider. “Dance with me.”
I stare at him as though he’s lost his mind. “There’s no music, Odgar.”
“Then we’ll make our own music.” His grin is so bloody contagious. I want to direct my anger toward him. It would be easier than confronting the warmth slowly spreading through me.
I roll my eyes at him. “Our own music,” I echo incredulously.
He takes my hand and steps back, tugging me so that I’m practically catapulted into his burly frame.
His other hand splays across my back and the knot in my chest loosens slightly.
Keeping me close, he begins to sway. He vocalizes an entrancing tune that summons gooseflesh to my skin and silences my cynicism.
Awed, I sway along with him, soaking up the melody, lowering my head against the muscles just below his collarbone.
The knot completely dissipates, the world around me feeling more substantial than it has in a while.
His vocalizations lure me like a merrow whose song I would gladly drown in if I could feel at peace like this forever.
My feet move naturally, in sync with his. We twirl and sashay across the swaying boat as though we’re alone in a grand ballroom. I’m reminded of that night when I thought my whole world would fall apart—when the weight of a decision rested heavily on my shoulders.
When he made things feel less daunting, and I already knew that I wanted him. At least for the betterment of Erleya, but also … maybe more.
Do I still want him?
My uncertainty diminishes the effects of Odgar’s soothing song. I tug away from him, flabbergasted by my own actions as my heart trips over itself. Odgar’s confusion reflects my own as his lips open, close, and open again.
“Did I offend you?” he asks at last.
“I—”
He reaches out to me, but I take a large step back, and he immediately holds his hands up.
Do I still want him? The question resurfaces in my mind. Somewhere deep within me, I know the answer, but I try to lock it away just as I lock away Enidwen.
Odgar is devastatingly handsome and gentle. He deserves a woman that doesn’t need him simply for political gain. One who would give him the same level of caring he so willingly shows.
One who isn’t broken.
Without another word, I turn and rush off, nearly running into Valdis as I make it to the narrow steps. Tears are welling in my eyes, so I hurry past her and down below deck, shutting myself in the small cabin.
As if the space isn’t tiny enough, the walls seem to press in on me. The beginnings of embers heat in my palms. I squeeze my hands into fists, but the flames erupt nonetheless.
Enidwen’s voice rises from the shadows in my mind. Keep repressing and you’ll never be able to learn control.
“Shut. Up!” I say through clenched teeth. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”
A click sounds behind me. I whirl to find Odgar hunched in front of the door, his head nearly touching the ceiling. He points to himself, eyebrows lifted nearly to his curly hairline. “Me?”
“No, you giant oaf. I’m talking to the bloody voice in my head that chooses the most random times to talk to me.” Gods, do I sound unstable or what?
Odgar smirks, and I want to clout him in his infuriatingly perfect nose. “Giant oaf, eh? What a sweet term of endearment.”
I growl at him. Growl. And as embarrassment blooms on my face, Odgar’s low laughter rumbles through the cabin. My stomach tightens. With anger? Longing? I don’t want to find out.
“Leave!” I shout, shoving against his chest.
He doesn’t budge. Not even by a hair.
“Get out of here! Go!” Another shove that goes absolutely nowhere.
When I shove him again, he catches my hands and takes a step forward, forcing me back. I try to pull away, but with another step, I’m forced backward again. And again, until he sends me toppling onto a semi-soft surface. My heart lurches as the surface gives slightly. The cot.
The cabin suddenly feels far smaller than it already is. Odgar presses a hand against the wall to the side of the bed, leaning over me. “You’re free to strike me,” he says. “But you’re going to damage your delicate princess hands if you keep striking my armor.”
I’m not sure what comes over me, but with a grunt, I kick out at him. He catches my ankle, and tugs me so that I somehow end up flat on my back.
“I think you were in Uldarvik for too long, revna. But alright, you want to hit me?”
I stare at Odgar, wide-eyed as he casts his battle-axe casually aside and begins unfastening buckles and laces on his leather armor.
They hit the floor with a series of thunks and clangs.
I sit up, swiveling to face him, my back against the wall.
The rest of his hidden weapons are next.
My breath hitches as he rolls up his sleeves, corded muscles tensing beneath the symbols permanently inked into his coppery skin.
“Well?” He pulls his bronzed curls up into a messy top bun. “What are you waiting for? Have at it.”
The fight in me has been doused, but I hold my chin high, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing he effectively distracted me. I stand and take one step toward him, but as I raise my hand to strike him, my traitorous body acts on its own volition.
His tunic is bunched in my hand, and I yank his head down toward me, crushing my lips against his.
I’m sick and tired of feeling out of control all the time, of giving in to unwanted emotions.
I charge him backwards until his back loudly rattles the door.
He flinches before stepping forward to put some space between his back and the wood.
I shove him against the door again, staring up into eyes likened to sunlight bleeding into the depths of the ocean.
Gods, they’re so beautiful, I would gladly drown in them too.
This time, it’s Odgar who crushes his lips to mine.
In a feverish squall of impatience and passion, his tunic goes flying as does my overdress.
Hurried, frenzied kisses fill the moments when we’re not tearing clothing off each other.
Lifted atop the narrow bureau anchored to the wall, I tip my head back as Odgar steps between my thighs.
His tongue and lips explore my neck. His hand slides above my knee, pushing up my underdress.
I hook my fingers into the waistband of his trousers as a loud pounding sound jars my senses.
“Odgar! Carys!” More loud knocking against the door emphasizes the urgency in Valdis’s voice. My heart nearly leaps out of my chest, but it’s Odgar who growls this time.
His eyes are glazed over as he lifts his head, but he doesn’t look away from me. “Go away, Valdis!”
“Get your horny asses out here,” Valdis shouts back. “We’re under attack!”
My stomach plummets, all pleasure along with it. “Shit,” I mumble. Under attack. We’ve only been on the sea for three days.
My heart races as Odgar lifts me off the bureau before gathering his own tunic and tossing my overdress at me. I swear there’s the smallest hint of embarrassment on his rugged face.
“I left armor at the door for Carys,” Valdis says over a rising tide of distant shouts and clanging weapons.
I get dressed in record time before Odgar haphazardly cinches the leather armor onto me and shoves my bow into my hands. The armor feels odd and bulky, but I don’t have time to fuss over it.
We resurface on deck to a skirmish of thrice as many people than just our crew.
Alongside us is a full-rigged ship similar to ours, but with four masts instead of three.
Beneath yellowed sails, a red flag with a winged lion flaps in the wind, denoting that they’re from Ardall like Seth—not exactly a political enemy but hostile nonetheless.
As the realization hits, I lock eyes on Seth.
He fights back-to-back with Valdis, his movements fluid and effortless.
Valdis’s attacks are sharp and precise. Her intertwined braids and flowing blond hair whip around her as she ducks the slash of her opponent’s sword and drives her spear through his back.
The man drops to his knees as Valdis tugs her spear free and moves on to the next attacker with equal fervor.
My body starts to drift, as if I’m watching everything unfold from a distance. As if my mind is retreating into itself.
“Stay close,” Odgar shouts. I jump, my mind snapping back fully.
My hands have gone slick on the bow, blood racing through my veins in a way that makes my limbs feel sluggish and my breath go shallow.
Odgar shoves me behind him as a large Ardallan comes at me.
I yank an arrow from the quiver on my back and nock it, but in such close combat, it’s not the best choice of weapon.
Tiernan was right; I should’ve learned to wield a dagger. Dammit!
I take a deep breath and summon flames to my hand as I step out from behind Odgar.
My fire blast goes straight into the man’s face.
He goes down screaming as his skin blisters and chars.
I throw out a fresh conflagration at two more men who charge at me.
One of them, his clothes in flames, still slashes wildly with a broadsword.
Odgar flings his battle-axe into the man’s chest, and he drops dead.
I look away as Odgar wrenches his weapon from the body, but his voice urges me on. “Can you shoot fire arrows at their ship?”
Brilliant. “Yes, I think so.”
“Alright, I’ve got you covered. You shoot, I’ll ward off these shit sacks.”
Energy buzzes through me as I grab the arrow again and nock it. I focus on setting the arrow tip on fire, but it doesn’t come willingly.
“Any time now, revna,” Odgar says in a singsong voice. The sound of squelching flesh follows.
Ignoring the churn in my stomach, I will my flames to life again. This time, I let the embers shoot up along the shaft of the arrow to the tip, then loose. It soars toward the other boat and into the chest of one of the Ardallans.
I shoot another, then another, alternating between aiming for parts of the boat and the attackers.
The fight seems to go on forever. My entire body is quaking, and I’m not sure I can summon any more fire. When I’m certain I have nothing left, the surviving Ardallans jump from our ship and swim for theirs.
A small cheer rises up around me. Odgar douses any remaining flames, his water sweeping across the floor of our boat and overboard.
My knees buckle, but by the time I realize I’m falling, I’m already on the hard deck. I force breaths into my raw throat, my skin feeling as much on fire as the other boat desperately steering away from us.
Odgar drops down beside me. “Are you alright?” he asks, sounding breathless.
I can barely lift my arms, but I nod, meeting his gaze.
“Thank Brenjor,” he says, invoking the Uldaran protector and god of thunder. He lets his head sag for a moment.
Someone pats me on the shoulder, but it’s not Odgar. I glance up at Valdis, and her blue eyes regard me with respect. “Well done,” she says, wiping blood from her spear with a stained cloth.
I turn away from her and retch my guts up all over myself and the deck.