I get a better sense of the estate swimming over it than I had on the initial approach. Like a reef, many structures have been built upon each other, dotted around the rocky and sandy ocean floor in a seemingly haphazard, almost organic way. Many are connected by coral tunnels and archways, but not all. Towers stretch up, spiraling with gnarled branches.
We head for a cluster of buildings toward the center that are mostly disconnected from the rest of the estate. Rising from among them is a large structure with a domed roof of brain coral. We descend to a balcony attached to a room connected to the structure, parallel to the wall that serves as a barrier against monsters and the ominous red haze. It’s a bedroom, I quickly realize. Even though it looks unlike any bedroom I’ve ever seen.
There are carvings on each of the columns that line the small balcony we enter through, their lines and shapes like the markings on our bodies and the whale bones of my former cage. On the far wall, opposite the opening to the sea, is a tunnel. Mosslike seaweed grows up from a stone platform opposite me, snaking along the wall, and across the ceiling, trailing into the tunnel. Small, glowing flowers are nestled within the kelp, illuminating the room.
Sheel and Lucia bring Ilryth to the platform before taking places on either side of Ilryth. They begin humming, swaying back and forth. Other, unseen singers meld with the melody and the resulting harmonies resonate deep into the core of my being. The silvery glow of the flowers budded in the mossy kelp brightens, encompassing all three people before me. Ripples distort the luminescent haze, changing in frequency with every high and low shift of note. Tiny bubbles form across Ilryth’s skin and loosen into ribbons of airy pearls.
After a few minutes, their swaying stops and the two share a brief exchange I cannot hear. Sheel drifts away and Lucia adjusts to float over Ilryth’s head, resting both her hands on his temples. Her tail is straight up, arcing lightly against the mossy seaweed of the ceiling. Her face is close to his and she continues to sing softly in harmony with the music that still rides on the currents around the estate.
“What happened to him?” I dare to ask Sheel when it looks like he’s no longer joining in the song. The sharklike man looks positively incensed. His large, scarred arms are folded over his chest. A scowl is etched across his face.
“He went when he was not supposed to—after swearing he wouldn’t. The rest of us hunkered down and I thought he was too. It was going to be fine without him.” Sheel shakes his head. “I told him it’s too dangerous down there for him these days, especially since Dawnpoint is occupied. But he’s been insistent it’s the ‘Duke of Spears’s duty to be on the front line of defense.’”
The sheer quantity of names and places and people would be dizzying if I weren’t already accustomed to quickly learning such things for my work. “Went ‘down there?’ Over the ridge?”
Sheel glances my way, anger in his eyes. But it fades quickly, as if he remembers that I have no idea how things work underneath the waves. “Yes. To the Gray Trench.”
“And that’s where the monsters live?”
“Monsters and wraiths.” He pauses. “You saw one, then?” I nod. Sheel’s scowl deepens. “No wonder he felt obligated. Lord Krokan’s emissaries are venturing closer…”
The aside makes me feel far less safe. Wraiths. Monsters. All on our doorstep.
“He went with warriors.”
“Yes, if they go, he goes.”
I can respect a man who doesn’t order others to do something he wouldn’t do himself.
“But he was the only one who returned,” I add softly. My attention drifts back to the still unconscious duke. I know how horrible that feels…to be the sole survivor. The unyielding guilt is relentlessly chasing me, threatening to catch up every time I’m still. “You said he felt it was his responsibility as the Duke of Spears?” Repeating the names of people and places helps me remember…and pushes other thoughts away.
“Yes. Every duchy has their own primary responsibility to the Eversea. There’s the Duchy of Faith, of Hunt, of Scholarship, of Craftsmen, and of Spears. Of course, each duchy is expected to be self-sustaining. But they specialize in unique areas to cover the gaps of the other duchies. They are led by a chorus composed of all five dukes or duchesses, the eldest of the bunch serving as our king or queen when a single head of state is needed,” Sheel explains. He offers an extensive explanation while saying nothing of the other men not returning. I pick up on his intention, subconscious or not, and allow the conversation to move on.
The notion of the duchies makes sense to me. It’s not so different from a specific region of Tenvrath having the densest collection of farms because the land is more fertile. Merchants tend to specialize based on their proximity to specific goods. Even crew members know one post on the ship better than others because it is what they are inclined toward, despite also being required to be able to fill in for anyone else.
Sheel remains focused on Ilryth, concern evident in his eyes. “As the duchy closest to the Gray Trench, our duke is responsible for the protection of the Eversea from wraiths.”
Ilryth had mentioned something about wraiths possessing the sirens who had tried to take me years ago.
“Are wraiths the same as ghosts?” I ask, taking advantage of the fact that he seems to be forthcoming when trying to distract himself from other matters.
“Not quite. Ghosts will still have their wits about them—they’re a more intact soul, still. Wraiths are ghosts that lost themselves and now only carry hate and violence. They cause turmoil within the living and, once they’ve weakened a soul, can destroy it to possess the body.” Sheel finally averts his eyes, motioning to the wooden spear he carried. “The armor our warriors wear, the weapons we use, and the defenses we create against these monsters are cut from the trunk and roots of the Lifetree. Only a spear of wood from the tree can destroy a wraith.”
I assume the Lifetree to be that massive tree I suspected I saw near the castle when we first arrived.
“Why didn’t the duke have armor?”
“He didn’t?” Sheel is shocked.
I shake my head. “A few of the warriors did, but not him.”
Curses I don’t know crash across my mind. Sheel rubs his temples and they vanish. “Apologies you had to hear that.”
“I’m a sailor, I don’t mind foul language. Though I am impressed you have words I didn’t recognize.”
“Old tongue of the siren. It’s what we still sing many of our songs in.”
“Ah, you’ll have to teach me some sometime. I’d love to bring back some new, deliciously foul language to my—” My thoughts halt.My crew.
