Distantly, she realized the life of their secrets looked to be at its end. Or maybe this was what happened when you lived each day in bone-deep fear of your own self. You dried up—frail and ready to shatter at any little thing.
Water punched into her gut, knocking her off her feet. The sound of rushing water filled her ears, and then it was pouring over her head into her mouth and lungs, bringing her down beneath its weight as if it were an anchor. Elysia’s feet hit the seafloor, instinct powering her up and out of the water. Soaked, but no longer chained to her magic, she coughed, salt water burning her eyes and nose and throat.
Her frustration was instant. Forget treason or execution, she was going to die alone in the sea because she couldn’t control her stupid fucking magic. She would haunt Rollie in this life and the next if she died out here trying to find his gods-awful friends.
Nails pressed into her skin, she plunged deeper into the water. The docks towered over her, and the water dipped and lapped against her waist now. She stared into the depths of soot-addled water, knowing her eyes couldn’t help her here. Themagic beckoned, though, enticing her farther and farther from the shores into the water’s hold.
The fingertips of the wind were pure ice, dragging across her wet skin. Gooseflesh erupted with a shiver. Shoulders hunched, she looked back at the shoreline. For a moment, she swore she saw a shadow—someone standing at the water’s edge, but then it was gone. A trick of the dark and her fear.
There was supposed to be a tunnel. Or a door.Somethingto take her where she needed to go. But all that awaited her out here was hypothermia. Slapping her hands down against the water’s surface, she loosed a growl in the back of her throat. They werehere. She knew it–her magic didn’t lie. She had seen the mess of their secrets. She spun in a circle, ready to scream at the water and sky to tell her what to do.
Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it, I’ll do anything.
The thought she didn’t allow herself to think was this:Because I’m not ready to die. Not here in the water. Not with a rope around her neck. And not with a blade against her skin.
The feeling of the wordless thought was enough, her magic taking it as an invitation and spinning the wheel of her fate soundly.Tick, tick, tick.The wheel spun, pointing to where it had always intended her to go.
And then her body lurched. The magic, no longer willing to be ignored, took hold of her with both hands, pulling her under with a scream. One hand flailed above the water, and then she was gone. Crashing hard to the bottom of the sea, mouth still agape, she choked. Water gurgled, a stream of tiny bubbles rising surfaceward.
And then her knees banged hard, a plume of blood drifting out and away into the dark. Eyes open, her hands tore frantically at the sea floor. It wasn’t sand or rocks that had cracked against her knees.Somethingwas there. Her nails struck gold beneath the sand, literalgold.Fresh energy fueled her now. Becauseattached to sea-worn wooden boards was a golden slot, gleaming as if it didn’t know it was beneath the sea. The trapdoor looked ancient, seamlessly melded with the sand and mossy algae-covered rocks around it.
Lungs burning, Elysia fumbled for her coin. The clink was muted, barely making a sound against the muffling of the water. Sight unfocused and eyes stinging, she clung to consciousness. And then all at once, the trapdoor fell inward, revealing a dark descent of stairs beneath the sea floor.
Water did not flow or rush in as nature had designed. There was simply a gaping hole, ready to swallow her whole. Elysia dove headfirst onto cold concrete stairs, not caring how she banged her limbs. Spluttering, she raised her head, staring in wonder as the sea raged on, but never entered this secret space. The trapdoor lifted slowly, unhurried until it sealed, leaving her entirely in the dark.
She lay there, chest heaving, lungs and eyes still on fire. Her body continued to shiver uncontrollably, teeth clacking against each other. Fingers like lead, she fumbled to rip off her sodden cloak. It hit the ground with a heavy splat behind her, and she jolted forward, unsteady on her legs. Her hands clumsily steadied herself against the wall.
The stairs ended at a door. Circular with two black iron lines intersecting its center like a crossroads, there were small symbols all around the outer edge of the door. Scales and swords. Hands in strange postures. Skulls and chalices. Fingers still shaking, she reached out, the iron symbols textured against her skin. Water ran in a steady stream off her clothes and body, leaving a growing puddle beneath her feet.
I should go in. This is what I’ve been waiting for.
But a new fear held her in place. She’d never seen magic like that trapdoor. Magic that could rival the strength of something as untameable as the sea. She could hear voices through the doornow, becoming more and more clear. Couldtheyproduce magic likethat?
Her hand strayed to the door handle, ears honed in on the sounds she could make out. Laughter. Voices warm and unrestrained. She gripped the handle—she’d dreamed of this.
With a surge of anxious anticipation, she twisted the handle, letting the door swing open.
An entire roomful of eyes swiveled to her. Soaked to the bone and with a necklace of bruises from both Scarzan and her father, she met their eyes. Not a single one of them was so much as damp. Clearly, they’d had a method of arrival other than the thrashing sea dumping them on the trapdoor like a sack of wet trash.
Her mask slid into place with a swallow. She could handle this. She’d been in far tenser situations with far scarier people. By the gods, she’d killed a man tonight. Created a distraction worthy of the finest heist. And she'd unraveled the clue she imagined they had not believed she could solve.
Elysia lifted her chin and met their eyes only for Rollie to amble forward and break the silence along with her poise in one blow.
His face was horror-struck. “Whathappenedto you? You look like you had the shit beat out of you. Bruises on your neck and scratches on your face.” Honest and blunt as ever, Rollie’s brow creased in genuine concern, his hands clasping and unclasping nervously.
Her cheeks heated, hand automatically reaching up to cover the bruises. But it was no use. She let her hand drop, foregoing her attempt and opting for her own shade of bluntness.
Face still warm, she looked at only Rollie, ignoring the rest of the stares. Her voice came out flat and harsh.
“It’s been a long night, Rollickus. And I look like I had the shit kicked out of me because I did—and then I almost drownedtrying to get in here.” She fixed them all with a look that was somehow both her mother and her sister, and watched them quell and shrink under her glare.
Mari walked up with a wide grin, slapping Elysia on the back and ignoring her venom. “Knew you’d make it. Can’t blame us for our tests—sacrifice, loyalty, magic. They’re important here.”
She turned to face the group of wary, but curious people in the room, delivering a stern expression. As if they were school children that simply needed a firm hand. “Everyone, this is Elysia. Let’s remember not her place with the Crown, but what she did tonight, so that for once we couldallmeet. She passed our tests and made treason bells ring. Let her be welcome.”
Some of the crowd relaxed at her words, but Elysia noticed there were many who did not—pursed lips and scowls still staring back at her. A woman in heavy trousers and a thick sweater with the sleeves shoved up was one of them. Jet-black hair and pale skin, the woman spat when their eyes connected. Kicking back the wooden chair they all seemed to be sitting on, the woman stood, crossing her arms.
“I heard you’re why Syren Herrin is dead.” There was a vicious ache in her words. It was a sound torn between pain and vengeance, and the feeling of it was familiar as her own thumbprint to Elysia.
