Chapter Thirty Eight
EINAR
Einar ran a hand through his wet hair and let out a trapped breath. It felt like he held it for hours. Minutes. He held his breath for minutes.
He’d never done that before.
Water collected on his cabin floor, sliding back and forth as the Rosenvatten rocked. She barreled across the sea like a shot cannonball, away from Himmel’s old entrance to the Hall of the Sky. He shook his head, recalling the moment his fingertip brushed the reliquary.
Shite.
The sound of Onskar’s voice in his head, the understanding that he caused the event, went through Einar like a knife.
Had it been a trick? Had he damned Agnes’s soul?
What did it mean?
One thing remained clear: they dealt with a far more nefarious problem than Einar first believed.
Onskar’s waiting opposition made Einar sick to his stomach.
Attempts to pull new clothes on led to him hanging his head and sinking into thought.
He tossed aside his wet shirt and pants—he’d dry them later—and sat on the edge of the bed, naked.
His thoughts skimmed through the parade of disastrous moments, focusing, as always, on Agnes.
He’d seen her.
Rather, her face in the soul light. Presuming that was a soul and not an illusion.
It had to be her. He knew that expression, those eyes.
It was her. The smallest connection, the affirmation of her existence, made his stomach hot.
Irritation followed—he wanted to move, to hit, to fight.
He’d claw his way back to her, but . . .
He couldn’t.
The reality of his position cooled his wild emotions, far more powerful than normal. He couldn’t afford these erratic swings. The loosened grief cooled as he forced himself to stand and reach for his dry clothes a second time.
They needed to meet, discuss what happened, and make a new plan. Mila might be Onskar’s equal and enemy, but after what happened in the Hall of the Sky, Einar had a feeling it was him Onskar hated.
He didn’t know why, nor did he care. For all of Onskar’s tricks, Einar knew one thing: Agnes mattered the most. Without Agnes, his dreams of a family, a home, a life, meant nothing. He’d descend to burning chasms and back in order to restore the life they should have had together.
Based on what he saw an hour ago, that’s exactly what he’d have to do.
Mila and Draven stared at Einar while he finished his rambling apology with an ungraceful, “So . . . I’m sorry. The mission failure was on me and I regret it.” He stood near the Rosenvatten’s wheel, because that felt right.
Mila slowly said, “Well, this is unexpected.” Her eyes flickered to Draven, and he nodded in agreement.
She returned her astonished stare to Einar.
“Einar, no one expects an apology, and you’re the only one who’s placing blame.
It would have happened eventually because Onskar obviously knew we were there. ”
Einar opened his mouth to protest, but Draven cut him off.
“Apology accepted, Einar. You’re cleared of responsibility, and the mission was not in vain. Mila discovered something very interesting, indeed, and so did you. Pivotal to saving Pedr’s life, perhaps . . .” He added with a dark tone, “. . . should we find the Hall of the Sea.”
Einar’s head snapped up.
“What?”
“I located Himmel’s reliquary,” she said gravely. “At least, I think that’s what it was. It was in the middle of the room, hovering at the top. Remember the rainbow glow?”
“Yes.”
“I believe that was her reliquary. An empty reliquary, though. It still emitted that multicolored glow.”
“But I thought arcane beings didn’t have reliquaries?”
Mila shrugged.
“The rainbow is a sign of soul arcane,” Draven supplied, which helped. “While it’s true that many have assumed—or been told by Onskar—that arcane beings have no reliquary, it seems that information was wrong.”
Einar attempted to parse out why Draven seemed hopeful at this knowledge when they failed to enter the connecting hallway. The bastid Onskar dropped the floor out from under Einar, negating any chance they had.
Running a hand through his hair, Einar asked, “How does an empty reliquary help us save Pedr?”
“We know how to find Pedr’s reliquary!” Mila cried. Her cheerful attempt fell flat when she wrung her hands, sorrow forming lines at the corner of her eyes. “If we can approach the Hall of the Sea, anyway.”
“Which will give you bargaining power against Onskar,” Draven said, another gentle nudge of knowledge.
Einar spread his hands.
“Then what?”
“Bargain.” Mila swallowed. “Draven says we’ll have to bargain with Onskar to save Pedr’s life.”
Einar’s eyebrows shot higher. He glanced at Draven, hoping to assess his thoughts on the subject, but the Father King only nodded an affirmation. Mila’s recounting sounded like a string of mad rambles pulled together.
Carefully, Einar stated, “You said Himmel’s reliquary was empty.”
“It was.”
“If Onskar is the Arcanist of Souls, why would he care about an empty reliquary?”
At Mila’s confused glance to her sire, Draven replied, “Because Onskar’s position as Arcanist of Souls is forfeit if he cannot protect the souls within his care, particularly those anchored to the arcane. Should you obtain the reliquary—empty or otherwise—of an Arcanist, you might unseat Onskar.”
A deepening pull in Einar’s stomach brought the gravity of this statement to the forefront.
“Might?” he rasped.
Draven sighed. “Yes. As with everything about the arcane, we aren’t sure what’s true. It’s the only chance we have.”
Hope bought Einar’s weary heart. Thank the seas, hints of a weakness existed. Life as a soldat taught him long ago that success often required little more than one narrow, soft vein to exploit.
Draven motioned outside with a tilted head. “I’ve set us on a course that will take us to the area where the Hall of the Sea has existed before. Assuming we can get you inside, the new plan has you obtaining Pedr’s reliquary and fighting Onskar.”
So thin, this chance.
“Where is the Hall of the Sea?” Einar asked.
Draven let out a long breath through his nose.
“The problem is not where the Hall of the Sea is, for I have a general idea of where to find it. The issue is pinpointing it. The Hall of the Sea moves within a very large, circular, underwater current. Wherever that current flows, the Hall could be. It would be difficult to locate even with Pedr’s full abilities, for it touches neither land nor sky—and by design. ”
Draven peered off the port side, hands clasped behind his back, gaze narrowed on the deepest depths. He cut an impressively regal and powerful figure, steeped in pondering the weight of an arcane world.
“The average soul is of no real concern to Onskar,” Draven said, “at least, that is my supposition based on the years I knew Onskar before. But to be unable to protect an Arcanist’s soul would be a direct strike against the arcane itself, since the soul of an Arcanist and the arcane are tied together. ”
Mila asked, “Perhaps that’s why Arcanists can’t go within the Halls? To protect their reliquaries? We saw what happened when Onskar forced Einar’s hand to touch one. Humans clearly can’t handle the reliquaries.”
Draven lifted a shoulder. “Perhaps. He may also protect the souls of those within, or it may be a rule of the arcane. As you can see, certainty around the arcane is rare. I believe Onskar has muddled the truth with lies for some unknown reason.”
Fear sped blood through Einar’s veins, twirling so fast he felt lightheaded. He recalled Onskar’s power too clearly. The recollection was bold, terrifying.
“Onskar will know,” Einar stated, unable to hold it in. “He’ll expect us to try for Pedr’s reliquary . . . if we can even find it. Onskar knew we were in the Hall of the Sky. He’ll know where we want to go next.”
Draven surprised him with a smile. “Yes, he will.”
“But—”
“Draven has an idea,” Mila said. She sent him a sidelong glance. “I don’t know what it is, though.”
“Does it involve you overcoming Onskar with the arcane?”
“Not at all,” Draven replied lightly.
“Then what?”
Draven’s eyes sparkled. “You’re going to fight Onskar with a little luck, and sheer na?veté.”
Einar floundered.
“What?”
“Do you trust me, Einar?”
The profound question sank deep, and Einar didn’t know how to respond. He cast about, at a loss. Did he trust Draven?
He had no idea.
The Father King might have lost his mind. Too quickly, too readily, Einar recalled the sheer power Onskar wielded that locked his stare on Agnes, forced him to touch her reliquary, and lose her soul. He may have damned her—and himself—to something that he didn’t even understand.
Einar’s mind spun as he considered his options, the outliers, the things no one spoke about because minute details only came after the wild ideas.
In new assignments, this planning phase was the most pivotal.
This is where the good ideas lived and bad ideas died.
Unfortunately, he didn’t know which was good, and which was bad.
Would it be wise to put the entirety of their plan onto Draven?
Perhaps not. But also yes. As Father King, he held the most knowledge.
He had a powerful investment in Mila, but Einar had no real ties to Mila.
At any moment, Draven could abandon a plan that worked in Einar’s favor to save his daughter, and rightly so.
Unfortunately, no other plans, ideas, or paths occurred to Einar. He dabbled in an arcane world and the Arcanists who wielded it. He knew nothing, except Draven wanted them to confront Onskar with na?veté and no arcane assistance.
But . . . yes.
He trusted Draven.
Einar didn’t know why, but it felt right. Instinct arose again, informing him he had no other choice. This was the path, and he must walk it. Months ago, he vowed to do anything to regain Agnes, and the fulfillment of that promise lay on this path.
Certainty confirmed.
He just didn’t know where that certainty originated.
“Yes,” Einar said, meeting Draven’s stare. “I trust you.”
A softness stole across Draven’s features. Surprise, and then warm affection followed. He angled his head forward, whispered, “Thank you,” and straightened again. “Then we will proceed together. My plan may seem foolhardy, but if we can get inside, I believe it’s the only way this will work.”
Einar shrugged it off. He’d accepted the plan, the help, and now desired nothing more than action. “Foolhardy is fine if there’s real information beneath it. We’ll figure it out as we go. How soon can we arrive?”
“Under fair skies, within a day, I think. But the weather will not be fair. Onskar will attempt all he can to keep us out.”
“Okay.”
Draven’s lips twitched, but his voice expressed no amusement. “I feel I have not expressed an adequate summary of the risks inher?—”
“You have.”
If Einar cutting him off created annoyance, Draven gave no sign.
“I apologize for being abrupt, Father King, but I don’t care about the odds.
Being a soldat taught me many things—chiefest amongst them is the power of arrival.
Many impossible choices and missions looked far more possible after we had our feet on the ground.
I’m ready to hear your plan and execute. ”
Draven appraised him with a tilted eyebrow. “In that case, we’re already on the heading I requested. I will assist with the currents to hasten our progress. The Hall of the Sea will require Pedr to confirm the location. He alone would be able to sense the arcane at work.”
“The general vicinity will have to be good enough,” Einar declared. “The moment Pedr wakes up, we’ll ask. He may not be able to find it, but he can try. If he can’t, we’ll . . . figure out something else.”