Chapter 9
9
SAOIRSE
T he first flush of color from the sunrise leaked into the crystal blue waves of the Southern Sea like spilled watercolor paint. Saoirse stood on one of the many docks jutting out from Caltine Harbor as the salt-laced breeze whispered over the merchant ship that would bear them to Terradrin.
The Tellusun ship had a curved prow with an elegantly crafted stem-head. Whorls of swirling clouds were carved into its oak surface, mimicking the way the wind moved over the dunes of the Shujaa Desert. The carvings crept along the hull of the ship and convened at the ornate stern that glimmered with two rows of bronze-framed windows. Two masts pierced the dawn, lateen sails sitting idle as they loaded the last of their supplies. Because the ship would not only take them to Terradrin but to the Northern Wastes afterward, they had stocked up with enough barrels of wine and crates of dried plants, salted meats, and other non-perishable provisions to last a month. A sizable crew of Tellusun and Terradrin rebels milled about the deck checking the riggings and shouting various orders.
As a Mer, Saoirse had seldom traveled by ship. It had always been much more efficient to travel through the seas in kelpie-drawn carriages or by swimming to a destination herself. It was strange to think how drastically her life had changed since the Tournament. She had walked on land for weeks now, breathing air just as any other land-dweller. With waves lapping softly at the dock and the cry of gulls overhead, bitter-sweet nostalgia seeped into her heart. She itched to hurl herself off the dock and sink deep into the ocean, filling her lungs with the briny waves her body craved. But she knew that after weeks of drinking titansblood and acclimating to breathing air, her progress would be lost if she gave in. Moreover, if she relented and let herself swim in the sea, she might not ever want to climb back out again. And more pressing was the reality that Selussa was undoubtedly searching for her. As the daughter of King Angwin and a descendant of the Mer Queen Basilia, the Maeral Sea could identify Saoirse’s presence in her waves as easily as a mother recognized the cry of her own child’s voice in a crowd. The ebbing tides sloshed below the wooden planks of the dock as if beckoning her under, bits of frothy sea foam spraying the deck. With Selussa in command of the ocean, Saoirse couldn’t risk being identified no matter how desperately she longed to return home to the waves.
Saoirse stared out across the open sea as if she could see the distant lands of Terradrin on the horizon. The sun was still a smear of gold against the flat expanse of blue. Her heart thundered wildly in her chest. What monsters lurked below the ocean’s serene surface? What monsters waited for them in the shadows of the Under Kingdom on the other side?
“Saoirse,” a voice called. Aurelia sidled over with a long-suffering expression on her face. She wrapped her arms around Saoirse and they clung to each other in silence as the waves lapped against the dock.
They had discussed Aurelia’s role in relocating the Mer refugees at length, but her stubborn friend was no less displeased. Saoirse understood her hesitancy. She had rarely been separated from her dearest friend over the last ten years, and even though they were to rendezvous in a week’s time, it felt like a piece of Saoirse’s heart was being chipped away.
“You know how much I hate this,” Aurelia mumbled against her shoulder. “We’re to depart for the Isles as soon as you set sail. It feels wrong to leave without you.” The rescue party would travel by pegasus and arrive at the jungled Isles of Mythos within hours. A flock of winged horses would undoubtedly draw the attention of Aurandel away from the Southern Sea.
“I know.” Saoirse leaned in and inhaled the familiar scent of her hair: lavender and kelp soap. She pulled away from Aurelia and peered into her turquoise eyes. She caught a blonde curl that had freed itself from the tight plait wrapped around the crown of Aurelia’s head, tucking it behind her ear. The translucent scales that shimmered on Aurelia’s high cheekbones were tinged pink and orange in the dawn.
“You are capable and strong,” Aurelia whispered, placing a hand on Saoirse’s cheek. “You don’t need me to protect you. But you know that it crushes me to send you off into the unknown.”
“Our people need you just as much as I do. You will save so many Mer lives. My beloved sister. My captain.”
Aurelia gave a reluctant nod. “Someone needs to keep an eye on Sune and Rook, I suppose,” she replied wryly. She swiped a hand across her tear-streaked face and straightened. “They’ll kill each other if I’m not there to intercede.”
Rook. His name was a sharp pang in her heart. She was grateful for his forgiveness, but the conclusion of their conversation last night was far from satisfactory. She was relieved Rook was with Sune in the city making last-minute preparations for their expedition rather than down at the docks. Seeing him again would likely unravel the last of her fraying nerves.
“Be safe,” Saoirse pleaded. “Selussa will be watching the rescue party, whether through the eyes of her beasts or the whispers in the waves. If you—” her voice faltered. “If you see any sign of my father, tell him I’m sorry. Tell him I love him.”
Aurelia nodded solemnly. “I will.” Her eyes suddenly brightened. “Do you know what day it is today?”
Saoirse smiled sheepishly. “It’s my nameday. I’d hoped you might forget about it. It doesn’t seem that significant considering everything going on.”
“You wound me, princess . How could I forget? Of course, it’s still significant!”
A few weeks ago, Saoirse would’ve thought she’d be celebrating her nameday within the great halls of Kellam Keep. A decadent feast of royal proportions would’ve been spread across multiple tables and the halls crowded to the gills with court guests and fellow members of the Torqen. She would’ve sat beside her father at the head of one of those tables surveying the festivities. And if the Tournament had gone their way, the court would’ve been celebrating Elorshin’s victory by toasting to the Crown of Revelore brought back to the Mer kingdom for the first time in a century. Saoirse could’ve never predicted that her eighteenth nameday would instead be celebrated on a rebel ship bound for Terradrin while the continent descended into war.
“I wish I could give you a gift,” Aurelia mourned. “Alas, I have nothing to my name except the cloak on my back and the sword on my hip. I was going to peruse the selections in the market last night, but Sune?”
“Do share more details of your torrid affair,” Saoirse teased. “That will be a gift enough.” A wicked grin cut across Aurelia’s face and a peel of laughter spilled from her lips. For a fleeting moment, it felt like they were two girls again, whispering across the hallway in the Torqen barracks.
“I don’t think you’d like to hear about what goes on between us,” she laughed. “I can barely stomach it myself.” Aurelia grew serious again. “Jests aside, I am so amazed by the woman you have become, Saoirse. You’re brilliant in every way. Your mother and father would both be so proud of you.”
Saoirse very much doubted that. Her father had been vehemently against her decision to compete in the Tournament, citing her foolishness and naivety. She could still hear the furious words that he’d hurled at her in his study a lifetime ago: Proud of my daughter for almost getting herself killed by a sea dragon? Proud that although I explicitly told her not to try and find the Elders’ Tokens, my daughter went directly against my orders? Which of these are you referring to? Which of these actions should I be proud of?
No, her father was likely dead because of her. She was a disgrace to him now. And her mother…Her mother’s similar ideas of a united Revelore were what got her killed in the first place.
“Are you ready?” a stern voice interrupted. Saoirse turned from Aurelia and watched as Neia Landum strode up the dock. The Terradrin captain’s bone-white hair was pulled back into an iron ring, the colorless sheet of her hair hanging down her back like a horse’s tail. She wore a dark cape that fluttered in the wind, the ink-black fabric posing a sharp contrast to her pallid skin and colorless eyes. Neia stood nearly as tall as Rook and Saoirse had to angle her head to look up at the Terradrin captain.
“Yes, I’m ready.”
“Well stop standing there looking so dour, then,” Neia said briskly. “We’ve got a world to save. Captain Eleni will be fine without you.” The commander strode past her up the gangplank, cloak whipping in the salty breeze.
“Don’t mind her,” came a voice. Captain Rymir Barrow stalked up, a lopsided grin splayed on his face. “She likes to pretend she’s allergic to affection, but she has her moments of tenderness just like anyone else. Don’t let her order you about, either.”
“Easier said than done,” Aurelia mumbled.
Rymir laughed, his half-smile spreading into a charming grin. The harsh shadows of the great hall had made him appear older during their meeting, but the light of the sunrise revealed his youth. The Terradrin captain didn’t seem much older than Saoirse. His pearl-white hair appeared silver in the dawn, a rogue forelock feathering playfully across his right eye. His remarkable intelligence had been on full display during the war counsel, but there was no aura of arrogance about him. Instead, he seemed eager to help and earnest in his presentation.
Saoirse had observed Neia and Rymir’s odd sibling-like relationship last night with curiosity. Neia’s care for the young captain had been obvious in the way she’d burned with pride as he led parts of their meeting. She wouldn’t have guessed the severe former commander of Grivur’s infamous armies was capable of affection, but she supposed if anyone could persuade Neia to love, it would be the young captain. Saoirse got the impression that Rymir likely captured the hearts of everyone he encountered.
“Well, I’ll see you up there, Princess,” Rymir said, one star-bright eye winking at Saoirse. He followed Neia, his long-legged strides catching up to her quickly. When he met with her at the end of the gangplank, Neia punched him in the arm.
Saoirse turned back toward Aurelia, finding her friend cocking an eyebrow up to her hairline. “He’s pretty to look at.”
“Shut up,” Saoirse hissed, her face flushing with heat.
“What?” Aurelia feigned innocence. “All I’m saying is that you might need a distraction. After Rook so foolishly broke your heart, I wouldn’t blame you for moving on to someone new. Especially someone like that. ”
Saoirse couldn’t help but smile. The last thing on her mind was falling for someone again, and if she were being honest, she wasn’t sure if she would ever get over Rook. Even so, Aurelia’s clear attempt at cheering her up warmed her heart.
“Something tells me Rymir flirts with everyone he meets. However, if he does express real interest, I’ll consider it,” Saoirse lied. If it made the little wrinkle of concern melt away from between Aurelia’s eyes, she’d pretend to consider a new paramour.
“Be safe,” Aurelia said somberly. “I love you. I’ll see you soon.”
With one last fleeting glance toward her oldest friend, Saoirse strode down the dock and up the gangplank. The salty sea air gusted across the ship and tugged playfully at Saoirse’s clothes. She couldn’t stop the grin that touched her lips as she felt the ship gently bob on the waves. She’d been on solid land for so long that the sensation almost felt foreign. Bustling volunteers darted across the ship in a chaotic but methodical dance. She dodged a thick rope that suddenly swung down from one of the masts and stepped out of the way as someone rolled a barrel down the deck.
Thinking it better to make herself scarce, Saoirse slipped past the busy shiphands and stood at the railing. She drank in the sight of Aurelia standing alone on the dock, her blonde hair gleaming in the sunrise like a torch. Saoirse dedicated every sensation to memory: the brackish air and gentle sway of the ship, the forlorn expression twisted across Aurelia’s face, the pounding of her heartbeat against her ribcage. Her eyes roved beyond Caltine Harbor, catching on the distant city of Bezhad that sprawled as far as the eye could see, a patchwork mosaic of various shades of terracotta studded with towering palm trees. Veins of green spilled down from the palace and trickled into the lower tiers of the city: the hanging gardens. Saoirse vaguely wondered when she would see the Clay City again. She hadn’t thought about what would happen after they defeated Selussa. She couldn’t permit herself to think of the after.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Hasana came to stand beside Saoirse at the railing. Instead of her usual flowing gowns, the princess wore an efficient tunic and loose linen breeches tucked into boots that strapped all the way up her thighs. The dusty blue fabric of her tunic looked like the cloudless sky of the Shujaa Desert while her billowing sleeves tapered into gold cuffs at the wrists. She wore a leather belt hitched with several pouches across her hips, likely filled with various medicinal herbs and other healing treatments. Her dark, waist-length hair was twisted into an impressive braid twined with bronze beads and threaded with smaller plaits.
“Indeed,” Saoirse answered, shifting her gaze back to the harbor. “My time in Bezhad was a much-needed reprieve. Thank you for allowing my people to find refuge here. Your generosity will be remembered for centuries to come. This is a new beginning for both our kingdoms.”
“Of course. We’ve designated an entire quarter of the city to the Mer refugees, should they choose to make the journey to Bezhad. We cannot be sure how many will voluntarily relocate, but we are prepared for any number.”
“My people are stubborn,” Saoirse replied, a slight smile in her voice. “Even with sea monsters snapping at their heels and a Witch wreaking havoc in their cities, they will be hesitant to trust a former enemy kingdom. But with Aurelia and Sune to guide them, I’m sure some can be swayed.”
“Hoist the mainsail!”
“Ready the riggings!”
The deck was awash with activity as various ropes were lashed and sails unfurled. Apprehension swirled like a vortex in Saoirse’s stomach. Once they pushed out of the harbor, there was no turning back.
The golden sunrise spilled across the deck as the wind caught in the sails and the ship turned east. As the ship nosed through the waves and drifted from the cradle of the harbor, Aurelia became smaller and smaller on the dock until she was nothing more than a speck. Emotion lodged in her throat as the distance between them grew with every passing second. Curls of foam rippled in their wake, and she tried to hold back the tears that burned in her eyes.
“Aurelia will hold her own,” Hasana promised, still standing by her side. “We’ll all be reunited before you know it.”
Saoirse nodded soundlessly and dug her nails into the wood taffrail. For all their sakes, she prayed Hasana was right.
She tore her gaze from the distant harbor, facing Hasana. “I forgot to ask you about the Crown of Revelore. I know you want to destroy it. Did you bring it with us?”
Hasana shook her head. “No. I didn’t think it would be wise to take it on our journey. And with the Relics and Selussa’s impending war, destroying the Crown isn’t our most pressing priority. It is safe for now, waiting for our return. When we do destroy it, I want all of Revelore to watch.”
“You’re waiting for the right time.”
Hasana nodded. “When we break the Crown, it will be a symbolic death, a public execution. The Crown’s destruction will usher us into a new age. It will shatter the web of hostilities our kingdoms have clung to all these years. We’ve fought over that piece of metal for far too long. I want all kingdoms to partake in our triumph.”
It was a moving sentiment, but Saoirse privately wondered if the Crown’s legacy would be so quickly abandoned. Even if it was destroyed and its symbolism crushed under the rebellion’s promise of freedom, how would the kingdoms of Revelore adapt? The deep hatred and rivalries of their kingdoms ran deep, generations of pain and bloodshed that wouldn’t be overcome easily. She didn’t know if breaking the Crown would be enough to unite Revelore.
Saoirse’s eyes drifted back to the sea. How had the Four Kinsmen done it all those centuries ago? Despite the impossible odds, they’d rallied together and combined forces to defeat the Titans. At the end of the world, it hadn’t mattered if they were different. It hadn’t mattered if they hailed from sky, sea, sand, or earth. Under scales and wings, they shared the same flesh and blood. Their mortality had united them.
Maybe breaking the Crown of Revelore wouldn’t be enough to unite Revelore, but perhaps the resurrection of the Titans would. Now, thousands of years later, Revelorian mortals were faced with the same storm that the Four Kinsmen had conquered. In the grand scheme of things, petty rivalries and warmongering had never seemed so futile and foolish. They’d wasted a century away with feuds and Tournaments, embroiled in a cycle bloodshed that didn’t matter in the end. They should’ve been preparing for the Titans’ return and strengthening their alliances. Instead, every kingdom had been locked in a dance of wills that claimed countless innocent lives.
Saoirse’s ancient ancestors had come together once before, overcoming the odds and uniting their diverse peoples. She had to believe that they could do it again.