Chapter 38
JO
The smell of salt water elicits such a profound sense of nostalgia that it makes my heart hurt.
I keep my eyes on the horizon, searching for a glimpse of the sea or cottage, whichever were to appear first. The view of the coast blocked only by gentle, rolling hills.
Acker said we should reach our destination by midday, and while the temperature is blisteringly cold, we at least have clear skies, even if the sun’s warmth barely touches my skin.
I suppose I should just be grateful that it’s not snowing. That and the fact I’ve been granted the privilege of having my own horse for this trek, which almost makes up for having to follow behind the horse shared by Acker and his wife.
I’ve tried not to dwell on Irina’s words from the day we arrived at the tavern, but they’ve been nagging at me. Her insistence that we’re equals, somehow, as if what I have with Acker is on the same level as the tryst between her and Acker that left her heartbroken.
What I had with Acker, anyway.
I’m ashamed of how juvenile and petty my thoughts have become.
It’s not as if I need to prove anything to her, but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought of grabbing Acker by the front of his shirt just so I can plant my mouth on his and show her that we are not in the same boat.
That I could have him if I wanted to … I’m just fairly sure that I don’t.
Not when he only wants to use me as a tool to further his ambitions.
If I was okay with being used, I would never have left Kai.
I don’t know if he influenced me, but I firmly believe he thought I was going to play a pivotal role in getting him out of Alaha.
I think it’s the only reason he even revealed any of the information his father shared with him, especially regarding the truth of my identity.
He heard his father speak of a prince who had searched for me at the Market the year before I was set to visit with my class of guards in training.
While I humored Kai’s belief that I was the lost princess of Maile, I was also desperate to get onto land, so I agreed to his ill-conceived plan to go to the Market together.
Neither of us, however, considered the possibility that the prince—Acker—would accuse me of thievery and threaten to cut off my hand when he saw me.
Just when I’m sure I’ve reached the limits of my sanity, I spot a glint in the distance.
As we get closer, I’m able to distinguish the sunlight gleaming off the copper roof of the cottage, although cottage is a tame word to apply to the sprawling estate atop the hillside.
The stone walls are white, bleached from the salt water and sun over the decades or centuries it’s been standing.
Arched glass windows stretch from the bottom to the top of the third floor.
Gardens frame the structure with a variety of colorful plants that I’m positive aren’t native to the area, and I figure they must be maintained by an earth elemental.
It’s not long after when I’m able to make out the sound of waves crashing against the shoreline that must be just over the hill.
I squeeze my legs against my horse, urging him into a gallop toward the top.
The wind bites at my face and ears, and whips my hair into knots, but I’m too eager to care.
Once the horse’s hooves meet stone instead of grass, I pull on the reins to slow him to a stop before the cottage’s gate.
The wrought-iron entrance stands open. The walkways through the gardens are limestone, the same stone as the cliffs at the Market.
A footman hurries out the front door and down the stone steps toward us, servants hot on his heels.
He greets Acker with a bow. “My apologies, your highness. We were not expecting you.”
But it’s not the grandiose property with accents of metal and glass that has my attention, but the booming sound of waves from over the hill.
I’m swinging myself down from the saddle just as Fredrich and Acker maneuver their horses to a stop beside mine. But I don’t wait for them, my heart pounding in my chest as I follow the well-worn path leading beyond the cottage.
“Let her go,” I hear Irina say behind me.
I venture underneath trellises of climbing roses, around the iron fence and the side of the estate.
Cresting the hill, the ocean air slaps me across the face, the smell of salt like a balm for my tired soul.
The water that crashes on the beach below is bright blue and gnarly.
It’s very different from the water found in the gulf off the coast of Maile, where the ocean mixes with the muddy water of the Yanka River, creating a murkier blue with a sweeter scent.
Messer, despising being landlocked, never understood my willingness to live in the palace, so far from the coastline, but it’s because nothing could ever measure up to the sea that surrounded us in Alaha for the majority of our lives.
This is exactly what I’ve been missing.
Stairs are carved into the cliffside, and I eagerly head down them.
They’re uneven and broken in places, making the descent all the more treacherous, but my excitement is too great to slow down.
Toward the bottom, they become pockmarked from erosion, showing just how high the water can get when the tide comes in, likely often swallowing the beach completely.
I sit on the second to last step to remove my boots and socks, then roll up my pant legs.
My toes sink into the cool sand as I make my way toward the crashing waves.
The ocean has carved and shaped the cliffside into a half circle, which causes the wind to whistle loudly against the limestone walls as it blows around the cove.
My clothes plaster against my body and my hair is even more of a mess by the time I reach the point where the water rolls onto the flat of sand.
I’m prepared for the surf to be cold, but even still, it surprises me enough that I suck in a sharp breath through my teeth.
As much as the cold water bites at my bare skin, I don’t move as the water recedes and then rushes in again with a vengeance. I stare at the expanse of water laid out before me. Large and foreboding and so much like the view that I grew up resenting. Now, it offers me a semblance of home.
Alaha is out there.
Past the horizon and further away than most probably realize.
Where majestic trees, larger than any that live here on land, rise from the water, their soaring canopies providing sanctuary to a forsaken people.
It’s not the Alaha way of life that I miss—the desperate existence carved out over the ocean—but a time when everything felt simpler.
All Kai ever talked about was getting to land, and while doing so, it also subjected them to a life of violence and uncertainty.
What if the cost is ultimately too great?
Isn’t that what Wren always warned Kai about?
I feel Acker’s presence behind me. Looking over my shoulder, I spot him at the top of the hillside, his arms folded across his chest, standing like he’s ready to fight the ocean if it decides to try to swallow me whole.
If the water was warmer, I’d probably let it.
I turn my gaze back to the ocean, hating that Acker can likely feel the barrage of turbulent emotions flooding through me.
It’s infuriating, considering all I’ve sacrificed in the name of preventing him from intruding into my mind and life, the shame I carried with the weight of stones around my neck as the leader of Maile, for my people to know my greatest weakness, only to find out that it was all for nothing.
Beau was right in her assessment that magic doesn’t like being denied, but even more than that, I think Acker hates being denied even more.
I still remember the night Kai snuck up to my shiel, panicking, his face stricken as he made me swear to never let his father touch me.
He explained that there’s no chance of shielding the power of influence if there’s direct contact.
His ramblings sounded nonsensical, and it wouldn’t be until the day at the Market, when I touched the stone cliff so much like the one Acker is standing on right now, that I truly understood why Kai was adamant about teaching me to shield my mind.
And I did.
For so long and so well that I think … I think I even hid the truth of who I am from myself.
My thoughts and feelings and magic. All of it shoved to the furthest reaches of my soul, as if I should be ashamed of being vulnerable instead of embracing the power it gives me.
Closing my eyes, I reach for the place where my magic resides.
The tether to the Bond is there, but I ignore it as I implore my gift to respond to my calling.
Like igniting a long wick, the heat spreads up the center of my chest, toward my neck, before moving to my right shoulder, down my arm and into my upturned hand.
I open my eyes to the flicker of light building in my palm.
Brighter than the wintery sunlight, it dances.
I think it’s about time my gift and I become well acquainted.