Chapter 32
ChApter
Thirty-Two
The Messanyan and Hederan courts gather along a marble terrace suspended over a glistening bay.
Above, gulls cry into the open sky, wheeling through bands of golden light as the sun rises over the horizon.
A velvet wind sweeps in from the sea, rich with salt and the hum of magic, pulling in the roaring waves.
There are rows upon rows of velvet-cushioned seats filling the terrace.
The center front seats are occupied by King Silas and Queen Eleanor.
I sit to Eleanor’s right, hands clasped tightly in my lap.
The carved, coral balustrade before us at the edge of the terrace glows faintly in the low sun, and below, the sea rolls and shifts in restless motion.
Nadya sits close on my other side, her fingers twisting and turning in nervousness.
She knows as well as I do that another trial is about to begin.
Below us, on one side of the bay, is a wooden platform that hangs over the water.
Dante, barefoot and bare-chested, casually paces the wooden planks, his dark tattoo contrasting against his skin already bronzed under the Messanyan sun.
He wears only dark breeches that stop at his knees and are damp against his muscular thighs.
His hair is wet from sea spray, and he rakes it back to keep the strands out of his face.
His muscles are taut, poised with tension, his expression unreadable as he waits for Queen Verina to speak.
She stands at the edge of the platform, facing the terrace, her stance and expression so confident, I believe even the sea answers to her.
When she lifts a gleaming, silver trident, the crowd goes silent.
I lean forward to inspect the weapon, taking in its blades that gleam wickedly in the light.
It shimmers as though it’s encrusted with diamonds.
“In Messanya, the sea decides who is worthy.” Queen Verina’s voice is thunderous, though her tone is cool.
She turns slightly, her gaze narrowing on Dante.
“You seek to prove your integrity and earn the respect of our court. Then you must face the wrath of our tides and earn that respect from the sea.”
Dante stands tall, shoulders squared, and gives the queen a reverent nod.
If he’s apprehensive, he’s not showing it. In fact, he looks as if he simply wants to get this task over with. I clasp my hands tighter, feeling the unease for him.
“This is the trident of my ancestors.” The queen holds the weapon high again as her robes flutter behind her.
“It will be taken to the secret caverns far beneath the sea. Retrieve it, and bring it back to its rightful place. Of course,” she adds, her lips curving with amusement, “our siren soldiers will ensure the trial is… thorough.”
From beneath the terrace, a wisp of a woman with a shaved head approaches them.
Her deep-blue robe falls from her shoulders, revealing tight bands of cloth covering her body from her chest to her thighs.
She wastes no time, taking the trident from the queen and running to the edge of the platform.
She dives into the bay with breathtaking grace, barely making a splash as she disappears beneath the surface.
A low murmur ripples through the crowd. I spot nobles leaning forward on their cushions, their sea-green robes catching the sunlight.
Queen Verina extends her arm toward the bay and faces Dante. “You may begin.”
Dante nods once, and without hesitation, he dives. The sea swallows him whole, its surface barely rippling.
Queen Verina turns to a small group of people at the edge of the platform. Her soldiers, I’m guessing. They march toward her on her command. Three of them drop their robes, just like the bald woman did, and I catch a glimpse of daggers strapped to their chests right before they dive into the sea.
My stomach knots, and my hand finds Nadya’s for comfort.
From our vantage point, the figures appear as dark shadows cutting through the crystal-clear water. The queen hasn’t explained their purpose, but I know they serve as obstacles to deter Dante from reaching his goal. But to what extent they plan to use those daggers, I can’t be sure.
My breath catches. The sea goes still. A drumbeat thunders once—deep and slow.
The queen nods to the other person who approached her. His ocean-blue, silk robe covers his tall form, and he has waves shaved into the sides of his head of sandy-brown hair. He faces the sea and lifts his hand—just slightly—and the waves begin to churn harder than before.
Shit. He’s fae.
And he’s controlling the water. As he glides his arms through the air in a fluid motion, the tide reacts by coiling, rising, and retreating. The Messanyan courtiers smile and inch forward. This is clearly entertainment for them.
My attention goes back to the sea. I can just make out the dark figures of the queen’s soldiers cutting through the water.
They’re fast. I’ve seen Dante swim before, back when we rescued Dulcamaran refugees whose boat capsized.
He’d been fast, but these full-blooded sirens might be faster. And they carry weapons.
I bite my cheek in frustration; it’s too hard to make out what’s happening below the surface.
Though the water at the bay is clear enough to see the sandy bottom, the water farther out is less transparent.
I watch the shifting shadows darting undersea, uncertain of what’s happening.
I have to hold down my knee to keep my leg from bouncing in worry.
My attention is drawn back to the fae, who lifts his arm and flicks his fingers. The sea surges. The rumbling grows louder.
“What’s happening?” I whisper under my breath.
In my peripheral vision, Nadya shakes her head.
A tremor runs through the air as the first swell rises.
It crashes down with a deafening roar, the white spray reaching even the edges of the terrace.
The spectators gasp. Somewhere in the depths, Dante is still swimming, still fighting.
And the push and pull of the water can’t be helping with his struggles.
Still, the silence stretches, and the ache in my chest tightens with every heartbeat.
Then… movement catches my eye, impossibly swift.
A siren warrior breaches the surface, a gash blooming crimson across her shoulder. “He evades us,” she spits, reporting to the queen. “Even wounded, he fights like a creature born of the tides.”
I clutch the balustrade harder, my pulse thudding painfully in my ears.
Wounded.
Gods, what did they do to him?
I glance to my left and catch the lowered brow of King Silas. His jaw is tight as he releases a long breath from his flaring nostrils. Queen Eleanor reaches for his hand, but he yanks it out of her reach.
On the platform, Queen Verina nods to someone on a boat near the bay, her fingers moving and shifting in a way that tells me she’s speaking with her hands.
The soldier she communicates with nods in return, lifting one hand to signal back something to her.
With fierce concentration, he proceeds to turn a large crank connected to some kind of metal contraption attached to the boat.
A resonant click echoes deep within the water. The churning of my stomach tells me a cage door has been opened.
Something stirs. Movement ripples beneath the surface. At first, just a dark shadow. Then larger. Faster. And in the next instant, a shark’s fin breaches the surface.
My pulse hammers.
Fuck.
Dante.
They’ve released a shark into the bay.
My hands clench into fists. My vision sharpens with panic. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. My mind races, the fear turning sharp, electric.
“Dante, there’s a shark!”
I don’t speak it aloud, but my mind screams it. I don’t know if he’ll hear me, if that magic even still exists within me, but I have to try.
“Dante, a shark!”
A sharp burst of pain erupts behind my eyes, blinding me for a second.
I grip the edge of the chair as my vision blurs, spots dancing across my gaze.
But then I feel a tingle at the back of my head.
The same sensation I felt in Podrosa when Dante reacted to me mentally calling out to him. I can only hope it means he heard me.
I lean forward, tracking the shark’s movement as it heads toward a dark figure beneath the surface. In the water, the figure veers. Hard right.
The shark surges up with razor-sharp teeth, gnashing at nothing but water and air, missing him by seconds.
My breath whooshes out in a silent gasp. I blink rapidly, tears springing from the pain now slicing down the center of my skull.
By the time my vision clears, I can no longer see any figures in the water, and I’ve lost sight of the shark.
The sea begins to rise again.
Faster.
Higher.
No.
The fae on the platform lifts both hands now, and the ocean obeys. Not a wave. A wall. A monstrous, roiling tsunami, taller than the balcony itself, threatening to bear down upon the bay.
Dante’s head whips up from the small waves near the edge of the bay. Behind him, the wall of water rushes forward, rising higher.
It’s going to hit him. It’s going to hit all of us.
The queen stands behind her fae, her features relaxed. She’s not afraid because he will keep the water from touching her. But the rest of us?
My fury makes my body react, like a string pulling taut within my ribcage. That humming thread takes over. My power stirs rampantly beneath my skin, reacting to the danger.
“Get down!” someone shouts, but I stay rooted to the edge.
People in the crowd rise from their seats, retreating to the back of the balcony.
Nadya pulls on my arm, but I don’t budge.
My hands rise of their own accord. The magic surges before I can stop it, tearing through me like fire laced with glass.
I force one wave of energy toward the water surrounding Dante, pushing him far off to the side until he’s out of the path of danger.
Pain lances through my skull, sharp and blinding.
But the tsunami wave rolls closer to us.
I ignore my pain and push another surge of energy out to meet the approaching water. It leaves me in a burst—raw, unrefined. It burns as if my veins were being torn from my body.
The power slices through the air, and the wave shudders.
Come on!
I push again, despite my agony. The strong pressure, hot and relentless, forms behind my eyes. It feels as if my skull could burst.
The swell of water starts to fall apart, dropping into the depths of the sea.
What’s left of it breaks early, as if it’s hit a giant, invisible shield.
It shatters apart in a fury of foam and spray, crashing down onto the platform instead of over Dante’s head.
Most of the wooden planks split and splinter under its force.
But the queen is safe behind the magic bubble of the water fae’s magic.
As the tide settles and the waves dissipate, my gaze darts over to Dante. He watches the water for a moment before his eyes find me. He’s too far for me to see his expression. In the next second, he dives under again.
I sag against the balustrade, my ears ringing. My breath comes in ragged gasps. Something warm drips from my nose.
Fuck.
Another pulse of pain. A sharp jab behind my eyes.
I duck my head and wipe at my nose, and blood smears across the back of my hand. My vision swims. My ears are filled with a high-pitched whine. My fingers come away from my temple—wet.
Not just my nose.
My ear.
“Celeste!” Nadya’s voice reaches me, sounding as if it were from somewhere far away, muffled. She pushes something into my hand. “Here.”
I nod. Or I think I do. The world won’t stay still long enough for me to be sure. I try to look at what she handed me, but everything is blurry and shifting. I tighten my hold and discover it’s cloth, so I use it to wipe my nose and ear.
The high-pitched whine in my ear fades, and my vision clears. Thank the gods my healing magic is working. The crowd slowly returns to the edge of the balcony. I glance around me, but everyone is too focused on the trial to pay attention to me. Everyone except Nadya.
And the queen’s fae.
He blinks at me, but I can’t read his expression.
I straighten my shoulders and stare him down. It’s a risky move. If he tells the queen I’m helping Dante, the trial would be forfeited, and Dante wouldn’t get Messanya’s approval for legitimization.
Besides, I can’t be sure it was entirely my power that stopped the giant wave. I can’t imagine the queen would let her audience suffer from a hit like that. And I suspect the audience believes he was in control the entire time.
I take slow, steady breaths, waiting.
Ever so slightly, the fae dips his head and turns back toward the water.
The breath I release is rasped and laced with ache. I glance down at my hands, still trembling. My pulse is a wild, frantic thing.
Below, the tide rolls out again. And Dante rises.
He bursts from the water with a roar, the queen’s trident gripped in his hand, soaked and victorious. His chest heaves, hair plastered to his face, a bleeding gash where his chest meets his shoulder, but he is whole.
The Messanyan court erupts into stunned applause. Even the queen lifts her chin in approval.
But I can barely hear it.
Dante makes his way out of the water and marches toward Queen Verina. He hands her the trident with a bow. She dips her head, and it is only then that his shoulders slump with relief.
I slide back into my seat, trembling. My vision dims at the edges.