10. Vera
Vera
The sand here got everywhere. In Drakorum, I went to sleep with frigid wind bleeding through my bedroom. But in Saltmourne, it was sand in my sheets, in my hair, grinding between my teeth when the spring wind blew too hard.
There was a time when I dreamed about what it would feel like to sift sand through my fingers while I looked over the ocean to a setting sun. Everett was the first one to plant the image in my mind. In my dreams, his tall figure was always at my side, arms wrapped around me.
“Maybe one day, Songbird.”
But when I opened my eyes, he was gone.
Guilt pricked sharp beneath my ribs. I had him back for two months before I ruined it.
Long enough to know what it was like to breathe the same air outside those cells, to feel his fingers on my skin, to bury my face in the curve of his throat.
Long enough to break a piece of my heart when I walked away.
Tonight, the shutters of the harbormaster’s office were open.
I stood at the narrow window of the map room with a candlestick in my grip, watching the village glow under a bruised-purple sky.
The office sat on a low hill on the outskirts of Kharis, capital of Saltmourne.
On the right, oil lamps lit the tangled web of streets, and beyond that, the desert stretched away in gentle, rippling hills, their pale curves catching the moonlight.
And on the left, the southern port and near-black waters of the Imarian Sea rolled in the distance.
The Triad Realm was three island states that looked almost like a hook: Saltmourne was closest to the Shattered Spine, with its sand dunes and white-washed towers; Ash Serah curved north of us, by far the largest island; and Twin Tides was directly west, the clawed tip of the hook.
There were a few unclaimed islands, a hotbed of illegal pirate activity that no self-respecting merchant would step foot near—the Blackwake territory, with the infamous Shipwreck Cove.
Two guesses how it got that name.
It was where Starke and his crew did most of their salvaging—sorting through shipwrecks for survivors, helping them find their homes, bringing back anything valuable to the Saltmourne harbormaster. Or selling it on the black markets of Blackwake, depending on the day.
A year ago, I didn't even know these names. The Veridian Empire had always felt like the whole world to me. It was funny how small “the whole world” turned out to be.
The candle’s heat pulled me back to reality as the fire burned low in my grip.
I paused to gaze at the flames. They reminded me of my phoenix fire, the way they would lick my skin, darting from fingertip to fingertip.
The wax dripped, dripped, dripped down the short stub and hit my finger with a soft hiss.
I lifted my other hand to trace the flames.
I could barely feel the fire biting into my skin. It smelled like—
“Vera?”
I jumped, dropping my hand. My fingers throbbed where I’d left them in the fire too long. Odessa Velyn’s soft voice drifted up from the table behind me, where she stood at her desk overflowing with scrolls and books. “Did you hear me?” she asked.
“Sorry.” I shook my head and wrung out my hand. The map room smelled like ink, parchment, and bitter tea cooling by Odessa’s elbow. “What did you say?”
“I asked if you needed anything else before I took off.” Odessa adjusted her brass-rimmed spectacles. A curl escaped from the cloth tied around her head, holding back her swath of beautiful, dark brown hair.
“No, I don’t think so. I just need to get reorganized after our trip.” Starke, the crew, and I had gotten back from our voyage late last night. I had to adjust cargo records and log my notes, but I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that map and the phoenix token we found.
I pried the dried wax from my fingers and moved to my desk, which sat opposite Odessa’s.
We shared this space during the day, working as cartographers-for-hire.
Starke convinced the harbormaster to bring her on shortly after me, saying her knowledge of the Triad Realm’s history was invaluable—but I suspected it was also so I wouldn’t be lonely.
And because he probably figured out quickly that I had no actual background in cartography, and Odessa was a great teacher.
Papers were strewn across my desk: charts of the northern seas, old trading routes, and in the center, that torn map from the cavern.
I smoothed the rough edge where it had been ripped in half.
Starke said I was obsessing, but I couldn’t stop this nagging feeling that I was missing something.
Mortep had been spotted near those tunnels, and if I could figure out what this was a map of, maybe I could find what he was looking for and where he’d gone.
“Actually, before you go, I wanted to ask you about this.” I held the weathered parchment out to Odessa. “Have you ever seen anything like it? Any continent or island?”
She crossed the space between us, her colorful wrap cinched at the waist with a belt and swishing at her ankles.
“What is it?” Her voice was quiet, but tinted with her insatiable curiosity.
The historian was only a couple years older than me—in her mid-twenties—but she’d grown up exploring the Triad Realm with her parents.
“Part of a map. I’ve been trying to cross-reference it with other records”—I brandished an arm to the myriad of maps scattered on my desk—“but nothing has this same shape.” They all started to look the same.
Giant blobs of land masses and oceans. All of the Triad Realm, all showing different angles and elevations and perspectives that made my eyes cross.
Odessa leaned forward to get a better look, the scent of floral tea and old parchment wafting closer. Her spectacles slid down the bridge of her nose. “How peculiar,” she murmured.
“Peculiar as in, I’ve seen this a thousand times and can tell you exactly where it is?” I asked hopefully.
Her golden-brown eyes twinkled when they glanced up at me.
“Peculiar as in, this southern portion of land doesn’t resemble any of the three island states, nor Blackwake territory.
” She reached out to run a finger delicately along the border.
“And the way the coastline is drawn here is unfamiliar. Ash Serah has cliffs with elevation like this, but not on its southern tip. Where did you say you found it?”
“I didn’t.” I pursed my lips together. “Starke and I were…poking around some caves.”
“Vera,” Odessa warned, giving me a stern look that reminded me of my mother.
I scratched my chin. “We found a tunnel system on the east side of Twin Tides. There was this door we had to break down with a bunch of dead bodies and treasure inside. We got the torn map off one of the skeletons.”
She blinked up at me. “I don’t know why I bother asking. It’s best if I don’t know.”
I pulled the phoenix token from my pocket. “The captain had this around his neck.”
When Odessa’s gaze caught on the chain swinging from my grip, I could’ve sworn the color drained from her face. “What? Do you recognize it?” I pushed.
The disconcerted look disappeared just as quickly as it came. “No.” She shook her head and looked away. “No. But it—it’s a dead man’s relic. It feels wrong to have it.”
“Trust me, I don’t think he minds.”
She gave me a very Starke look, but moved on. “Depending on how old the bones are, we might be able to look through Saltmourne logs to find records of past shipwrecks near east Twin Tides.”
Eagerness stirred in my gut. “Where can I find those?”
Odessa nodded toward the heavy wooden door at the back of the office. “The archives room.”
“Great. Wasn’t planning on sleeping tonight, anyway. Thanks, Odessa,” I said, gathering a notebook and pencil and making my way to the archives room. When her soft footfalls followed me, I glanced back with an arched brow. “I thought you were turning in for the night?”
She smiled with an inquisitive gleam in her eyes. “Oh, this is far more exciting.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Of course, you’d prefer to spend your evening in dusty shelves than a warm bed.”
The door to the archives room groaned open. The air inside was cooler and drier, more insulated to keep the older records safe. Shelves crammed with scrolls and ledgers lined the narrow room from floor to ceiling. A small window let in a shaft of moonlight, illuminating the dark floors.
I found the shelves with shipping logs dating back around two hundred years and grabbed the oldest ones first. Dust plumed in the air when I plopped one box on the ground. Considering those skeletons we saw were old as dirt, I figured they wrecked a long, long time ago.
We worked in near silence for a while. Odessa muttered dates and ship names under her breath as she stacked ledgers on the table; I combed through old charts, looking for any mention of a shipwreck or Twin Tides.
The handwriting was faded with time, some of it nearly impossible to read.
What I could make out was mostly the same.
Ship names and dates, origin port, what cargo they were carrying, where they docked, what goods they left with.
The occasional damage report or storm sighting.
After an hour, I began to give up hope on this particular trail of breadcrumbs. But then Odessa perked up. “This is interesting,” she said, taking her spectacles off and biting the tip.
“What is?”
“I didn’t think it was worth mentioning at first, but this is the fourth incident I’ve seen.
” She rummaged around her pile until she fisted a piece of paper, put her glasses back on, and began reading.
“Reported sighting of anomalous whirlpool southeast of Shipwreck Cove. Weather clear. We adjusted course farther south to avoid. All hands survived.” She lifted another one from her lap.
“Aftermath of whirlpool encounter. Noon-time storm came quickly from the north. Lost one mast and three deckhands. Strong pull from beneath the ship.”
“A whirlpool? Are you sure?”