Chapter Twenty Nine
MILA
At dawn, Mila rustled across the deck, bearing a plate with vittles on top.
The gentle clink of the plate settling on the floor next to Einar startled him out of a half doze.
She froze in place, crouching nearby. She hadn’t meant to wake him.
She simply wanted to provide food and back away.
He looked ragged and exhausted, with bags under his eyes and too-thin cheeks.
She held onto the plate with one hand, “Sorry,” she whispered, grimacing. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Einar sat upright, rubbing his eyes.
“It’s fine.”
“I made you a plate for breakfast. You must be hungry.” She nudged it closer.
“Uh . . . sure.”
Surprise lifted her tone. “Aren’t you?”
“A little, yes.”
“I thought humans were always hungry.”
“Sometimes. It’s been so busy, I haven’t thought of eating.” He reached for a biscuit, then paused and motioned for her to join him. She waved a hand.
“No, thanks.”
Wryly, he inquired, “You aren’t eating much these days?”
She smiled in response. “Not really. My appetite and need for food diminishes as time passes. I only need to eat once or twice a week. Kind of like sleep.” She peered past him, eager to change the subject. “How close do you think we are to the citadels?”
“I have no idea where we even are, but I’d guess a day away? Maybe two?”
Mila corrected the internal assumption that Einar knew everything about the sea, the Rosenvatten. That had been Pedr, not Einar. She leaned a hip against the mast, hands folded behind her.
“This pace seems fast, don’t you think?”
He shrugged.
She sank to her bottom with a raspberry. “We’re all guessing, I suppose. Do you need anything else? I cracked open a new barrel of fresh water. There’s?—”
“I’m okay, thank you.”
Hard tack, wrinkled, dried apples, and a dried strip of meat gathered on the plate. Einar picked up the dry biscuit and crumbled an edge off. He choked it down with a trying smile.
“Thanks again.”
Mila chuckled. “Sure.” She faced him, gathering her blowing hair off of her shoulders and tucking it into her dress. She thought of collecting her questions for later, but her curiosity wouldn’t be satisfied.
“Why are you here, Einar? Earlier, with Draven, you were so eager to start. I wondered what makes you so willing to risk your life.”
The biscuit lowered to his plate as he set it down, swallowing hard. Mila internally chided herself: she should have brought water.
“I’m searching for someone.”
“A lover?”
“How’d you know?”
Smiling, she waved an airy hand. “Your eyes, and I can smell your longing. You mentioned her briefly earlier, though I didn’t get the full story. What is her name, again? I don’t recall it.”
Tersely, he said, “Agnes.”
“And her name irritated Onskar?”
“I guess so.”
“Odd.”
“I agree.”
The occasional crunch of the hard tack grinding between his teeth was the only sound for several minutes, and Mila let the silence continue to see what he’d say—if anything. Within the limited time she’d known Einar, this was the most uncomfortable he appeared.
After another painful swallow, he eyed her.
“Do you really love Pedr?”
Her hand pressed to her chest. “With everything in me.”
“Fifteen years later?”
“Why would fifteen years change anything?”
His mouth opened, then closed. “I don’t . . . I don’t know.”
“Time is strange in the arcane,” she murmured.
“Warped, almost. It’s like . . . pockets exist. Sometimes the days were so fast, others slow.
Many of them . . . almost non-existent. While the entire thing was horrendous and I would never want to experience it again, Pedr and I had different struggles.
” Her jaw set, and her cheeks flushed. “He endured the time far worse than myself.”
Einar tilted his head, squinting. “I don’t know. He had freedom, fresh air, the ability to move and fight pirates. While he tortured himself for failing you, he also did a lot of stupid things to breach the Westlands. You were stuck in a room, unable to leave.”
Mila set a hand on his arm. “Thank you for trying to comfort me.” Her touch slid away as she tucked her legs more fully beneath her. The haunting silence abated.
“Do you think you can figure the arcane out?” Einar finally asked. “I watched you practicing with Draven.” A hint of sheepishness brightened his smile. “I hope that’s okay.”
She snorted. How kind of him to call it practicing when nothing happened for hours, just as nothing happened when she had attempted with Stulla and Stinna and Mother. The arcane hated her.
Tempted to give reassurance, to promise to save Pedr, the words stuck in her throat, as dry as the hard tack he lost interest in. They had no power over promises. “I will try my hardest.” Determination laced her tone. “That’s all I can do.”
“It’s enough.”
She let the silence speak for itself.
Mila’s fingers sprinted over the Rosenvatten’s ropes and she felt nothing.
She crawled the masts, wind whipping through her hair in a gale, and felt nothing. The arcane didn’t activate in the air, and she hadn’t felt it in any sand or soil she touched. Nor on the ship, nor within herself.
Not in the noise, not in the silence. The creaking hull, the highest canvas, the books in the cabin, and the food that Draven summoned did not release any arcane response.
The ability slumbered while the Rosenvatten bore them closer to a gigantic rock pillar in the middle of the chilly northern seas. Pedr still hadn’t stirred—she had a feeling he wouldn’t for a while. When he did, she’d have to face him with less of his soul inside.
Agony, this life.
This glorious, horrendous adventure.
While Draven stared off the port side, Mila pulled a coat on, sat with her back against the mizzenmast, set her hands on her knees, and closed her eyes.
Long ago—decades, if not centuries—Stulla set Mila to accomplish many minute tasks in order to learn how the arcane worked within her.
Spooling thread, digging rows, sorting seeds.
Of course, none of it worked then, but Mila would redo similar mundane tasks now with Draven nearby.
Only a few days ago, meeting her father unlocked a molten arcane flow inside.
Now, she had to find that something again.
Sitting in the open air, listening to nothing, returned her to childlike reminisces. Henna commanded the arcane most powerfully in stillness and quiet, but Stinna thrived within chaos. Mila sat there, breathing steadily, for five minutes, and noted no change either way.
She murmured, “I feel it.”
“Good,” Draven said. “Describe it.”
“It feels the same as it always does. Present along the edges, but not within. Like it’s holding something, but not being able to touch it.”
That probably made little sense, but the way the arcane looked in her mind was almost impossible to explain.
“I’m not surprised.”
Mila cranked an eye open. “No?”
Draven shook his head. “I’ve heard other wyverns describe the same. Plenty of wyverns seem unable to command much arcane. But those who can are very powerful in what they can do. Like a reservoir with a very small outlet.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“In the way that diversity of abilities is good, yes.”
“What now?”
“Continue breathing, then give the arcane a command. Keep your eyes closed. Give most of your attention to your breath, if you please.”
Spreading her shoulders, settling her legs, she obeyed. A small compass weighed her skirt down. She commanded it to open. Her dress flapped. She looked down. Nothing but the wind. The compass remained in place.
“Again, please?” Draven requested.
The second, third, fourth, and fifth attempts yielded no results. “Tell me,” Draven asked, a suddenly thoughtful expression on his face. “Did your aunts and mother prevent you from touching the sea?”
“They did.”
“I imagined so. And not without purpose. It truly would have made it easier for Onskar to find you. We know he’s aware of you now, though, and the sea is a siren’s natural home. It is where your anchor lies.”
She gave him a sidelong, suspicious glance. Exactly what did he build toward? The sea had always been forbidden. It should remain that way.
“Let’s try this, Mila. Reach over the side of the ship and touch the ocean, then command the arcane while you do so.” Almost as quickly, he added, “As a fully arcane being, you cannot anchor as quickly as sirens. You are safe for many more minutes than them.”
Pedr required her help, didn’t he?
She’d do anything. Even touch the sea.
Mila brought her determination to the front, pushed off the deck, and stood next to Draven at the stern.
He commanded a wave of water to elevate, chasing them in their haste.
Reaching over the side, she leaned over, touched the water.
As she did, she pulled in a steadying breath.
Fresh air filled her lungs with a sea smell that reminded her of Pedr. The scent brought courage.
No slamming arcane anchor gripped her wrist and sucked her into the sea, but no mighty power dredged to life in her chest either. She commanded the compass to open again, but it didn’t budge. In fact, she felt as empty as before.
After a pause, Draven said, “How interesting.”
Mila removed her hand, disappointed. She wiped her fingers off on her dress and tried to hide her mounting frustration.
“There are still other theories we haven’t explored, Mila.”
“You’re very persistent.”
He laughed. “You flatter me. Think about it: you are part siren, are you not?”
Ice flooded Mila’s veins. Her arms stiffened. Something in his tone told her what he’d say next.
Slowly, she said, “Yes.”
“Have you ever?—”
“No.”
“It’s possible?—”
“I won’t.”
More gently, he said, “Being a siren is nothing to be ashamed of. Transforming to that siren state, if you can, is a boon if you wield it correctly. That may provide the access you require?”
“I’ve never seen it be a boon, or anything but an outlet for sheer violence and destruction. Even Stulla becomes a monster in her siren state.”
“You are not Stulla.”
Quietly, she admitted, “I can transition into a siren. At least . . . partially. My song doesn’t hurt anyone because I’m not a Siren Queen. We tried it on unsuspecting sailors.”
She winced at the memory, the barrage of guilt she experienced for weeks after.
Stinna and Mother insisted she try to kill the sailors.
She refused, until she couldn’t. Forcing her to fully transition to a siren hadn’t worked, thankfully.
Her song had no effect on the humans, and she could only keep the note for mere moments.
Draven gently asked, “Will you tell me what it was like that first time?”
Mila hesitated, but sensing no untoward motivation, relented.
“The first time I transitioned to my siren form, Stinna had been trying to force me into it for weeks. Finally, she brought sailors into my room in the middle of the night. I woke up, half-transformed because of instinct and the human smell.”
She slowed, the accosting memories uncomfortable, if not terrifying.
Shaking her head, she admitted, “I released a single note, but the humans didn’t even twitch, nor react.
I stopped it, somehow. The euphoria, desire for violence, frightened me.
I was thirsty for anger and rage. So . . . I refused to do it again.”
“I see.”
No one had ever asked Mila this question before. Until she began to answer, she didn’t realize how desperately she wanted to tell someone about it, nor how good it felt to tell the truth. She let it roll out to Draven’s curious, intent stare.
“Technically, no siren can be forced to transition, at least not for long, and that’s why I think it didn’t work at that time. I learned that Mother had supported Stinna’s demand that I attempt to access my arcane abilities as a siren, but that she was reluctant about it.”
“Why would Vassi be reluctant?”
Mila murmured, “I’m not sure. Fear of something happening to me in the process, perhaps?”
“I’ve never heard of a siren dying as they transitioned.”
“No, but the first time is . . . delicate.”
“Same for wyverns,” he murmured.
“I think Mother feared it might hurt me, or change me.” Ruefully, she added, “Turns out, Mother was right. Becoming a siren changes everyone. Nurali hates her siren form.”
“She does?”
Nodding, Mila said, “She loathes it. Mother feared I would follow Nurali’s path, and I did, of a sort. On the other hand, Stinna loves it. She seeks violence and destruction, and the sense of being able to do everything and be more powerful than everyone.”
“There are some things we cannot protect you from,” he said lightly. “I would imagine that part of yourself is one of those. However uncomfortable transitioning into a siren form must be, part of it may be helpful or protective to you.”
She thought of Erevast island so long ago. The horrid pirate attempting to corral her into his dark den. Protective siren instincts, right. She would have wiped out that entire island if she transitioned and sang a single note.
She couldn’t.
Couldn’t do it. And that was the problem.
She whispered, “I know.”
Draven shuffled to the side a little, cleared his throat. It bought her space to breathe, and she accepted it readily. She didn’t want him to go far, but didn’t need him this close.
Evenly, he said, “The choice is yours, Mila, but it’s possible the arcane waits for your acceptance.”
“Does the arcane wait?”
“You know,” he sang, “I don’t know.”
The Rosenvatten slowed as the sails lost their tautness to a lessening gust. The sea splash became wet instead of hissing. Draven put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed.
“We’ll figure this out, together.”
She squeezed his fingers, but she didn’t speak.