Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter
twenty-nine
I avoid everyone’s eyes on the top deck, but it’s no use.
They all seem to know exactly what happened inside the captain’s cabin.
It is there in the teasing edge to Yara’s grin, in the knowing light of Jac’s stare.
Mostly, though, it is there in the dark resentment I feel emanating from Penn clear across the ship.
I swallow down my guilt and my embarrassment. This is hardly the most pressing issue facing our crew at the moment.
We gather at the wheel to discuss our strategy one last time.
Deke is at the helm, the deckhands hovering nearby.
Vaughn towers between Melité and the Paexyrian by the steps up from mid-deck.
Penn is sandwiched between his men on the starboard side.
I sit on the stern rail, one hand on the backstay to keep from pitching overboard into the rough swells.
Soren stands near Alaric in the very center, addressing everyone at once as he walks us through the plan.
I try to focus on his words, but my eyes keep shifting out over the sea to the island in the distance.
It is a foreboding sight, even from here.
What little I can see of it, in any case.
The dark stone walls are shrouded in a pervasive mist that makes it difficult to spot, even at midday.
Now, as the sun disappears over the horizon, it is hardly more than a shadowy smudge.
Hopefully that will make it harder for anyone inside keeping watch to spot our approach. The success of our plan hinges almost entirely on the element of surprise; they won’t know we are coming until it’s too late to mount a proper defense.
Get in, get Arwen, get out alive.
Do not engage if it can be avoided.
The isle itself is not large. A fraction of the size of Hylios, at first glance it appears more like a large rock than a notorious fae prison.
Dark stone walls, black as the sands of the Husk Desert, designed to blend into the natural cliff formations.
There is no harbor to put into, no calm inlet in which to drop anchor.
The sea directly around its perimeter is particularly violent, sending huge plumes of foam up into the air with each crash.
The brig cannot possibly get close. Not unless we fancy swimming home to Ll?r when this is done. And the white-capped waves on the surface are not half so worrisome as whatever monsters lurk beneath.
I am less than eager to confront another octopaeron.
“Rhya.”
I startle back to the present and find everyone staring at me. “What?”
“The initial plan was for you to use your fog to conceal the dinghies as we approach,” Soren says, that troubled furrow back between his eyes. “But your powers are not yet returned to full strength.”
“I’ll do what I can.” I press a hand to my Remnant.
It still feels strange. Slightly sore in a way it never has before.
And yet, beneath the soreness, I can feel my maegic returning, my inner storms beginning to swirl and spin with increasing strength.
“I cannot promise success, only that I will try.”
Soren nods, then shifts his eyes to Deke. “You will remain here, manning the ship until our return. If two hours pass and we do not come out, consider the mission forfeit. Get yourself home.”
The bleakness of that order settles heavily on all of our shoulders.
“Maybe give us three,” Vaughn mutters.
Jac snorts out a laugh. It fades quickly when Soren speaks again. “Three hours, that beach will be underwater. Even if we’re still alive in there, we’ll be trapped with no exit strategy.”
The leather-faced captain’s mouth presses into a frown. “Don’t like this part of the plan.”
“You don’t have to like it, so long as you stick to it,” Soren counters. His eyes slide to the two scruffy-looking sailors leaning against the port rail. “Chari, Xio…are you certain you are able to bring us in?”
“Navigated worse waters than these in the Desert Depths.” Xio shrugs, their slim shoulders lifting quickly. “And Chari rows faster than a Frostlander.”
Chari nods in confirmation.
“Good. I will do what I can to calm the waters long enough for you to bring us in.” His focus moves to the Paexyrian. “Is the equipment ready?”
Yara grins hugely, a trace of her old spirit creeping through the film of grief in her eyes. “Oh, it’s ready.” Her thumb jerks toward Farley, Cadogan, Jac, and Mabon. “Whether this ragtag lot is up to the challenge of using it remains to be seen.”
“Trust me,” Farley says, winking at her. “When it comes to my equipment, I always rise to the challenge.”
She rolls her eyes.
“Then we’re prepared.” Soren’s gaze sweeps around the whole group one final time, somber enough to make my pulse skitter. “Last chance to back out. There’s no turning around once we reach the isle.”
No one says a word.
Even the best-laid plans often go awry. And ours is not best laid. For there are only so many elements we can predict, only so many hurdles we can anticipate.
From the very start, I have a knot of worry in my stomach that tightens with each passing moment. Our approach through the roiling waves leaves several members of our crew retching over the side before we’ve reached the sliver of rocky beach.
Ashore, circumstances are hardly improved. We endure a constant spray of cold sea-foam as we struggle for solid footing on the slippery stones, hauling the dinghies from the shallows as quietly as we can manage so as not to call any patrolling guards down upon our heads.
Not so very high above us, several narrow windows are aglow in the darkness. If I strain my ears over the crashing swells, I can make out the faint sound of voices from inside the thick prison walls.
Not speaking.
Screaming.
Gods, I hope that is not Arwen making such a sound. It is pain in its purest form, the embodiment of agony. I shudder as it rings out again and again into the night. So does Alaric. He looks like he’s been punched in the gut, breathless with fear.
For the first time, it occurs to me that there might be other prisoners inside this godsawful place. Others captured by Efnysien for purposes I do not want to contemplate.
Near the base of the wall, Yara and Bretiax look up from their positions, flanked by Mabon and Jac.
All four hold in their hands a claw-shot—a modified crossbow of sorts with a tight spool of wire mounted at the base.
Instead of a standard bolt, it is rigged to shoot a sharp-toothed grappling hook from the end.
At Yara’s low signal they all fire in sync, sending their hooks upward toward the top of the wall.
There is a low crack as the stone is punctured, a sharp snap as the wires go taut.
We all hold our breaths in the aftermath, waiting for the telltale shouts of warning, the thunder of boots running our way.
A minute passes, then another, and it does not come. The thunderous sea has muffled the clangor.
The base of each wire is secured to the rocks. One by one, we make our way up, leaving Chari and Xio behind with the dinghies. The thin wires dig harshly against my palms despite the thick climbing gloves I’ve donned to protect them. I call a current of air to buoy myself, speeding the ascent.
We’ve only just arrived, but already I can feel the malignant effects of the iron eroding my maegical reservoirs. These rocks reek with ore, thicker even than that within the copper depths of the Red Chasm back in the Midlands—and that deadly crevasse had been potent enough to bring me to my knees.
But I am stronger now, I reason, gritting my teeth as I haul my body upward. I am no longer that scared, skeletal halfling on the edge of a cliff, at the mercy of mortal soldiers. Nor am I the frightened girl who fled Seahaven in the night without even a pair of boots to protect her bloodied feet.
That girl had no real concept of who she was or what she was capable of.
She knew nothing of the real world. Not its horrors, nor its enchantments.
She had never taken a life. She had never wielded her power.
She had never looked into someone’s eyes and felt, down to her very marrow, that she would be quite satisfied to never look at anything else for the rest of her life, if only—
I shake my head, banishing the distracting thoughts as I heave myself up over the edge of the wall into Mabon’s burly arms. Taking a deep breath, I look around. The thick stone beneath my feet hides all manner of evil. I can feel it oozing through the mortar like sap from a poisonous tree.
We move in silence, eyes peeled for threats.
Atop the ramparts, it is wide enough for only two to walk side by side.
Or, in Vaughn’s case, for one. I find myself squeezed in next to Alaric, staring at the back of Soren’s and Penn’s heads as they lead us toward a guard tower.
I cloak us as best I can as the distance narrows from paces to handspans, but summoning even a thin shrouding of mist takes twice the effort it did at sea.
It is like pulling maegic through a sieve.
Soren gives a nod and, with a speed that stuns the senses, Penn jerks open the door.
The two of them strike like lightning, dispatching the pair of scarlet-clad guards inside before they can even summon a scream.
Their necks snap in perfect sync, their bodies falling to the stones with twin thuds.
I stare at their slackened faces and the unsettled pit in my stomach stretches wider.