Chapter Fifty-Eight
Fifty-eight
Saoirse
It was nearing midnight when we discovered the isle last summer, but now dawn breaks as we reach the Scath-Díol—or what would be the Scath-Díol, if an eclipse was underway and the island rising from the sea.
All that’s here now is an endless expanse of deep blue waves.
There is no gold sand like that we saw on the island.
No waters that toss light every time they hit the shore like in our dreams. As the sun pours itself across the sky, blotting out the last of the stars, I look for a moon to block it—a ring of fire to summon the island with its hidden meeting place for the gods. But the skies are otherwise clear.
“This is the place?” Faolan asks, standing over Brona’s map as she searches the sky, then shakes her head.
“Aye, for the lot of good it’ll do you.”
“It will do plenty. Tavin, what do you see?”
“Sails on the horizon.”
“How many?”
“Two—both of them gray.”
“Right.” Faolan crosses the deck in ten long strides, grabbing hold of a rope to hang over the water, staring down into its depths. “Remember what I told you. No weapons drawn to start. This has to go right.”
“And if it doesn’t?” Lorcan asks, but humor like whiskey warms his voice.
“Think of the reward?”
“Never the risk!” We shout it as one, and for a single, perfect moment it’s like that night on Faolan’s old ship, with its sails of starlight and laughter on the wind. But those days are done.
My spine straightens as Maccus’s ship approaches, cries coming from on board by their quartermaster as he draws the sails and eases back. There are figures bound on the deck: bright and familiar, sturdy and cold.
Kiara stands with her legs wide and chin held high, even with her wrists wrapped in ropes.
Aidan is beside her, still wearing that bloody shirt—but there’s color in his cheeks.
Too much, like he’s been roasting in the sun.
And Callen stands beside him, their arms unbound, their head tilted to one side while Tadgh grips the railing on their left.
Maccus is at the helm, one hand around a rope, the other holding the great hammer at his side.
Before he can speak, Faolan cups his hands around his mouth.
“We surrender!”
Kiara visibly flinches, and even Callen looks taken aback.
Maccus merely quirks one brow, then raises his arm to one of his crew, holding their position. “Very well. What are your terms?”
Faolan’s cheek dips as he smiles. “We want in on the bargaining. Saoirse keeps her bone ring, I take the shield, the rest go to the leaders of the islands…assuming they want them in the first place.” He nods to Aidan. “If not, I’ll happily take another.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Maccus’s eyes land on me. “What of Bandia Saoirse?”
“She stays alive.”
His brows lower. “The sea demands a sacrifice.”
“So use her brother. What’s it matter to a vat of salt water whose blood it tastes, if they’re from the same family line?”
Maccus watches me for a long, quiet moment, then gestures once, and the ladder unfurls.
We climb with hasty movements, my wrist screaming, Faolan having to aid me. I can’t help looking at Aidan as we pass him by, mouth bound by a gag, his eyes bright with terror. Callen just nods.
A sick, twisting feeling takes me over as I study their face, hearing Maccus’s voice once more in my mind, offering to share the relics with the others if they would join him. Share the power for capturing me.
“You took it? Maccus’s offer?” I ask.
“You never should have believed I wouldn’t.”
I don’t say a word—keep up the ruse, even as I search Callen’s face.
Remembering how it felt, touching their hand for the first time in years at the start of autumn.
Wonder what in shade’s realm went wrong.
Instead, I go to Maccus, who’s watching me just as he’s done for weeks—with possession in his eyes.
It’s a gamble. We all know it. But it was always going to be.
At least now, there’s a chance it might work.
Once we are all aboard the ship, Maccus raises his arms. “Today, we begin a new era. Under the dawn, we embark on a new age. Ríona Etain asked us, once, who had the courage to dare slaughter a god—but I ask you now. Who has the courage to become one?”
Maccus beckons to the others, and one by one they lay their relics on top of a shroud: Eabha’s veil, Maira’s shield, Clodagh’s vessel, Odhrán’s pipe, Róisín’s talon, Eamon’s hammer.
Reaching out, Maccus offers me his hand.
“Bandia Saoirse?”
I force myself not to look at Faolan as I tug free my bone ring and place it in his palm. He sets it on the top of the pile, then draws me over to it, unsheathing a dagger as he does.
“Awaken the sea.”
He offers me a dagger—the sort I’ve held dozens of times before. Cutting my veins open, bleeding for the world. I roll its wooden handle against my palm and the soul stain there that flickers once in the sun. My stomach twists and curls in on itself at the thought of what I must do.
“Well?”
I look at Maccus slowly, through my lashes as he smiles, like the lamb he wants me to be.
And then, just as Brona and Callen taught me, I twist my body in a quick motion and drive the dagger toward his throat.
Only, I am not a warrior. My strength does not lie in how I hold a blade.
Maccus catches my wrist just as the knife meets his skin, slashing—but not nearly deep enough. His eyes darken, harden, like iron rods before they’re thrust into flames.
“That was a mistake,” he says, then grabs my arm and thrusts it out over the water, taking the knife and cutting open my flesh.
I scream as my blood pours into the ocean, echoing sounds coming from behind him. Thin red splatters of my life hit the waves as Maccus holds me tight, shouting to the water.
“I summon you, god of the gods, power of the realm! Take me to the Knowing Sea!”
The waters immediately still, not a wave interrupting the surface. There is a long moment when nothing happens. All I hear is the struggle of bodies behind me, the plips of my blood turning to frothy pink foam.
And then, all at once, the ocean begins to swirl.