Chapter Eight #2
There was no denying that condescension seethed from the passage Petya had just read.
Then again, a man who wore a giant gold medallion around his neck in token of his position was unlikely to be humble.
“I suppose someone who grew up around whatever modern monstrosities the Empire was built upon would find the way the rest of us live . . . rustic.”
“It’s not just that.” Her lips pursed. “He trained in the Empire, did he not? In the very shadow of the Emperor’s own castle.
It’s clear that he’s met many members of the Imperial Court.
And he wrote this book while dining at Gwynira’s table.
He must know that the power of gods is real.
But he speaks with such disdain of the goddess, as if she could not have been just as real. ”
Well, that was an opening if he had ever heard of one. He rubbed a hand over the too-long strands of his hair. Usually he’d have cut it by now, but he liked the way Naia ran her fingers through it. “That’s actually why I’m here. Something happened today while we were helping rebuild Jamyskar.”
Petya sat up at once, swinging her leg over the chair so that both boots were on the cabin floor. The cat yowled in surprised outrage, twisting to hit the worn carpet on all four paws. Einar was given another baleful look before the cat stalked past him, clearly tired of human follies.
Petya hardly seemed to notice. “Has Sorin attacked again?” she demanded.
“No, nothing like that,” Einar reassured her. “It’s just . . .”
His words trailed off. Petya stared at him, waiting, but Einar couldn’t think of any way to say something so momentous. Perhaps if he worked up to it . . . “Gwynira’s slimy bottom feeder of a seneschal tried to strike a villager, and Naia threw him against a wall.”
Petya relaxed with a snort. “Good for her.”
“She did it without using her hands.”
“So she used water?” Petya studied him, her wrinkled brow furrowing. “No, that wouldn’t have you so shaken. We all saw her fight against Sorin. What happened, Einar?”
“She almost choked him to death. I think she would have, if Aleksi hadn’t stopped her. And she . . .” His mouth felt dry. He wished he had some of Brynjar’s mead. Even one of the terrifying experiments. “She told Jaspar that he would not touch her people.”
Petya went utterly still. Her unblinking gaze caught his, demanding silently that Einar just say the words.
So he did. “She remembers. She remembers all of it. This island, her life before. She’s—”
“The goddess,” Petya whispered.
“Yes,” Einar agreed just as softly.
Einar wasn’t sure what he had expected. A gasp of shock, perhaps. A cry of revelation. Tears, or laughter, or something, certainly—something momentous enough to mark a moment so huge it hardly seemed real.
But Petya simply stared past him and tilted her head to one side. He measured the endless silence in five slow breaths before she finally said, “Well, then.”
All of his tension escaped in a disbelieving laugh. “The goddess you’ve worshipped your entire life appears before us, and that’s all you have to say?”
“I did tell you, didn’t I?” She reached for the leather cord around her neck and drew out her necklace—the ancient symbol of the goddess.
What had once been a seashell cast in bronze had worn almost smooth from centuries of Petya’s thumb rubbing over it like she did now.
“That she reminded me of home. And I warned you not to trifle with her.”
“I didn’t,” he protested.
Her faint smile melted away, replaced with the look—the one that she’d pinned him with after every teenage misadventure or childish rebellion, when he’d inevitably tried to cover his misdeeds with denials or justifications.
It was still strong enough to heat his face, and make him grateful that no one else was here to find out that the terror of the seas, the Western Wall, the immortal Kraken himself, could be brought so easily to heel by one eyebrow quirked in disbelief.
But he wasn’t a misbehaving youth anymore, and of all people in this world, Petya should know exactly where things stood.
“I might have trifled with her to start,” he acknowledged.
“But what we’re doing together now is not trifling, Petya.
I’m not playing a game with Naia or with Aleksi.
What we have—whatever else it is—it is real. ”
Her expression softened. “I know, my boy. And it is good. It is right. The Kraken—” Her voice hitched, the swell of emotion he’d expected finally rolling through her. “The Kraken is the goddess’s lover again.”
Einar was unprepared for the sudden yearning that rose from depths unknown to tangle around his heart.
Fear came with it, tiny pinpricks that tried to seed doubt.
Now that she remembered, would she find him lacking?
She’d known the storm god in his prime. She’d loved a legend who was so much more than Einar had ever been.
“A pale shadow of the Kraken, maybe,” he corrected softly. “I hope I can live up to him.”
“You will,” Petya whispered, closing her fist around the bronze pendant.
Her eyes had gone liquid, as if she was fighting back tears.
Einar knelt before her, resting his hands on her knees.
She was old but strong, like stone weathered by the tide.
She’d looked the same for as long as he could remember, all lean muscle and weathered skin, and short hair that was a combination of silver and sun-bleached.
She’d spent most of her life away from it, but her bones were made of the bedrock of this island, the salt in her blood from its shores. “Do you want to come and see her?” Einar asked softly. “I know you didn’t want to leave the ship, but maybe now—”
She pressed her fingers to his lips, cutting him off. “I’m not ready,” she replied. “This island . . . her palace.”
Gwynira’s icy home had been constructed on the bluff where his parents’ castle had once stood—the place where Petya had lost everything. Einar was unsurprised she still couldn’t face setting foot inside. “I understand. I can bring Naia to the Kraken. I know she’d like to speak to you.”
“When there’s time.” Sudden steel filled her eyes, and she cupped Einar’s cheek. “It is even more important to find out who at court meant her harm. Power is dangerous, and if she has reclaimed her memories . . .”
Then she would be dangerous, indeed. The goddess had been ancient before the High Court took their first steps as Dreamers.
A primordial force, like Sachi or Zanya.
But Sachi and Zanya had been born as mortals who had to feel their way into their new powers.
Naia now walked the world with unknown centuries of knowledge.
Eliminating her would be essential to their enemies now.
Abruptly, Einar was uncomfortable being away from the palace.
Petya sensed it in his sudden stiffness, and nodded before urging him to his feet.
“Protect her,” she commanded. “That has always been the Kraken’s duty.
You’ve been preparing for this since the first time you took us to war against the Empire’s armies. ”
Perhaps he had, at that. Petya had raised him on stories of the storm god and his fearsome alter-ego, the Kraken. Those had combined with his rage at the Empire and his grief at everything he’d lost.
In this world where they walked, dreams could come true.
His dream had always been to be a strong protector for those in his care.
Strong enough to shelter the people he loved from the Empire, as he could not have done as a mortal.
That dream had made him what he was—fierce, dangerous. A monster hiding in the body of a man.
After nearly two thousand years, Einar was finally strong enough. And anyone at this court who meant his lovers harm would learn that truth swiftly enough.
He’d let them live just long enough to realize it. And then he’d do what monsters did.
Protect what was his.