18. NOT SO SMOOTH SAILING
Two days later, Niall, Roirdan, Silas, and I boarded a small ship off the coast of Calledan, with the expectation of arriving at The Neveshir Isles by nightfall.
The sun was already bright for such an early morning, and there were clouds in the distance, but they seemed to stay adrift far out over the sea.
Of all the territories, Calledan and Vahrenhall were the closest to the largest of the isles—which housed the wardenesses and their main temple.
The only entry was by boat, unless you were a Dionach and could fly.
Porting was off-limits, thanks to the intense wards that kept the isles from unwanted guests or prying eyes.
The coast of the main Isle—I was told—was made of jagged basalt columns that skirted its entire circumference, with only a handful of small river mouths and grottos that opened up to the sea.
And that was the other obstacle that worked hand in hand with the coast: the sea itself.
Remic had once mentioned to me that the waters around the isles raged under continuous storms, and Silas had reiterated the same bit of info this morning. Neveshir was under near constant rainfall, and the seas were wild and untamed, posing the greatest threat.
Niall claimed that fae lore attributed the weather to Torin’s constant turmoil over having to answer to a foreign god just to exist here. Silas had only rolled his eyes at the story.
I stepped onto the deck of Niall’s black vessel. He kept it immaculate—which was no surprise. Even the floorboards were painted black and polished to a shine, appearing as if they had just been refinished.
Crisp black sails, boasting the Mountain Court’s sigil of a war helm over two mountains, snapped above us in the breeze.
“Where do you even go that requires a ship? Let alone a ship this nice?” I asked my mate.
He grinned. “Drastia in particular. Laurent has a knack for sea-faring. He’s opened my eyes to the venture. This vessel was a gift from him upon his ascension as High Lord. The Mountain Court has always kept good relations with The Arctic.” He planted a kiss on my temple as he headed for the stern.
“Can’t you just port?” I called after him.
He shrugged a casual shoulder. “Porting gets boring.”
Roirdan stepped up beside me and said, “Personally, I enjoy the comfort of sailing in style.”
I gave the commander a once-over, nodding toward the fighting leathers he was wearing, and jokingly replied, “I guess I’m missing the style you’re speaking of.”
He nudged my shoulder with his elbow. “You’re just jealous that the leathers look better on me than they do on you. These help.” He flexed his bicep as an example.
I flicked his bulging muscle with my middle finger, assessing. “Eh, could be better.”
His hand landed over his heart as he laughed. “Easy on the ego, little one.”
Little one.
The same term of endearment Silas favored.
I looked over to where the Dionach was standing near the bow of the ship, gazing out at the sea ahead as we pulled away from the dock. Shifting a bit closer to Roirdan, I asked, “Why is it so different when you call me that, versus when Silas does?”
Roirdan glanced over his shoulder. “I think that when he says it, it’s more like a father figure speaking to you. When I say it, it’s because I find you weak and small.”
I slowly lifted my head to drill a pointed look at him. He met me with a smirk.
Quicker than a flash, I jabbed a playful punch into his gut, and he bent at the waist laughing. He shuffled to the side, batting my hands away as I attempted to land a couple more jabs.
Niall’s voice boomed from the back of the ship. “He’s weakest on his right side!”
Roirdan’s eyes met mine, and he angled his right flank away from me. “Traitor!” he yelled at Niall.
After a few more smacks and jabs, I caught Silas watching us, and halted.
Roirdan followed my stare back to the Dionach and cleared his throat. He straightened himself and jerked his chin in Silas’s direction. “You should, uh, go have a word with him.” He gave me a surprisingly gentle pat on my shoulder and strode off toward Niall.
I sighed and tugged my sleeves back into place.
A couple of unfamiliar fae males passed by—crewmates, I guessed. They nodded their head at me as they maneuvered around the ropes of the ship, tying off the sails.
Silas dipped his chin as I approached.
I hadn’t really spoken with him one-on-one since a couple of days ago, when we’d first learned he was my Dionach, which made today a bit more awkward. I tried my best to ease into conversation. “So, it’s a full day’s voyage to the isles?”
“From here, yes. Coming back, it will be faster, since we’ll be sailing away from the storms.”
The storms. I’d almost forgotten. “Just how are we supposed to get through them without running the risk of capsizing? I don’t know much about sailing, but storms seem like something to avoid.”
Silas looked across the ship to Niall. “I think your High Lord has that part taken care of.”
“Right.” I could hear the tone of indifference in the way he said High Lord. “Look, Silas—”
“I know, I know,” he said, cutting me off.
“I’ll watch my tone. I apologize. It’s just been a bit harder for me since I found out you had a mate.
Not that I want—I mean—uhh . . .” He stumbled over his words, then blew out a breath.
“What I mean is, I have an innate duty to protect you. And a mate is going to want to do the same, naturally. It just makes me feel . . . unnecessary. Not to mention another Dionach has basically laid claim to you as well.”
“You can’t hold that against them. And you can’t hold that against me either. The fates destined this—all of this. And I really need you all to find a common ground and get along if we’re going to be successful as a unit.”
He turned back toward the sea. “I’m sorry that I’ve made it hard on you.”
“You haven’t. It’s just been . . .” I trailed off, not really knowing how to explain this broody, territorial triangle I was stuck in once again.
The past two days had been full of a lot of awkward silences and stilted conversations when Silas had joined us for meals, or training, or the occasional meeting to plan this trip.
He had chosen to remain quiet most of the time, assessing our group’s dynamic, seeing where and how he could truly fit in.
The strain that I saw on his face now . . . it spoke volumes. He wasn’t sure how to navigate this at all. And neither were we.
“You are needed, Silas. And I’m very grateful to have you as my Dionach.” I tried to keep the words from sounding full of pity, because they weren’t. I truly was grateful. And he needed to hear that.
He closed his eyes briefly before meeting my stare again. “I’m beyond glad to hear it. I only want what’s best for you. To keep you safe.”
“This is what’s best for me.” I gestured to my surroundings. To the High Lord and the commander on the quarterdeck. “With them, and with you, I’ll always be safe.”
Silas nodded several times, regarding me for a long moment. “You have more power than all of us combined. But I will still lay down my life for you to make sure you never have to be in a position to use it.”
His words hit something deep within me. “I could never ask that of you, or of Remic. Or anyone, for that matter.”
“You need not ask. It’s in our nature as Dionachs. It’s what gives us purpose.”
“I know,” I said a bit softer. “Still.”
We both grew quiet, setting our eyes on the waves.
I’d never seen the sea before. The endless, blue horizon was all I’d imagined it to be: vast, overwhelming, beautiful. The waves brushing up against the ship created a lulling chorus, carrying us away from everything I knew.
“About the storms . . . You were saying . . .”
“Oh yes, right.” He cleared his throat. “The storms create a barrier that encircles the isles. It keeps away outsiders. The witches don’t complain because they like their solitude. Once you’re through the brunt of it, the waves calm a bit, and then it’s just the rain.”
“Why the rain though?”
“No one really knows. It was like that when Torin settled it. Some days it’s more of a heavy mist. Other times, it’s a monsoon.”
“Thank the gods for shielding magic, then.”
“That will only get you so far,” Silas corrected. “On the isles, magic is stifled. Once you set foot on land, any power that is not of a witch or Dionach will falter.”
I whipped my head to him. “Does Niall know about this?”
Silas sighed. “No.”
“Great.” I shook my head. “This isn’t a good way to start, Silas.”
“Gods, I know.” He rubbed the back of his neck anxiously. “I just didn’t plan on having to explain everything to someone first. I’m still getting used to this . . . dynamic.”
I nodded. “I’ll talk to him. And you should too. He’s very reasonable, once you get past the dark facade.” I offered him a smile, and thankfully he seemed to ease up a little.
“Thank you. And I know he’s only doing what he feels is necessary to protect his mate and his court. I understand. I think once he speaks to Nivelle, he’ll feel better about this entire situation.”
“I believe so too.”
The waves swelled, and sea salt spray misted our faces. I bristled at the chill, while Silas’s wings fluttered behind him.
“So, Nivelle . . . What’s she like?”
Silas blew a breath out and shook his head. “I guarantee you’ve never met anyone like her.”
“Is that a good or a bad thing?”
“Honestly, I couldn’t tell you. She’s . . . intense. She’s one of the most powerful witches the isles have seen in a few thousand years. I think it’ll be rather interesting.”
“What makes you say that?”
“For one, I really don’t know how this is going to play out.”
“Well, she’ll receive us? Won’t she?”
Silas hesitated. “She should.”
“Should?”
He didn’t reply.
“Is it because it’s not every day that a High Lord and a demigod sail to your homeland to request an audience with a wardeness?”
He slid his eyes to me. “No . . . It’s because no one has ever journeyed there to ask for an audience. You two are the first.”