Chapter 90
The Ship
My ribs protested as they guided me up the gangplank, their hands careful, as if too much pressure might break what remained.
When the first bell rang and the ropes were loosed from the dock, the deck shifted gently beneath my boots as the ship eased away from Rathmor.
The sound of water against the hull filled the space where fear had lived for days, and for the first time since leaving the palace I allowed myself to look around without bracing for impact.
Junis stood near the rail, wind catching in his hair as he watched the shoreline recede. When he saw me upright, something in his shoulders eased, and he crossed the deck in three long strides before pulling me into a careful embrace, mindful of bruises he did not comment on.
“You made it,” he said quietly, relief threaded through the words. “I was beginning to think you would choose martyrdom over common sense.”
I let out a weak laugh against his shoulder. “It was a close decision.”
Nyara appeared beside him, arms folded loosely as her eyes assessed me from head to toe with open disapproval.
“Well,” she said, “at least now you are interesting. Exiled princess. Secret departure. Dramatic escape by sea. Alarna will be delighted with you.”
“You are coming?” I asked, stunned.
Nyara lifted one shoulder. “You did say you wanted to taste every fruit in the world. Alarna seems like a good place to begin.”
Junis stepped back but kept one hand warm at my arm. “Did you truly think we would let you cross an ocean alone?”
Nyara tilted her head, the wind lifting the edge of her cloak. “Besides, the Alarnan court is famously open minded. And I am told the men there possess considerably more stamina.”
Junis made a sound of long suffering. “You are impossible,” he muttered.
“And yet,” she replied sweetly, “rarely incorrect.”
The laughter that left me then felt fragile but real, something bright pushing through the ache in my ribs.
I was not alone.
Eravic approached next, his expression tightening almost imperceptibly as he took in the marks along my face and arms. He said nothing about them. He simply stepped close enough to press a kiss to the top of my head, his hand resting there for a brief moment longer than necessary.
“You will reach Alarna,” he said softly. “And you will reach it alive.”
The second bell rang as the harbor grew smaller behind us.
I lowered myself onto a bench near the rail, exhaustion creeping into my bones now that I no longer had to pretend strength, and Arven came to stand beside me. He kept his distance, offered no touch, simply remained.
I glanced up at him. “I believe your exact words were, 'I will answer all your questions when you get your head out of your ass and decide to be smart enough to get on the stupid ship.'”
A slow smile touched his mouth. “That sounds like something I might have said.”
I folded my hands loosely in my lap. “I am on the stupid ship now.”
The wind tugged at his hair as he looked out over the darkening sea, and when he spoke again his voice carried less mockery and more weight.
“Then let us begin with names.”
“Fine.”
He drew in a breath. “My name is Teorin Rathmor.”
Rathmor.
I did not look away. “Explain.”
Before he could respond, the third bell rang out across the water, deeper than the others, resonant and final.
From the helm, Eravic called, “The cloaking bell. We are officially invisible now. Untraceable.”
The wind shifted, cooler against my skin. I turned toward the fading coastline just as a sound rose faintly from the distance, nearly swallowed by sea and sky alike.
A howl. Soft and far, but alive.
I closed my eyes for a moment and let the wind carry the words I did not speak aloud. Find me.
The ship cut forward through dark water, Veynar vanishing behind us. For the first time since everything had begun to fracture, I allowed myself to believe that survival and destiny might not be the same thing.