Chapter Thirty Six
PEDR
When had the Otherworld begun to fall apart?
Then again, maybe Pedr wasn’t in the Otherworld.
Maybe he was somewhere else, because this white-drenched place resembled the Otherworld only in echoes.
The pale walls dimmed to drab gray. Power regressed to starts and fits of ability instead of languorous flows.
Every shallow breath Pedr drew in scraped along the inside of his lungs, igniting fire.
Wait.
Where was he?
Why did he breathe?
He tried to retreat, but slammed into walls. Mind disintegrating to ashes, he allowed his thoughts to disperse and his awareness of all life force with it. It was easier this way. Perhaps the nothing was not an enemy after all.
Waking was a painful process that Pedr attempted to ignore, at first. But something urgent insisted he pay attention. When he tried, he couldn’t find alarm in the pewter folds of nothing where he roamed, only more nothingness.
Still, the instinct persisted.
Or was it the arcane?
After several moments of gathering his thoughts into a cogent line, he understood. He’d lost consciousness again and lay in his cabin. The familiar creak, the shuffle, the occasional snuffle and sigh. He knew it all.
Pedr opened his eyes to his cabin ceiling. The wooden slats stared back at him with condescending judgment. He frowned when a stirring of the arcane withered from his chest like a dying sigh. The weight of ages pressed on his arms and bones and legs. He closed his eyes.
Too much noise.
Too much brightness.
Too much sensation.
Besides, part of himself was missing. The largest part. Fathomless and wild and eternally gone. He’d diminished into a portion of what he used to be. What fresh hell was this?
Panic renewed in a distant voice, an urging to pay attention. Moving on what instinct remained, he jolted upright. Sore, protesting muscles screamed, but he ignored the agony to focus on the insistence.
Arcane insistence. Outside the Rosenvatten, a body hurtled out of the sky. Arms and legs flailed, heading for water.
Einar.
Pedr remembered everything. With a ragged breath, he tried to let loose whatever arcane ability he still had tentative control over, but he didn’t know how. The arcane didn’t respond. There was no arcane to loosen. At least, not enough, in his stupor, to find.
Water exploded from the sea, vaulting higher. The cresting wave surged up, up, up, and accepted Einar all at once. He slid into the cool blue water without a deadly smack. Together, the sea and Einar glided down, graceful as falling leaves.
Pedr blinked.
But . . . how?
His heart bucked as if it died. Clutching his chest, Pedr slumped to the pillow with a groan. Indeed, his heart was beating. Or tried to. The erratic, frantic, half-capable flailing struggled to find a rhythm.
Sweat dotted his brow. Sheets tangled his legs. He’d been thrashing in his sleep . . . rest . . . whatever unconsciousness swept him away. Through eye slits, he saw a figure darken the open doorway.
Draven.
“You’re awake, Pedr? So soon?”
Patches of black slid in and out of Pedr’s vision as he rasped, “Where’s Mila? Where . . . where is she?”
“Himmel reports that Mila is descending, and with less drama than Einar, thank the sky.” A knowing slant overcame Draven’s annoyingly light tone. “I would praise you for saving Einar, but I think that wasn’t your use of arcane, was it?”
The low drawl of Draven’s question made it clear it wasn’t Draven’s either. With expanding irritation, Pedr growled, “No.”
The question hung between them. If not them, then who? With a start, Pedr jerked to the present. He’d nearly retreated to black again.
“What happened?” he demanded.
“I don’t know yet.”
A thundering sound rattled the Rosenvatten.
The water trembled, and the sky changed.
Dredges of arcane alerted Pedr in the lightest peep of awareness.
At least, he thought it did. He turned inward, attempting to understand, but couldn’t.
Like listening to a foreign language, he knew that he didn’t know.
Oblivion washed up to claim him, but he fought the rising swell by swinging his legs off the bed.
In a brush of desperate momentum, he pushed upward.
Lurching, he nearly slammed his face into the table edge as he tumbled to the ground.
Two capable hands caught him, lifted him, and set him on a chair.
Draven and Pedr met, inquisitive stare against livid stare. The humiliation of Draven catching him . . .
The Father King spoke first.
“Einar is swimming to the ship, and Himmel is lowering Mila. Obviously, our plan has failed, which requires us to locate the Hall of the Sea from the ship, and not within Onskar’s back alleys.
You need to preserve your strength, because I’ll need you awake and aware of the arcane so we can find the Hall of the Sea.
We have a few minutes for me to make clear what will happen to you from here on out. ”
Pedr hid a groan. Sitting was too much work, so he slumped. His head swirled in circles as he gripped the sides of the chair. Awake and aware of the arcane was an order too steep to ask.
Draven pressed on, unrelenting.
“The arcane separation from your soul began the moment you broke the third layer of the curse, and it will continue until your soul disintegrates. Obliterates,” he said helpfully, as if the ending wasn’t clear enough.
Draven stared pointedly at Pedr’s chest. “As part of the process, you’re regaining some of your humanity. Did you notice you’re breathing again?”
The moment he stated it, Pedr felt the swilling air in his lungs. Rather, he felt his chest moving. He didn’t feel his body the same way anymore.
“You’ll continue to grow weaker, more human, and less conscious at a faster rate. It’s an agonizing process. For the last two days, you will not regain consciousness.”
“How do you know this?”
Draven replied with a simple, “You are far from the first whom I’ve seen this happen to, and it’s no less horrifying every time. The process is consistent, at least.”
Pedr summoned all his energy into a growl.
“Is it possible?”
“To defeat Onskar?”
“Can she?”
The old sire’s shoulders eased. Quietly, he admitted, “Much sacrifice will be required for the end state we desire, Pedr, but it is possible.” His careful intonation changed a little, firming into a command. “It’s possible for Mila and Einar to accomplish this end, but only if you let Mila go.”
“Me?”
“You cannot resist,” he continued. “You cannot protect her. If you want to preserve your soul, you must trust. Like many in her situation, Mila can sometimes get in her own way. Her mother and aunts’ insecurities about her lacking power have made her access to the arcane more difficult than it should be. ”
“Do you know why she hasn’t accessed her arcane abilities?”
Draven readjusted Pedr on the chair, and it was a relief to slump against the table. The spinning whirls of black cleared slightly, though it approached from the edges.
Eyes narrowing, Draven said, “I don’t know Mila’s abilities for certain. I’ve never seen an arcane being having to struggle this much to use the arcane. The obvious tricks didn’t unlock her arcane abilities, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have any.”
Pedr grunted.
Softly, Draven whispered, “I suspect that Vassi put too much pressure on her. We can both agree Stinna did. Stulla is fair and patient, but rarely resists pressure from all of her sisters. I can’t imagine what Mila suffered.
She’s had no one to truly believe in her.
She has me, of course, but I hold no value to her yet. Well, maybe a very little.”
Draven’s mournful tone hid hints of outrage. What would Draven be like as a wyvern? Terrible in the most powerful way, Pedr imagined.
“How long do I have?”
“My guess?” Draven sighed. “One or two more days of in-and-out awareness. If we’re very, very lucky, you’ll be slightly aware when we find the Hall of the Sea and can confirm when we’re near it.”
The sea sloshed around them, and the plink, plink, plink of falling stones rained on the Rosenvatten’s deck. Pedr couldn’t find words to encompass the weight of his sorrow as he struggled to stay conscious.
“I hate this,” he whispered.
“I know you do.”
Draven grabbed Pedr by the arm and hauled him out of the chair and onto the berth. Pedr relaxed, both disgusted and relieved to be horizontal again. The rimming darkness drifted over his eyes, calling him back to slumber. He resisted, but had no strength.
Mila called out, “Pedr? Are you all right? Oh! Draven, we must leave. It’s falling apart. Himmel said we’ve activated the protective arcane and . . . Pedr?”
Pedr fought the black, but the black won.