Chapter 8
When I wake on our seventh and final day at sea, it’s to the warm rays of midmorning sun shining through the cabin porthole. Overhead, footsteps echo as the crew crosses the deck, and shouted commands seep through the floorboards.
The journey so far has been anything but predictable.
The weather shifts constantly—one moment calm and serene, with blue skies and gentle seas, only to erupt into sudden chaos the next, with dark clouds and choppy waters tossing the boat like a toy.
The initial nausea I felt when we left port has come and gone in waves, much like the sea itself.
Nyssa, however, hasn’t been as fortunate, spending most of her time convalescing in our cabin, unable to find her sea legs amid the turbulence.
For the past several days of our journey, Myna has been running us through the etiquette of Vilea and its court.
Although Nyssa and I learned of the different cultural and societal expectations of the four kingdoms at the Aviary, we jumped on the offer to make sure the protocols were fresh in our minds.
A somber atmosphere lingers over Alpha Flight, likely stemming from the prospect of approaching the land where they lost their former Flight Commander.
No one has disclosed what led to Kestrel’s downfall, leaving the fate of one of the Aviary’s most legendary Nightwings shrouded in mystery.
Though my curiosity burns deeply, I’ve chosen not to ask.
Their guilt and grief are palpable, surfacing in unguarded moments when they believe no one is watching.
Despite it, they press on, driven by an unyielding compulsion to follow the commands of the order.
The ship bucks beneath me, jolting me from my thoughts as I stretch my cramped body and rub the sleep from my eyes.
I crawl out of my small bunk, ducking under one of Nyssa’s feet where it hangs over the side of hers, and peer outside.
Not too far off in the distance, the ocean crashes against jagged cliffs, and my old excitement for seeing the realm reignites like the sun emerging after a storm.
Turning in the small space, I shake Nyssa’s foot to wake her. She groans, pulling her blankets farther over her head.
“Go away. You’re not a queen yet.” The words come out muffled from within her burrow.
“It looks like we’re heading into the Sarathros. You know you’ll regret it if you don’t come and see.”
She throws her blankets off and fixes me with a glare that would freeze a lesser woman in place.
Instead, I offer her a dazzling smile before pulling on my clothing and braiding my hair back from my face.
Nyssa finally climbs down from her bunk and gets ready, grumbling under her breath the whole time.
When we emerge from the deck below, the view we’re greeted with takes my breath away.
Jagged cliffs loom above us like two ancient sentinels guarding the kingdoms. The serrated rocks rise from the depths of the ocean, black and menacing against the pale dawn.
Wind howls through the crevices, creating an eerie symphony that carries to where we stand, as insignificant as ants before great earthen deities.
To the left, the cliffs of Eretria ascend into a sweeping mountain range, curving along the northern edge like a natural fortress.
Twisting paths and shadowy caves mar the black stone, tempting me with the many secrets they promise to hide.
Perched on the cliffs of Arkhadia’s coast, the Estos Lighthouse stands tall, a steadfast guardian overlooking the sea.
Behind it, the landscape continues to climb, rising into the Thalkans, their peaks vanishing beneath a veil of clouds.
Right down the center, the ocean flows through the mouth of the Sarathros.
From the maps I’ve seen of the kingdoms, I know this is the narrowest part of the passage; the easternmost points of the land on either side of the break stretch toward one another.
There is an almost melancholy feel to it, like two star-crossed lovers torn apart and doomed to watch the other for the rest of time.
Forever reaching out but never able to close the distance.
“Morning, ladies!”
Nyssa and I tear our eyes away from the view and turn to where Captain Nikolas stands at the helm.
“Captain,” Nyssa greets him with a flutter of lashes and a coy smile, and I work hard not to roll my eyes.
Despite spending most of the time on the ship with her head buried in a bucket or hanging overboard while she hurls her guts up, she’s still managed to find the energy to flirt. My friend is relentless.
“You’ll want to find something to hold on to!” Nikolas calls. “It’s a bit of a wild ride heading into the Sarathros.”
Rather than risk being tossed overboard, we head up the stairs to join him at the helm.
The water has grown rough and choppy, making it difficult to keep my footing, but I take hold of the railing on the upper deck and plant my feet wide.
Nikolas flashes us one of his trademark smiles before giving his full attention back to the wheel.
Facing forward again, I catch sight of the remnants of a building far in the distance, nestled in the mountains lining the cliffs of Arkhadia.
Even in its state of ruin, there is something so profoundly captivating about its forgotten beauty, I’m unable to look away.
From this distance, I can make out the crumbled stone walls, glimmering in the light that manages to pierce through the veil of clouds.
“What’s that?” I call out to the captain over the sound of the waves. I don’t recall seeing the ruins marked on my map back in the Sorrows. How many of these forgotten landmarks were disregarded after the war? What else is out there, waiting to be rediscovered?
Nikolas grimaces as he follows my line of sight, his shoulders tensing as he strains against the pull of the ocean.
“A remnant of the Empyrieos, I imagine—before the God War tore the world apart.”
“And it’s been left to fall to ruin?” Nyssa asks, her eyes wide with astonishment.
“Few are brave enough to live so deep in the Thalkans.”
I open my mouth to respond, but the ship lurches, flinging my body into the railing. I grip the wood tight while the captain’s words hang heavy in the air, mixing with the tension among the crew as we draw nearer to the cliffs.
Beneath us, the ship creaks and groans as it battles against the waves, and I turn my attention to the sailors shouting orders and pulling on ropes below, straining to keep The Nightingale on its course.
We start to enter the mouth of the Sarathros, and the ship shudders as waves crash against its hull like blows from a blacksmith’s hammer.
The wind howls, tearing at the sails and ripping my hair free from its braid.
Salt water sprays my skin, stinging my eyes and leaving my lips parched.
“Hold on,” Nikolas warns, his voice tight. I eye him sidelong as he grunts at the helm, rolled-up sleeves revealing the straining muscles of his forearms as he holds the wheel steady.
“We’ll make it through?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light despite the sliver of apprehension widening within me. Regardless of my effort, the words come out strained, through gritted teeth. The air gets trapped in my lungs, my body unwilling to release it in case I end up overboard.
“The crew and I have ridden the Sarathros countless times before. The trick is all in keeping her steady.”
The confidence in his tone, lacking its usual roguish charm, soothes my concerns, and I release my pent-up breath, easing the burn in my chest.
Regardless, I maintain my death grip on the railing.
Tense moments crawl past while Nyssa and I battle to stay upright.
My heart beats in my throat and I remain silent, not willing to risk distracting the captain from his task with nervous chatter.
The ship lurches again, and the prow rises, angling toward the lightning bolt of blue sky between the craggy clifftops above us.
My stomach bottoms out as we crest a rough wave and the ship slams back down.
Seawater crashes over the deck, drenching us all in its salty spray.
Nyssa gasps as her hold on the railing slips, and I grab hold of her before she topples over. Her face has lost its usual warmth, taking on the pallid green I’ve become more familiar with over the past few days.
She starts to thank me, but then fixes me with a narrow-eyed glare. “I knew I should have stayed in bed.”
A slightly manic laugh bubbles up from my chest, sharpened by the roiling mix of fear and exhilaration. It’s silenced as another wave crashes into us, the force sending the ship tilting precariously.
And this time, it’s my grip that slips from the rail.
For a heartbeat, I feel the terrifying pull of the aether as I lurch backward. A hand clamps around my arm, steadying me before I lose my balance entirely. I glance up to see Nyssa, her knuckles white where they clutch me, her eyes wide with fear that mirrors my own.
The ship bucks again, and we both cling to the railing, the cold spray of salt water drenching us to the bone.
The air is thick with shouts from the crew and the creaking groans of the vessel fighting against the water’s wrath.
The Sarathros seems alive, its waves relentless, as if testing every ounce of strength we have.
Another wave surges, slamming the prow with a force that rattles through my chest, and my muscles ache as the wet chill seeps into my skin.
Every second we’re upright feels like a minor victory.
My gaze darts between Nyssa, the crew, and the focused captain at my side, my heart pounding at the possibility that one slip could mean disaster.