Chapter Forty
EINAR
Rough seas awaited.
Cursed winds attempted to blow them back, and the sea current occasionally became sluggish. Amidst the barriers, the Rosenvatten crawled onward. As if Onskar wanted to make it difficult, but not stop them completely.
Undoubtedly, the Arcanist of Souls had some diabolical intent, regardless. Einar kept the diasvard at his side, and sank all his focus into running the Rosenvatten through leviathan swells big enough to drown them.
“It’s been six hours since we left the Hall of the Sky,” Mila called over a gust of wind, “and there’s been no sign of Himmel!”
A similar fear plagued Einar, but he hadn’t wanted to state it outright. She should have returned by now. He braced himself for the worst.
“We keep going!” A wave bashed the bow in foamy bursts. “She’ll find us eventually.”
Hours passed.
Einar honed all his attention on keeping the Rosenvatten afloat while Draven whisked them through the unwieldy waves. No fatigue caught up to Einar despite the advancing hours and no Himmel. He didn’t sleep, didn’t think, and listened distantly to Mila’s unchanging updates on Pedr.
Sometime near daybreak of the fifth day since Pedr’s final curse layer unlocked, Einar wrestled a rope, grunting his irritation as he leaned all his weight into the mainsheet. The boom groaned, and cracked with a roar. The sails luffed, flapping violently.
Einar cursed under his breath, “Shite!” as the rig strained out of line. He slapped a frustrated hand on the mast, shouted, “You bastid!” and light spiraled away. The sail caught a hint of stirring wind and filled again, negating his frustration.
Dumbstruck, Einar stared into the heights.
A noise near the stern drew his attention. Einar straightened, peering through the gathering fog to discern a moving figure. Draven climbed atop the gunwale near the stern and stood with his arms spread wide. His greatcoat flapped from his broad shoulders.
Such an odd position—perched like an owl—for the mighty Father King.
Draven toppled into a free fall. He vanished off the side and rose a winged shadow. He pumped broad wings, silently gliding into the night with little more than a dull, percussive thud. Shite. What a creature.
From the utter stillness Draven left behind came a stirring breeze that grew to a forceful blast. A concentrated gale slammed into Einar, shoving him into the mast with a grunt. Before he could gain his footing, Himmel hastily spoke from within the storm.
Onskar has a human servant named Clara. She accesses all the Halls, and he is very protective of her. If he has a weak spot, it is Clara. Proceed without me, and good luck.
As quickly as it came, the mistral ceased. Einar stood in the lessening dark, face screwed up in question. What just happened? Why did she sound terrified? Shite, but that bastid must have her. He must?—
Einar sucked in a breath.
If he has a weak spot, it is Clara.
He shouted for Mila.