Chapter 18
· YEMI ·
Muris’s Red Mountain range spanned almost the entirety of the country.
King O’Nee was the greatest of these mountains and the highest peak on the entire continent.
A dozen childhood summers found Yemi and Nova and Luzon and his nameless rabble of a protective detail breaking themselves in the climbing of its cracks and crevices.
From the right angle, the moon could be seen perched atop King O’Nee.
And in the right light, visible only for an instant, the moon’s reflection of the mountain’s ice cap created a glinting effect, like the spark in a god’s eye or the tip of a divine needle.
The phenomenon was only visible from a secret beach on the country’s northern coast.
It was on this beach Yemi writhed in labored agony as her human bones took their time resetting themselves.
She was fevered and her skin turned into prickled gooseflesh in the chilled night air.
Here on this spot—or at least very close to it—she and Nova had shared their first kiss as the moon sat atop King O’Nee.
They had lain back softly in the sand, her fingers tangling sweetly in Nova’s.
She remembered it felt like a wish, either a magical moment to make one or the fulfillment of another.
Now the sand caught and scratched in the folds where her gills were sealing themselves along her ribs.
Handfuls of it brought her no relief, piling beneath her fingernails as she clawed her way toward the tree line.
There had been no one here when she arrived.
In between moments panicked over the impossibility of breathing, she worried she was too late, that the deadline had passed and Nova had gone off elsewhere in search of her.
Maybe in her fatigue she hadn’t gone far enough north, and she was lying naked and between species on a beach in Ixia to be found any moment by an enemy.
She flopped onto her back, listening to her bones grind, and strained to peer over the trees to where O’Nee lay beneath the moon.
No, this was the right place. It was the only place.
She closed her eyes and took shuddering breaths, clutching the satchel of Ursla’s tea to her heaving chest.
Let it pass through you, said the sea witch’s voice in her memories.
She focused on it until her breathing came easier and the suffocating pains diminished.
Her eyes opened on the starry night sky, but the body returned to her might as well have been made of lead for all the movement she could manage.
This weight was days of constant swimming.
Of little food and even less sleep. The cold surf lapped at her heels, but at least she could feel she had feet again.
She jolted as something more than the breeze rustled in the trees above her.
There were footfalls—a couple of sets—and the hacking of overgrown foliage.
Yemi’s eyes went to her spear, lying in the sand beside her, barely within her reach.
She doubted she had the strength to wield it, but an approaching enemy didn’t need to know that if she could get her hand on it.
“She’s here!”
Nova’s voice. Yemi swore she had never heard something so beautiful. She tried to call out but managed only a hoarse yelp. It was enough. In a flurry of footsteps and up-kicked sand, Nova was kneeling beside her, unfurling a white ox pelt to drape over her body.
“You’re late. You alright?”
“Yes,” Yemi whispered.
Nova bent down and kissed her on the lips lightly, as if afraid to shatter her, and then recoiled. “Whew! Yemi, what did you eat?”
Yemi had all but forgotten. This wasn’t the time or place to get into the finer points of deep-sea combat, the voices in her head, or the last thing she’d eaten having been a pound of raw merflesh.
“Nova,” she said as patiently as she could manage. “Please get me off this beach.”
“Yeah, alright. And to the nearest toothbrush.” Nova stood again, collecting Yemi’s spear and gesturing at someone Yemi couldn’t see. “Cutter.”
A knot formed in Yemi’s throat at the mention of his name. She gulped it back down. She remembered the way they’d left things, and the state of her body now felt like an I told you so she’d never live down.
His face appeared on the edge of her vision, the sand shifting under her head as he stood over her.
“Glad you made it back,” he grunted. His expression was unreadable in the dark. She imagined he actually was pleased.
“Mm,” Yemi managed back.
He bent down and scooped her effortlessly into his arms. It was all Yemi could manage to cross her hands over her chest, relieving the nightmarish pain in her shoulders from leaving them dangling the first few moments she was lifted into the air.
She buried her face in the warmth of his body as he carried her back to the trees.
He smelled like citrus and sweat, his gruff breathing lulling her to an easy sleep.
The satchel of tea throbbed in her fist like a separate heartbeat.
A reminder.
A warning.
“You seem whole. I’m impressed.” Selah concluded her examination of Yemi with a satisfied huff. They were in some lower chamber of Luzon’s palace, a plain, windowless space only recently decorated with creature comforts, judging by the bare stone walls.
“Just tired. Starving for something cooked properly,” Yemi replied. She watched the witch studiously for a previously unnoticed likeness to Ursla or a hint of treachery in the secrets she was keeping. “Good of you to come here. I didn’t know if you would.”
She meant it. It was one less trip she’d have to make to retrieve the stone. Ursla’s satchel sat beside her on the bench. Yemi kept her hand protectively over it.
“For gods’ sakes, this itching. Is it forever?”
“Grains of sand caught in your gill slits as they closed. Your body will push them out over time. Hot baths help,” Selah said.
“Outstanding. More water,” Yemi muttered.
“As long as we agree the ocean is not a suitable substitute for soapy bathwater,” Nova chimed in. She leaned against a wooden chest on the far wall.
“My love, I’m not a monster.”
“Just checking.” She laughed.
Cutter was hunched over a round table in the corner while she was undressed. He rolled a cigar with Muris’s iconic highland tobacco. His only vice. “Derring was here not too long ago,” he said. “Formally as envoy for Dahlia, trying to suss out if you were around.”
“Hmm. And informally?”
“Gave us the rundown on the state of things,” Nova replied.
“Ixia’s divided but not animated about it.
The illegitimacy of the Drakes isn’t really contested, but things aren’t going terribly, so not many are resolved to do much about it.
Orie’s alive. Cooperating reluctantly. More or less waiting for us to get our plan of action together. ”
“Enna?”
“Also alive, if worse for wear.” Nova paused, seeming reluctant to say what came next. “Moss survived the initial siege but wouldn’t go politely into the prisons with the other dissenters. Dorian Drake… executed him personally.”
Yemi swallowed hard. Moss. Hurand. Her people. Their deaths felt much like her own. “I’ll have his head for it,” she said. “Orie and Derring—can we count on them to continue relaying intelligence?”
“I believe so, yes,” said Cutter.
Yemi yawned her exhaustion, catching only a whiff of the smell Nova had chided her for earlier.
Only Nova wasn’t close enough to remark on it this time.
Selah, who was still seated on a stool beside the examination bench inspecting Yemi’s ribs, flicked her eyes upward and stared at Yemi in pointed silence for a long moment, as if she knew the odor.
With her own eyes, Yemi dared her to say something about it.
“If you met with your aunt, I take it you’ve got a plan?” Selah said instead.
“I got what I needed,” Yemi replied with a lidded gaze. “Solved the fishing problem, too. Helene wasn’t exactly what I expected. Had glowing things to say about you, though. Mostly incoherent but complimentary.”
“How would they know each other?” Nova frowned.
Cutter stopped what he was doing, too. Yemi wondered if he knew. She hopped off the bench on still-wobbly legs and smoothed the tunic that had been bunched around her neck. “You can turn around, Cutter. I’m decent.”
Cutter did turn, but his gaze was fixed on Selah.
“Selah is Mer,” Yemi declared, watching a nervousness sweep over Selah’s face. “It’s the secret my grandmother was keeping for you, isn’t it? Helene intimated that you two were very close.”
Yemi watched the wheels turn behind Selah’s eyes. She was wondering how much of her story had been revealed. “What do you mean, ‘incoherent’?” She squinted.
“The Mer queen is… unstable, to put it gently,” Yemi replied. “Our conversations were very brief but difficult for her.”
“What resources was the Mer queen able to provide?” Cutter asked, still looking at Selah as if she knew the answer.
Yemi edged toward the bed that had been piled high with pelts and brocade cushions in the back of the room. “That, I’d like to get into with everyone later. I’ll rest now, and then we can discuss moving forward. Derring still here?”
“Headed back a few hours ago. They stuck around the additional day to see if we’d recover you but couldn’t delay much longer,” Cutter said.
“Radio the ship to have them return if it’s possible before they reach the Rock.”
“Luc didn’t sail. The seas have been violent this past day or two,” Cutter said.
Yemi twitched. “Violent? How?”
“Stormy. Vicious. They’re traveling by car. We can probably catch them at a checkpoint.”
Had the events she’d set in motion manifested in treacherous waters? Was Helene even capable of putting up much of a fight?
“Do that, if you would, Cutter,” she ordered. “Luc won’t be accountable to anyone there in a few days anyway.”
“We already have all the intelligence they had to off—”
“I really am too tired to be repeating myself,” Yemi interrupted with a pointed look.