Chapter Two
MILA
Mila’s heart shuddered against her ribcage.
Shuddered.
She breathed too fast for it to keep up, or beat in a rhythmic, human way.
When a white-tipped wave crashed over the side of her boat, she fought a rush of fear so powerful she almost fainted.
Scalp tingling, vision woozy, she spirited her feet out of the way a second before the splash touched her ankle.
“Oh, no,” she cried. Her voice wobbled.
Frantic, she scrubbed the water droplets off of her ankle. Ten seconds later, nothing happened. No painful slam into her body. No warping of her soul. The seawater simply vanished off her skin.
Mila released a steady breath. She hadn’t died, nor been taken captive by the water. Miracles. She warily lowered her foot to the opposite bench. If the seawater sloshed in her boat, it didn’t count as touching the ocean. Her presence couldn’t be detected from the hull.
Still.
Close call.
Eyes closed, she drew in three more shaky breaths, attempting to control the fluttering restriction around her chest. She’d never advance into the ocean more than five boat lengths at this rate, and then where would she end up?
Firmly in her aunt Stinna’s grasp again.
Not.
Worth.
It.
A bold voice reached into her thoughts, questioning her relentlessly, and it sounded like her favorite aunt, Stulla. What have you done, Mila? You cannot do this! It’s not safe for you on the water. Onskar will find you.
Gripping the oar, Mila whispered, “I’m fine, Stulla. Right now, I’m fine. I’m fine. Remember? That’s what you taught me about anxiety. I can convince myself out of it with facts. I’m fine, fine, fine.”
The repetition didn’t make her sentiment more true, for she had never been less fine, but it turned her heart from a frenzy to a flutter. The cadence evened it out, like the horizon.
Progress.
“There,” she breathed. “I’ll just talk myself through launching alone into the wide sea and show you all the reasons you’re wrong, Stulla. There is a greater world out there. Scary, it might be. But beautiful, it is.”
Not that she knew it was beautiful, anyway.
Anything about Elestra that didn’t take place within her stone castle home was an assumption.
Mila glanced over her shoulder, saw a wide sky and a wider sea.
The Westlands had utterly vanished in the distance.
Panic returned. Her throat closed to the size of a pebble.
“In,” she wheezed. “Out.”
Coaching didn’t help.
Not in the least.
Never, ever touch the sea, Mila, Stulla’s memory reminded her in a fervent, frightened whisper.
You cannot directly touch the sea if you want to live.
There is too much unknown about you. Too much that ties you to the water.
If you access the sea arcane, it may call Onskar to your side and he’ll learn you’re alive.
All of our sacrifice will come to naught.
He’ll destroy you. Never touch the sea. Not once. Do you understand?
Mila wailed, “I understand!”
She’d stolen out of her home, crept over a rough mountain pass, discovered an abandoned boat on the shoreline, and sailed onto the very thing that might kill her. The sea. Oh, how well she finally understood the risks to her life.
“Porpoises!” she shrieked under her breath. “What have I done?”
Touched the sea, countered her inner critic, who sounded just like sharp-tongued aunt Stinna. As Stulla told you not to. You always do this, Mila. You always do and are the opposite of who you should be.
“I haven’t touched the sea,” Mila countered with a huff. “I’ve touched a boat. Clearly, I haven’t died. It’s fine.”
Clearly.
Silencing those words—she didn’t need the truth right now, even as perceived through mind-delusions—she clamped her hands around the tiller.
“I’m okay,” she whispered. “I’m okay, okay, okay.” Mila lifted her neck, chin high. She declared, “I am Mila! I am the daughter of?—”
She cut off.
Well.
No need to go there, either.
If she said the words a Siren Queen, she might conjure her protective mother and nineteen aunts. And if she admitted to being the daughter of the Mother Queen, maybe Onskar would appear from the sea and take her captive, as they all feared. Stinna, certainly, would already be searching for her.
Stinna had a way of showing up at the most inconvenient times . . .
Mila swallowed her rising fear and opted for courage. She had little choice. She snuck away from the Westlands, managed to board this abandoned vessel and spring onto the sea without falling in. She must press onward.
Thoughts of home conjured Mother, and cold stones, and exacting aunts, and daily failures. Routines, tests, lessons. She couldn’t bear the memories. They closed her throat, clouded her mind. They were awful.
But this?
This was freedom. Hope. Adventure. Life outside of the Westlands in all its imperfect glory. Her aunts and Mother had striven to hide her all these years. Striven to test her capabilities, her desires, but never gave her a true chance to live.
Breathe.
Exist.
“This is going to be fine. I can sneak away from home, onto a bigger ship that’s farther out to sea, and find a place to hide. At least for now. There are islands all over the place. I’ve seen the maps. Stulla told me about the land explosion. This will be fine.”
She almost convinced herself that was true, but the quiet sea forced her to acknowledge she was kidding herself.
Nothing was fine.