The ship anchored justoff the docks of Risen and they took tendering vessels to get ashore.
Vi sat with her father, silent once more. They were both keenly aware of the fact that any movement or noise could, and likely would, be used against them in some way. Ulvarth’s efforts to lull them into a sense of security had come to an end. Vi turned into the salt spray splashing up against the side of the boat, allowing it to mist her face. She’d taken the time to rake her fingers through her hair and braid it. Her father had helped, knowing some of the more intricate plaits her mother usually wore. He had used a splash of water to slick his own hair back in the style he’d always worn.
They were a far cry from their regal personas, but it made Vi feel more put together and more like a princess. It made her feel less like some horrible sea goblin rising up from the muck to stumble through a gilded city.
The boat came alongside a dock that had a small army waiting. Ulvarth’s Swords were a group larger than Vi had previously given them credit for. She counted at least fifty, and that was excluding all the men and women who had been aboardLight’s Victory. She wondered how much of the whole militia of Meru was composed of the holy order—how many men and women were positioned in and out of Risen who reported to Ulvarth instead of the queen.
“My Lord.” A man sank to his knees. He wore a bright purple sash around his shoulders pinned with a medal that Vi had never seen before. Ulvarth held out his bejeweled fingers and the man reverently scooped them in his hands, kissing his knuckles for an uncomfortably long time. “We have made all the necessary preparations.”
Vi spared a glance for her father. Aldrik seemed calm and composed, but an uneasy panic was rising in her. But she knew everything Taavin had said about Ulvarth, who was not the calm, collected, respectful individual they’d been dealing with to date.
He was a monster.
“Good,” Ulvarth almost purred. Without so much of a glance back toward them, he started down the dock, a wave of knights dropping to their knees as he passed—as if he were a god. “Get them in irons for the parade.”
“Irons?” Vi blurted. Ulvarth paused. She didn’t know if she was glad or not he’d heard. But she had his attention now. “My lord,” she ground out the honorific, hating herself for every syllable. “We have complied with you without struggle. You said there would be no irons or gags.”
Slowly, Ulvarth crossed back to her. The assembled soldiers seemed to hold their collective breath. What set her heart to racing was their curious anticipation—as though they were about to witness a show.
“You did, didn’t you?” he said softly. “And I do thank you for making it very easy for me to get you here.” Vi narrowed her eyes as a satisfied smile crept across his lips. Ulvarth leaned forward, whispering in her ear. Vi barely resisted the urge to shove him away. “Now continue to be a good pet and I’ll let you keep your skin. I have hides of far more fearsome creatures than you hanging on my walls.”
He straightened away, leaving the strong smell of peppermint clouding the air in his wake. Ulvarth turned and Vi took a half step forward, fantasizing about shoving a blade right between the vertebrae of his neck. But the only blades drawn were pointed at her.
Four knights had closed in on her in a moment. Their weapons rested right under her chin. Ulvarth looked back with an amused smile.
“Muzzle that dog. She may bite the hand that’s feeding her.”
“Do not—” her father stepped forward as knights with irons approached. Vi grabbed his forearm, stopping him.
“I’ve endured worse, Father,” she said loudly. “I’ve endured worse and thrived while the people who forced me to endure it suffered.”
If Ulvarth heard, he gave no indication.
Outnumbered and out-manned, the knights were met with no resistance when it came to shackling them. A gag was pressed between Vi’s teeth.At least this one isn’t cold, she thought darkly. Two gags were too many, Vi decided; she was developing a preference.
As the knights pushed them down the dock, another vessel came up to a pier one slip over from theirs. A litter was situated on it—so heavy with gold that Vi was shocked it didn’t sink the boat. Twelve men strained to hoist it, carrying it off the boat and onto the docks so that the man within was never forced to have his feet touch the ground.
Taavin.
Drawn by an invisible tether, Vi stepped toward him. Arms restrained her. She struggled against them. Incoherent noises slipped around the gag in her mouth.
Taavin didn’t so much as look her way.
He was dressed in golden plate, a long cape draped behind him. A legion of knights maneuvered to surround him. Pennons flew at the front and back of his detail. Taavin kept his eyes forward, face passive. Were it not for the breeze ruffling his hair, Vi would’ve thought he was sculpted from clay, not flesh and blood.
“Move!” A knight shoved her hard and Vi stumbled, barely keeping her feet beneath her. “If you stop, or try to run, or fight, we will cleave you straight in two.”
Vi glanced over her shoulder at the man. He had golden hair and light brown eyes. He’d be plain, if not for the malice that permeated his very aura. She looked to her father, who stared back helplessly. He’d told her he’d endured much in his ascension to the throne, but Vi was left wondering if this could top it all.
Taavin was back in Ulvarth’s hands. She and her father were captive. Her mother and brother were still back on the Dark Isle, left very much in the dark as to their predicament.
What had she accomplished? What had every step of struggle and effort until now been for?
Horns blared, echoing a short, lively tune off the tall buildings. The knights arranged themselves into a single line, falling into place. At the front of the procession was Ulvarth on a white steed—easily the largest warstrider Vi had ever seen. Behind him was a stretch of soldiers, then Taavin—the Voice that gave Ulvarth the power to lead, the foundation of his unjust rule. Then another long stretch of knights, a gap, and Vi and Aldrik.
Behind them was another gap before more knights, who kept their distance as though they were tainted.
“Lord Ulvarth has returned. Rejoice!” A voice boomed from the front, magnified by some kind of magical or mechanical device. Vi couldn’t see which. “Lord Ulvarth has returned. Rejoice! The Goddess has smiled this day! Yargen’s children celebrate, for his mighty campaign has been successful! Thanks to Ulvarth, the Voice has returned to Risen!”
