Chapter Four
MILA
Mila almost plummeted into the sea.
Multiple times.
If it hadn’t been for a friendly wind that stopped her from pitching overboard after a large swell, or falling square on her back from the top of the mast, she might have seriously injured herself.
To her greatest delight, the guiding force remained surprisingly strong and consistent since she left the Westlands.
Otherwise, she wouldn’t have made it far at all.
While regarding the horizon and her plans—of which she had none—a surge of water swelled into the little boat near her feet. She squeaked and leaped onto a crate. Where had that leaked in from?
After scouring the boat, she grabbed one of her spare dresses, shoved the fabric inside, and plugged the hole.
The fabric darkened as sea water wetted it, but didn’t allow more water inside.
The welling water ceased. With a small bucket thankfully abandoned with the boat, she hauled the rest out, enjoying the way it sparkled in a cascade.
The dulcet sounds always reminded her: Don’t touch the sea.
Her stomach gnawed on itself with hunger, but it would subside soon enough. If she didn’t eat for a week or two, she’d be fine, but it didn’t stop the unpleasantness. The time between her meals had been elongating for years now. Eventually, she would cease requiring food at all.
She hadn’t worked this much in all that time, however. Surely, her body required more energy than ever before. Since she wasn’t yet mature enough to be wholly arcane, she’d need sustenance.
At some point.
Eh. She’d deal with it later.
With the wind bearing her forward, nothing to eat, the leak stoppered—for now—and the water returned to the sea where it belonged, Mila chewed on her bottom lip.
What next? She hadn’t thought to pack entertainment, and hadn’t had the time to whisk away a map.
Besides, she didn’t know how to read one, even if she had managed it.
Chin elevating, she declared, “I’ll find the closest island that I can!” Wind gusted along her spine, dancing her skirt around her legs. She turned her face into it. “Can you help me, Arcanist of the Sky? Are you willing?”
The responding surge nearly knocked her off her feet, both confirming her hunch that she received the Arcanist’s assistance, and delighting her.
She wasn’t so alone. A frisson of delight ran through her spine.
Such rebellion! She not only left without telling her overprotective mother and aunts, but now spoke to an Arcanist. They would never forgive her.
How deeply thrilling and utterly terrifying.
Take that, Stinna.
Laughing, Mila cried, “I’ll take that as a yes!
” More thoughtfully, she added, “My aunts say that I shouldn’t trust Arcanists, but .
. . I think maybe they are the ones who are untrustworthy.
Can you take me somewhere safe?” Mila glanced around with a thoughtful tilt of her head.
“I suppose you already are, and thank you. I appreciate you.”
A playful twirl tossed her hair. Mila laughed, batting it out of her eyes. For a moment, she thought she heard a whisper, a hint. Something. And oh, how she longed to hear another voice. She’d never felt so lonely.
Then again . . . she’d never been this alone before.
In a castle of nineteen aunts and Mother, privacy and quiet time had been a rare luxury.
There was always someone wanting to play Pidgeon or cards or puzzles or practice finding her arcane abilities with her.
She hadn’t expected to miss their overbearing protectiveness much, but found an empty ache inside her.
The wind gave her reassurance that she hadn’t headed into her own demise. As the daughter of a Siren Queen, she wasn’t subject to the same rules as humans—despite her fear of touching the sea, it couldn’t kill her. Nor could the wind, the land.
But Onskar could.
The Arcanist of Souls.
Her greatest enemy, biggest threat. The one being in Elestra who held the power to harm her.
Obliterate her soul, actually. He didn’t know she existed because Mother and all of Mila’s aunts left their home in the wide ocean to raise Mila in a protected, stony mountain bowl, where she could remain away from the sea arcane and Onskar.
Amidst other reasons, like holding her captive, the sirens kept her safe while they trained her to fight and overcome Onskar .
. . and remain alive. Many of her aunts acted like moving into the castle was a terrible sacrifice, but they had all agreed to living away from the water to keep Mila safe.
But at their core, they once planned to use Mila as a tool to defeat Onskar.
Until she couldn’t access her abilities.
You must remove Onskar, Amalia stated, as simply as asking Mila to pass the sugar. As planned, you are the only one who can take his place, daughter of wyvern and siren. So, we’ll teach you to use the arcane to defeat him.
Born a captive, and raised as a captive. More than stone walls kept Mila locked within, but purpose and fate.
You are a siren, Mila, Stulla’s voice drifted through her mind, a reluctant memory.
We are the most at home in the waves. Yet the waves will recognize you, and Onskar will sense you are alive and sense your abilities.
Unlike us, whose arcane originates in our anchor, the sea, he is the anchor for all arcane and senses all the arcane.
A horrid thought occurred to Mila. “Oh no.” Heat drained from her cheeks as she called, “Are you taking me to Onskar? Is this a giant trap?”
Several crosswinds accosted her at the same moment, sending her into a whirling tizzy. Spinning from their power, she banged a shin, almost slammed into the mast, and stumbled until she landed hard on her tailbone.
“Ouch!”
Growling and grumpy, she pushed to her feet and shoved hair out of her eyes.
“I’ll take that as a no.”
The storm calmed.
Sighing, Mila said, “Stulla and Stinna always told me I was too kind, too naive, too innocent. Maybe . . . maybe they’re right. If I am, it’s because they sheltered me. If I am, then I’ll learn the ways of Elestra, and resiliency, too.”
With growing determination, she set her jaw and declared, “I’m here to learn, Arcanist of the Sky!
My aunts told me to never trust an Arcanist, but they also held me prisoner in a castle, so I’m going out on my own.
You and me. We’ll find a new island together and then they can’t tell me I’m sheltered! ”
More quietly, she added, “Maybe I’ll figure out how to access my frozen arcane in the meantime.”
The wind sang a lowly warble in her ear.
The first day passed in a blur.
The second in a fury.
The third in a song.
Her trust in the silent, unseen Arcanist strengthened with each passing hour that their progress remained unimpeded. No storm built on the western horizon, giving her more and more hope.
She did it.
Really did it.
Her entire life lay ahead. She might have escaped their clutches forever. What would stop her? She had a boat, a friend, and intermittent need for human comforts. Any day now, her maturity would advance until she’d stop needing both sleep and food, and all the world would lay at her fingertips.
Freedom is what Mother kept from her. Life.
The wind bore Mila south-southeast most of the time in an unfailing and unbroken path.
She ignored the hunger and thirst pangs and scoured the horizon, craving land.
Her skin didn’t burn. Her body didn’t break down.
She smelled sea spray, delighted in watching breaching whales, and soaked in the adventure.
At twilight on the third day, a new scent entered her nose. Breathing deep, she brought it all the way to the bottom of her lungs, bemused.
What was it?
Concentrating her stare, she focused on a flicker of something ahead.
Were those . . . lights? Definitely. Lights and .
. . boats. She could have sworn she made out the vague outline of masts and sails.
She cupped a hand around her ear to catch a fleeting hint of laughter carrying toward her. It must be an island.
An island with humans on it.
Humans who didn’t know her! Humans who had no idea of her lineage, her arcane failures, the truth she carried in her skin, her face. Humans who daily sailed the ocean and enjoyed the vast sunset without guilt or recrimination.
Mila gasped and squealed.
“Arcanist! You found me an island!”
A confirmatory twirl of wind danced through her hair.
“This will be my first time around humans. Oh, I can’t wait.” Giddy, she danced in place. The elation lasted only a moment before a sobering realization took its place.
Oh, no.
She had to bring this vessel into land.
Dragging in another deep lungful of blessed sea air, she squared herself to the task.
Somehow, she’d accomplish it without crashing into another ship.
She’d pull right up to the beach and daintily leap over the edge of the vessel and onto sand.
If water spanned the space between her and the dock, she’d .
. . toss a net and reel herself in, or something.
Stulla always said she was clever and creative and inventive, although it hadn’t been praise. Only disappointment. They longed for ruthless, brutal, and fierce, while Mila preferred to stay with her kindly aunt Venna in her lone garden and listen to the wind whistle in her ears.
Mila clutched the weathered wooden tiller handle as the wind noticeably lessened in the sails.
“Lessening wind. Makes sense,” she murmured, gripping the tiller tightly. “Slowing the approach, yes.” Clearing her throat, she asked, “Is there, um, something I should be doing?”
The Arcanist of the Sky gave no obvious response. Plenty of distance stretched between her and the island for her to figure it out. Up until this point, she’d encountered no one, so her experience with the tiller was minimal.