Chapter Forty Five
MILA
The sea embraced Mila like a lost friend, as if it had always known her. As if she’d always swam with happy and rugged abandon, although she’d never known its glacial grip until this moment.
She loathed it.
Her repulsion to the saline water couldn’t be more horrifying.
The blessed home her aunts and mother craved for years, the same that now imprisoned them, displeased Mila.
She desired to be in the water as little as she desired to be a siren.
She marveled that she could loathe something that Pedr loved.
Water flooded her nasal passages, so she couldn’t smell. She closed her throat to prevent it draining to her lungs. A coughing fit in the middle of the sea wouldn’t kill her, but the time it occupied might kill Einar or Pedr’s last chance.
If she never returned, it would be too soon. Instead, she longed for the sky. Wind in sails. Blazing sunshine.
Open air.
Her wyvern side unleashing? Could she transform into a siren, but desire wide open skies?
Only curiosity compelled her to try commanding the arcane, but it resulted in no change. Not a stirring, nor a hint of obedience. It remained as locked as before.
While she swam very inefficiently down, Mila kept a wary eye on Einar, who followed with less brute power. As they progressed, it became clear she saw better underwater than him.
His smooth glide became jerking, struggling movements, frustrated spurts of air.
An inherent, quiet panic in his expression cautioned her to stay steady.
She could touch and guide him, but he had to enter the Hall without her help.
The farther they plunged into the depths, the more the rippling sea top turned to ribbons, then shreds, then a coat of darkness.
It wouldn’t be long before he gave up. Mila swam closer, hating how easily her body glided in the sea. This deep, her eyes altered. Something changed with each blink, revealing what the sea hid.
There.
A teeming arcane ball shed power dead ahead.
The Hall of the Sea, undoubtedly. It could be little else, with power so bold.
Glaring and too bright, though not a hint of luminescence lurked in the surrounding waters.
The vaulted ocean held the watery bosom in a maw too vast to comprehend, even with arcane-infused eyesight.
A little farther, she silently urged, touching his back.
Einar stalled.
No! she wanted to scream. We’re almost there!
Despite the invisible brilliance the Hall of the Sea shed, no illumination guided them. They approached a gigantic black structure, blending seamlessly.
Einar brought himself farther with a weak stroke, then stopped.
His arms floated, eyes closed. Mila shouted, “NO!” with the last of her air reserve.
She reached for him, but before her fingers grazed his billowing shirt, something invisible sucked him forward.
He slammed into the sable structure and within.
She followed with a silent cry.
Mila hit a hard surface with her shoulder, then her hip. Sheer instinct prevented her head from slamming into the shiny, lacquer-like surface, smooth as a still liquid. She wrapped her arms around her skull at the last moment, and her elbow absorbed the impact.
Without wasting a second, she shoved to her feet, stepped ahead of where Einar lay on the floor, and cast her eyes out.
She untied the ribbons around her waist and neck, twirled her cloak free, and dropped it, covering his curled-up form.
Water should have streamed off their clothes and into a puddle, but they remained as dry as if they never touched the sea.
Whatever sucked him into the Hall of the Sea would have to be explained later.
A miniature quake of her mostly-dormant heart told her the moment of reckoning had arrived. Time to draw attention off of Einar, and onto herself.
Glimmering jars led into a low, cavern-like area surrounded by curving walls of water. The dome peaked at the top in a seamless circle, waves sloshing like a circling storm. White caps frothed and boiled at the top, though she hadn’t seen any air pockets on their descent.
Mila checked her arcane as she walked a radiating, frigid floor. A simple command yielded no arcane result. Her abilities weren’t location dependent then, which was unfortunate. Not that she’d be able to do much in any case, since she had no practice.
The place smelled old and musty. Forgotten.
The Hall of the Sea was every bit as eery and terrifying as expected, and not unlike its sibling, the Hall of the Sky.
Triple the size, but entirely similar in every other regard, the Hall of the Sea held shelves, reliquaries, and little else. It resembled a burning tomb.
Souls swilled in their vessels, restless and roving. Instead of aquamarine shades, they ranged from profound amethyst to brilliant green. They glowed like miniature lamps.
Go, she thought. Go, Einar. Now. Follow the plan.
If he obeyed her silent plea, she heard no grunt, groan, murmur, or shuffle. The distinct chance that he hadn’t survived existed, but there hadn’t been time to check. If he didn’t make it, she couldn’t alter course, anyway.
Mila focused her attention on the Hall of the Sea again. Flickers glided past the distant glass boundary. A triangular, gray fin oscillated back and forth, dissipating. Another tail, brilliant yellow, appeared in snatches. She staved off a grimace.
What did she swim with to arrive here?
Her bare feet soundlessly crossed the floor.
She arrived at a break in the shelves. An open corridor led from the wall and into the middle of a circle.
Wooden racks as long as several rowboats along the exterior shrank into an arm-length on the interior.
Reliquaries littered them like crowded denizens.
She turned to the right, down the path, and headed for the middle. What she sought shone above the floor: a rainbow-hued jar. The attitude radiating from the reliquary, combined with the wafting scent, struck her at once.
Pedr’s reliquary.
Though emptied, the jar appeared as full as anything she’d ever seen. No light agitated inside, only a barrage of alternating colors. Like the man himself, she had no hope of understanding it.
Play the fool, Draven had advised.
Mila swallowed her fear.
“There you are.” She whimpered with a hint of frightened emotion, her eyes fixated on Pedr’s reliquary. It required little energy to sound terrified.
A flutter appeared out of the corner of her eye, but she ignored it to fixate on the jar.
Stepping in a circle, she viewed it from all sides.
Her gaze roved to the shelves as she mumbled loudly to herself.
Turning her lips down to complete the picture of a spooked but determined lover, she paused beneath it.
“How do I get to you? I know I can save you. I can smell you from here.”
A flow of fabric slid behind her like a fluttering cape.
She ignored it, but mentally noted how quickly it changed positions.
Onskar? She hoped so. It would place him right where she wanted him.
She spared a hasty glance to the spot where they’d entered the Hall.
The cloak she placed over Einar had vanished. So had he.
Her goal shifted from distraction to stalling.
Mila gripped a shelf and jostled it. Nothing moved.
The reliquaries emitted sighs as their colors rotated in batches.
Carved wood ran along the shelving side.
She tilted her head, squinting. As the shelves ascended, their length shrunk into a point at the top that held one soul, forming a burning circle at the peaks.
Intriguing, horrible place.
She planted her foot on the lowest shelf and made to climb.
A slippery voice stopped her.
“So . . . she arrives.”
A wave of arcane filled the room like putrid steam. The daunting aura nearly choked her, so heady and powerful. It smelled like persimmon. Mila forced her entire body to stiffen.
Pausing, she said, “Onskar,” with an intentional tremor.
He chuckled.
It sounded like a snake.
“You are Mila? Famous, quiet, underground child-of-the arcane, Mila?”
Slowly, she lowered her foot from the shelf and spun.
Dread filled her from navel to throat, thick as oil at the back of her mouth.
Onskar revealed himself one part at a time, smaller in stature than she expected, but overwhelming in comportment.
His cutting stare, slash of lips, assessing eyes, were a powerfully intimidating collection.
She made a show of swallowing, releasing a breath as if to calm herself, and said, “I-I am Mila.”
He chuckled, and it rolled into a laugh. “I see that you are. Forgive me, but I expected someone more . . . impressive. Your aunts went to considerable lengths to guard you, didn’t they? You, the hidden, secret child of a Siren Queen and Wyvern King.”
His insult didn’t bother her, but she forced herself to frown and wince as if it did.
Fear rolled from her in waves. Good. She tuned into the emotion and gave it a little power.
Her eyebrows knitted, and the quick turn of his eyes indicated he noticed.
Draven had been correct about Onskar monitoring each detail.
Mila licked her lips.
“Y-you’re an arcane child too.”
Her paltry jab did the job of disarming him. Onskar laughed outright. “My goodness, you are an exquisite mess, aren’t you? I expected thunder and destruction in my precious Hall, but you are a frail and frantic mouse caught in a dervish storm. You pathetic little thing.”
He strode in a circle around her, chin tucked against his chest, eyes roving her figure. She felt flayed open, defeated by a stare. He revealed every bit of her without removing a stitch of clothing, and her loathing intensified.