Chapter 60
“Ispy…something blue. Guess what it is.”
“Quentin, I swear to the gods, if it’s the sea again, I’m going to strangle you with your baldric.”
Quentin turned from the balcony with a smirk. “Now we’re talking, little wolf. Just the kind of freaky shit we need to pass the time.”
Delaynie, seated on the comfortable leather couch with an open book in her hands, flushed a splendid shade of pink. “Not what I meant.” She slammed the book closed, pushing back her shoulders and heaving a sigh. “Gods, don’t you know how to just sit still?”
His smirk fell slightly, chest tightening. He took a seat on a nearby stool, his leg bouncing as he twirled a dagger between his fingers.
No. He really didn’t know how to keep still. Hence why he had those new scars scouring his back.
And why he’d taken to annoying Delaynie with all the nonsensical games he could remember while they were stuck in this prison.
All things considered, it was a comfortable cell.
He’d been surprised when the pirates hadn’t tossed them in the brig.
Instead, Darius had led them back to the docks and all the way to shore, into the bustling heart of Tenevra.
They were given a suite in a tall building overlooking the bay, consisting of a comfortably appointed living room, a bathroom, and a bedroom.
With a single bed in it.
Quentin had quickly volunteered himself for the couch, and Delaynie hadn’t protested. Even he knew better than to push her that far.
They hadn’t talked about the wreckage of The Vesper. Hadn’t talked about how she’d almost drowned, was almost dragged beneath the waves with the rest of the crew.
Hadn’t talked about what might have shifted between them. What she’d almost told him, before the arrival of Darius’s ship had sealed her lips.
Quentin shook his head, clearing his thoughts.
They hadn’t talked about it because there was nothing to discuss.
They were nestled in the heart of their enemy’s territory, little more than prisoners for these past three days.
The last thing that should be on either of their minds was…
well, whatever it was buzzing between them.
He slid his dagger back into its holster. “Maybe I’ll be able to relax once our jailers finally deign to acknowledge us.”
Delaynie shrugged. “They feed us. This place is comfortable and clean. They’ve given us new clothes. After how the last meeting ended, maybe we should just take each little blessing as it comes.”
He grumbled, turning back to the view of the bay.
She was right, of course. Quentin had definitely not succeeded in being diplomatic at that last meeting with the pirate lord. And when the sea goddess Krilene had strolled in, armor glinting in the sunlight, he’d more or less expected to be tossed overboard right there.
What he hadn’t expected was for the goddess to take one look at them, lift a thin brow, and depart as quickly as she’d arrived.
The pirates had looked just as stunned. Which was when Varyn had waved them off, Darius taking them to these rooms, and dumping them.
Presumably to be forgotten. But Delaynie was right: they were still being fed. A few books—nothing like what they had come here for—were already in the room. Two guards were always posted in the hall just beyond the door.
Beyond that, it had been atrociously boring. No visitors, no leaving. Just watching the bay from the window and pestering Delaynie until she locked herself in the bedroom.
Which would leave him alone with his thoughts, and that was terrifying.
In those moments of solitude, his mind often strayed to his mother.
All she’d told him of his father was that he’d been from the Kizar Islands.
Foreigners were not welcome ashore in Verith, but women of his mother’s profession still had to make a living.
Going aboard the visiting ships was one of the easiest ways to do so.
Quentin cast his gaze about the bustling streets below. Was his father somewhere in this port? Or was he out to sea?
Maybe the ocean had claimed him many years ago.
Maybe he was alive and here and had a family of his own, with no idea that he’d sired a son on a prostitute in a foreign kingdom.
Quentin swallowed. So many circumstances, and he didn’t know which one he’d prefer to be true.
Probably none of them, and he could just continue living in his little bubble where he had no father. The only family he had was the one he made for himself.
He liked that better, anyway.
“Do you think,” he started, feeling Delaynie’s gaze lift to him, “that if I start chucking items into the streets, that’ll get them to finally pay attention to us—”
A quiet rap at the door cut him off. He and Delaynie swung their gazes to the entrance, eyes going wide.
Their lunch was only dropped off an hour ago. Whatever—whoever—this was, it was unexpected and unscheduled.
Excitement dripped through Quentin. Fucking finally.
“Instead of terrorizing the residents of the city, we’re trying to make our allies,” Delaynie said. “Why don’t you go be useful and answer the door?”
Their visitor knocked again, a little louder, as if emphasizing Delaynie’s point.
Quentin lurched off his stool, striding to the door. He gripped the handle, pulling it open.
And froze, eyes wide.
The beautiful woman was garbed in the same paneled dress and gold-plated chest piece she’d worn three days ago. Her pale hair flowed over her shoulders like water, her seafoam-green eyes narrowed and blazing with an inner fire that Quentin suspected never died out.
Krilene, the Goddess of Sea and War, crossed her arms and lifted a delicate brow. “Are you going to stand there like an idiot, Priam’s Soldier, or are you going to invite me in?”
Quentin fought the urge to fidget.
He stood in the living room, arms crossed. Delaynie perched on his stool from earlier, hands folded primely in her lap.
And Krilene lounged on their couch, legs tossed up on the low table. Blades peeked out from the folds of her robes and her ears glinted with gold and mother-of-pearl earrings, more pointed jewelry sparkling dangerously on her fingers.
Delaynie delicately cleared her throat, smoothing the pleats of her linen trousers.
“Thank you for visiting us. We don’t take a visit from Kizar’s patron goddess lightly.”
Krilene snorted. “Of course, you don’t. You can’t, considering I’ve been asleep for five thousand years and just woke up a few weeks ago.”
Quentin’s skin prickled, fingers itching toward his blades.
No. He was going to let Delaynie lead this. He was not to open his mouth. He was not going to ruin this like he always did—
“You look like you have something on your mind, Armature.” Krilene’s purr rattled through him, shaking loose his thinly maintained control.
Maybe it was the three days in near solitude with nothing to occupy his mind. Maybe it was the stress of being in a strange, hostile place. Maybe it was all the failures from the past year finally catching up to him.
Whatever it was, he was tired. And if this goddess wanted the truth from him, wanted to know why he was really on edge, then who was he to deny her?
He knew Delaynie was giving him a hard stare, subtly shaking her head.
He ignored her.
“Is it true?” he asked, voice deathly soft.
Krilene cocked her head. “Is what true?”
“Did you give the order to attack Verith last winter? Did you tell them to sail to the Bay of Nria and harass our defenses, to storm our shores, to slaughter our innocents?” Quentin was snarling now, hands clenched into fists.
“Are you the reason we couldn’t leave the city to find our queen while she was alone and helpless and tortured? ”
The room dripped with his fury, so thick he could taste it. Delaynie flushed a deep red, staring helplessly out the window with a hard set to her jaw.
Fine. She could be mad at him. He couldn’t keep it to himself any longer.
Krilene, though…
Time ticked past, and slowly, Quentin’s anger softened. It still lurked beneath the surface, lingering just at the tips of his fingers.
Because Krilene did not react.
The goddess simply sat there, watching him with her stormy, mercurial stare. She heaved a great sigh, dropping her feet from the table and sitting forward.
“I did not order that attack on your city,” she said quietly.
Quentin blinked. “But Varyn said—”
“Varyn was mistaken. I was not risen at the time the attack was made on Verith. I still slumbered deep in the seas off the Kizar coast.”
“Then if you didn’t order it, why did it happen? Are your pirates that desperate for war?”
Krilene’s eyes flashed. “My people are as fickle as the sea. I did not make them, but through the millennia they have taken after me in that way. I imagine they felt slighted by Onitan trade policies and embargoes, ever since your prior queen had them enacted three centuries ago.” She tossed the silky lengths of her hair over her shoulder.
“My powers were limited while I slumbered, but I sometimes would send messages to my clerics amongst the Kizar. They read the cast of the shells on the beach and interpret my will. Unfortunately, they do not always read true.”
“You’re telling me,” Quentin said slowly, “that innocent people are dead because some clerics improperly read a few shells that washed up on the beach?”
“It is not perfect. And like I said, they were looking for a reason to attack. I sent a message saying one thing, and they decided it meant something different.” Krilene shrugged. “There is nothing I can do now to change the past.”
Quentin didn’t answer. He only held the goddess’s hard stare, grinding his teeth.
He was so fucking tired of these gods.
“What was the message?” Delaynie asked softly. “That you did send them. What did you want them to know?”
Krilene hesitated, something flashing in her eyes. Her expression hardened and she shook her head. “It does not matter. There is no point dwelling on what could have been.”
“Then why come here? You ignored us when we first arrived. So why choose to speak to us now?”