Chapter 39
Stocky branches of a tree stretch toward the inky black sky.
Fire rages across the land. Cries of terror and pain tear through the abysmal darkness as the ground fissures and molten rock glowing an angry orange spills from within.
The bloodred moon casts eerie shadows into the endless night, and with a howl heard in every hollow of the world, the last orb of light ceases to exist. As if swallowed whole.
As if it had never been.
The next afternoon, I’m drenched in sweat as my body hits the floor. I’ve barely gotten much sleep in the two weeks since we’ve been on the sea. But every time I do drift off, it’s this fucking dream again.
During the days, I’ve been working with Briony on strengthening my mind against Enidwen—though the enchantress still slips into my consciousness far too often.
The mind strengthening does seem to keep Durvla out of my dreams, however.
Thank Sunlagh. As much as I miss Durvla, I don’t want her to watch me slip away.
With a groan, I roll onto my back and rub my bleary eyes. As I reach out from the floor to grab the mattress for leverage, I find Odgar sitting on the bed staring down at me. I shriek and clap my hand over my mouth.
Odgar winces, an apologetic look on his face as he lowers a large wooden needle threaded with wool. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says. His eyes drift down as he weaves the blue wool through the needle eye into the knitted fabric.
My tongue feels a tad too large for my mouth as I watch his precise motions. I swallow and stand to sink back onto the bed, leaving a gap between us.
“I still can’t believe you knit,” I say.
“Nalbinding,” he corrects gently. “Knitting requires two needles—one holding the wool, and the other weaving it. The nalbinding needle is like a sewing needle but instead of connecting two pieces of fabric—” He lifts his face to me, and I must look as utterly bored as I feel because he huffs out a quiet laugh.
His smile wavers as he sticks the needle into the fabric and sets the work in progress between us.
He unstraps a bulbous leather bottle from his waist and hands it to me.
Slowly, I sip the lukewarm liquid and try to remember … something. What had I been doing last? I don’t even remember going to bed. I vaguely recall a conversation of some sort with Briony. Or Valdis?
That strange, shrouded sensation begins to cloak me again.
Until a sharp pinch just beneath my inner elbow releases me from the impending daze.
My fingernails are digging into my forearm, and I stare at my hand as if it doesn’t belong to me.
It takes a moment for me to release my own grip.
My skin is speckled with scratches and black, blue, and yellow bruises.
I pull back the dress sleeve from my other arm, and it’s the same.
Have I been doing this to myself? Why don’t I remember?
I close my eyes and see myself screaming at one of the ship crew members. Throwing a bowl of mush. Drinking ale. Shouting at Valdis, Odgar, and Briony at different times.
Groaning, I drop my face into my hands. “Gods, I’m dreadful,” I mumble against my palms.
“Tell me what I can do to help you through these moments,” comes Odgar’s voice.
The laughter that comes from me isn’t the least bit humorous; it’s bitter, nearly deranged.
I lift my head and stare across the room toward the door.
“These aren’t moments. I’ve been like this since childhood.
Imagine every emotion in existence being siphoned into one thunderstorm and shoved down your throat.
” My voice comes out raw. “Sometimes it’s so overwhelming I forget who I am.
I lose control, and it’s like looking at myself from somewhere else and not being able to do a fucking thing about it. ”
Tears cling to my lashes, but I stubbornly clench my jaw. “The fact that it’s happening more often, and these … episodes … of not remembering.” Fear walks down my spine. I breathe out heavily through my nostrils. “Sometimes I think it’ll be best if I … stopped existing.”
“Carys—”
“Nothing you can say will change who I am.” The words catch in my throat. “And now with the curse on top of everything? I’m beyond mortal help.”
“You are not beyond help,” he says. “… If you would only let someone help.”
“Once I get to the Serpent’s Hollow—Siad Nahar—I can find the cure the Seer spoke of. I can get rid of this curse.”
He presses his lips together, his eyes filled with sorrow.
“You don’t believe the Seer.” The realization sinks my hope.
“It’s not that; it’s just that prophecies are often misunderstood.”
“I’m so glad you think I’m beyond help.” I shove off the bed and stride toward the door, embarrassingly unsteady on my feet.
Odgar’s rapid footsteps sound behind me and I reel on him, anger bringing flames to my raised fist. But Odgar doesn’t bat an eye.
He simply takes my fist in his hand, puffs of steam rising as his waterweaving cancels my fire.
I raise my other fist, and he repeats the action.
I grunt at him and tug away—I should leave.
I should head above deck and breathe in the fresh sea breeze, clear my mind, calm down.
But his serenity in the face of my temper is infuriating.
I want him to be as angry as I am. I want him to show something other than amusement or happiness or tranquility.
I want to drag him down with me so that he understands why the cure is important.
So that he knows what it’s like to live with a fire breathing dragon inside.
I aim another punch at him, then another. But unlike last time when he was so willing to let me pummel him, he dodges all my blows. As I raise my leg to knee him in the groin, he holds both hands over his crotch, his brows shooting up toward his hairline.
“Alright, now you’re playing dirty.”
I lift my hand to strike him, and he grabs both my wrists and forces me back against the door with two rapid steps. He pins them above my head and leans against me, his hips immobilizing me. “Stop it,” he says softly, close enough for us to share a breath.
My pulse quickens as I remember being bound back in the brig.
And as my stomach jumps, Odgar releases my hands.
He doesn’t step back, however. I drop my own hands, pressing them against the door.
Teeth bared, I try to bite back the temptation to snarl at him.
I meet his gaze even as my entire body feels dangerously close to bursting into flames.
Something in his own gaze seems to falter, but he still stares down at me, his hands now bracketed against the door on either side of my head.
When he speaks, it’s steady and irritatingly soothing.
“You harbor so much anger, and it has nothing to do with the curse. Pretending to be someone you’re not for as long as you’ve had to would drive even an immortal to fits of rage. ”
Heat pulses in my hands—I clench them into fists, hoping the door doesn’t catch on fire.
“It doesn’t make you broken,” Odgar continues. “It doesn’t make you worthless. You just need to find an effective release without harming others … or yourself.”
I grunt and try to wriggle free from his hips that still pin me; I refuse to let him know his words are slowly extinguishing the flames I’d almost wanted to unleash on him.
Enidwen’s spirit within me is coiled like an adder, ready to lash out.
I let the snarl loose to remind him that there’s something inhuman within me. That he cannot forget what I truly am.
“You don’t scare me, Carys Meredyth.” He leaves out my father’s name as if I have a right to control my own life, my own fate.
The fury slowly dissipates, leaving me with an uncomfortably warm feeling as my pulse builds.
A jumble of emotions swirls around in my body.
I become hyper aware of where our hips are still connected, of the weight of him, of his arms trapping me here.
There is so much sincerity in his stupid, beautiful eyes.
And he’s. So. Close. Close enough to kiss. Part of me wants to do it.
But if I keep pushing him away, he’ll surely give up. Our arrangement will remain exactly that: an arrangement. Marriage for the purpose of an alliance.
Slowly, he steps away, dropping his hands, but my pulse still races. Do I … miss his weight against me?
“You should try to get some rest,” he says.
“No.” My defiance is as frightening as a toddler’s.
Odgar smiles. “Well, if you’re looking for me, I am going to get some rest.” He drops a kiss onto my forehead, and I step aside, scrubbing my forehead with my palm. Odgar’s warm laughter follows him through the door and down the hallway.
I rush from my cabin and head above deck for some much-needed fresh air. Blond hair blows freely in the breeze where Valdis stands, staring out at the sky now darkening with the impending nightfall.
I clear my throat. “Valdis?”
She glances over her shoulder at me, a smirk on her lips as though she has a teasing remark prepared for me. But her amusement immediately fizzles out. I stand beside her, my focus also on the ocean.
“Good to see that clarity in your eyes again,” she says.
My stomach sinks. “I’m sorry for whatever I said or did.”
Valdis waves her hand dismissively. “You weren’t in control at the time. We’re all aware.”
Somehow this doesn’t comfort me; my stomach sinks farther. I turn to her, and there is no unkindness on her face whatsoever. Not even pity. Concern, perhaps. She drums her fingers against the taffrail.
“Whatever you’re holding on to—whatever you don’t want to talk about—it’s festering like a wound inside you. Sometimes, I write things down when they’re bothering me. Or take a sword to a tree. Odgar does nalbinding. You ought to find your thing.”
“I want to learn how to fight,” I blurt.
She tilts her head, one side of her lips lifting before a full smile takes over her face, puckering her birthmark. “Alright,” she says. She steps back from the banister. “We start tonight.”