Chapter 18
Sapphire flames twirled around Adara’s fingers. She studied the scars that marred her uncovered hands. She’d indeed come extremely far since the early days in her training when the flames would either dwindle to ash and smoke, or rage until they became a furious inferno.
In her defense, she’d had no one to properly teach her.
A few minuscule things she’d learned from her father—useless summonings that hardly passed as a party trick—but other than that, she’d been far too young to try anything more difficult than wielding a simple flame.
Sure, he’d informed her of the knowledge she needed to understand what being a Flamecarrier meant, but that was nothing compared to actually manipulating the fire.
The rest she’d had to learn on her own. Hence, the mangled skin on her hands.
A mistake she had made and learned through failure.
Adara stared at the fire in her palm. A writhing, dangerous thing that lay just beneath her skin. The flames morphed into a firebird. Its wings spread wide, prepared to take flight in one mighty beat—
A thud sounded from within the confines of the storage room, somewhere behind the crates stacked near the back.
The fire in her palm flared as she startled at the sound, and she drew the knife from her vambrace.
Cautiously, she rose from her bedroll, her magic illuminating the room.
She approached on silent feet, peering behind a stack of crates.
A figure moved in the shadows, and Adara lunged, tackling them to the floor.
A sharp pain shot through her arm, her wound from the Whisperer still slowly mending itself together, but she ignored it.
The intruder violently thrashed beneath Adara.
He looked about the age of eighteen. Gold earrings glinted beneath his disheveled dark brown hair, strands of it draped over his forehead.
His eyes were wide with fear, darting between her weapon and her flames.
Beads of sweat rolled down his sepia skin.
With his back to the floor and a dagger pinned at his neck, Adara had to keep angling it away so he wouldn’t slice his own throat along her blade with each writhing movement.
His muffled voice sent vibrations through her palm covering his mouth.
“Shut up,” she whispered with a scowl. She wasn’t even sure he understood the Malrynese she spoke, given that he was clearly Enfiderian and must have snuck onto their ship in Gierok. “I’m trying to save your gods damn life,” she muttered.
Dominic would have the boy killed on sight, simply for daring to sneak onto their ship. Adara wasn’t sure why she was giving this stranger the chance to explain himself, but something tugged at her to put her blade away. An invisible force urging her that he was of no harm.
She had, in fact, effortlessly tackled him to the ground despite him being a foot taller and broad with muscle. She was the one who had him at knife-point and magic coursing through her veins. How much harm could he possibly do?
“I’m going to remove my hand now,” Adara informed him quietly.
She listened closely. The ship was silent, the Andreilians presumably still asleep for the night.
“Stay quiet.” Slowly, she removed her hand from his mouth, retracting her dagger from his throat as well.
Rising to full height and sheathing her dagger in her vambrace, Adara outstretched a hand to the boy.
His fearful eyes tracked her every move, then settled on her hand.
Carefully, he reached out to grasp hers. Adara pulled him to his feet.
“Thanks,” he murmured, unsure of himself, a thick accent evident in his Malrynese words. She was glad he spoke multiple languages because she didn’t know a lick of Enfiderian.
Adara stood with a hand on her hip, palming the knife in her belt. “Do you know whose ship you just snuck onto?” she asked, fingers drumming along the hilt.
Firelight danced over the sharp angles of his jaw and cheekbones. His throat worked as he contemplated his answer. “Yes,” he breathed. “You’re sailing to Andreilia.”
“Then you know they’ll kill you when they find you.”
“Hence, why I snuck into the storage room.” He gestured to the crates around them. “I didn’t know anyone would be sleeping in here. Are you a stowaway too?”
Adara breathed a laugh. “No.”
“Then what are you doing here?” he asked, shooting her an accusatory glare. “Won’t Dominic kill you too?” He waved a flippant hand. “Ya know, King of Keys and all, manipulating girls into falling for him.”
Adara ran a hand through her hair. “It’s a long story,” she muttered more to herself. “From now on, I’m asking the questions,” she demanded. “Your answers will determine if I decide to turn you over to Dominic or not.”
His features were harsh, stern, but something softer lay within his brown irises.
Adara scanned his figure, clad in a beige tunic, the buttons undone at his chest to reveal a gold necklace.
There appeared to be nothing in the pockets of his brown trousers.
A matching coat hugged his broad shoulders, hanging down to the back of his calves.
“You have no weapons.” It was more of a statement than a question, for Adara could see no traces of even something as small as a knife in his clothing.
He smiled, soft and delicate, and held his coat open for her to see the plain inside.
“None,” he said proudly, as if his innocuity would be enough to win her over.
Foolish was what he was, sneaking onto their ship with no way to defend himself.
He walked to the other side of the room and lowered himself to the floor, leaning back on the hull.
He settled in like he was completely at home on a ship that wasn’t even his.
Adara narrowed her eyes at him. She sat cross-legged on her bedroll and lit the lantern between them with her magic. “Are you Pherra?” she asked quietly. There’d be no chance she could save him if he had magic. Dominic would find a way to steal his key and power for his own.
He shook his head, warily eyeing the flames in the lantern. Confusion contorted his features. His lips parted, as if to ask a question, but then snapped shut, recalling Adara’s demands.
“How did you know we were sailing to Andreilia?” Adara continued her interrogation.
He chuckled, then slapped a hand over his mouth, remembering there were still others who might want him dead on this ship. “Your crew isn’t exactly stealthy,” he replied.
Adara ran a hand over her face. She was going to murder Caleb.
“But that’s not all,” the stranger continued.
“I had been on a roof, watching the ocean. All other boats approach from the north or south and sail along the coast until they reach Gierok’s port.
” He pointed a finger at her. “Your ship came straight from the west, from the midst of the Plagued Sea. And I know damn well this isn’t the infamous Captain Lunard’s crew. ”
Her heart twinged at the mention of Damon. How long had it been since he sailed to Andreilia for her? Without time eating away at her anymore, she’d already lost track of the days. She prayed his luck hadn’t yet run out and that he made it back to Malryn.
Of course, someone would notice The Lykren was not the Valen Wind. Damon’s ship was massive compared to theirs, and the only one known for surviving a voyage across the Plagued Sea.
“I knew the only others capable of surviving the Plagued Sea were those who found the island,” he said.
Adara’s gaze locked on his, searching for any sign of deception. “So, you snuck on the ship in hopes of finding eternal youth?” A nod. “Why?”
He ran a hand through his tousled dark hair, speckled with short, thin braids here and there, and sighed in defeat. “Who wants to grow old and die?”
Adara shook her head. She didn’t particularly care why anyone wanted more years.
Time was an elusive thing, slipping through her fingers as she desperately grasped for more, yet it was what made life so precious—the fact that it didn’t last forever.
But that didn’t stop anyone from trying to defy the God of Time, Kairos.
“Why risk it?” she questioned. It was more in her interest to find out why eternal youth was worth risking his life for.
His features softened. “Same as you all, I suppose. I’ve got nothing left.”
Adara’s brows creased, lips tugging down.
She gave him a once-over again, now noticing how his trousers fit a little loose, their ends frayed above dirty black boots, one with a hole worn through its sole.
His coat sleeves had patches of different colored fabric sewn onto them, as if they needed to be repaired multiple times.
His tunic was missing a few buttons at the collar.
The gold rings on his fingers were tarnished.
Other than that, he had no possessions on him.
“What happened?” she asked gently.
“Did you know Pherra are outlawed in Enfider?” he asked.
She nodded.
He fiddled nervously with the chain around his neck. “And what do you think happens when it is deemed a crime to simply exist?” he seethed, expression hardening. “To live with powers you did not ask for?”
Adara only stared at him.
“Riots,” he said. “Pherra know they are more powerful than the crown. They are simply outnumbered.”
“So, what?” Adara asked. “Are you some sort of Pherra sympathizer that got caught up in it all?”