I raise an eyebrow. “Is there a tale, then, of a fisherman and a queen who sail to his island? For if there is one, I have not heard it.”
“I merely wish to warn you, Drowned Queen,” he says, watching me carefully. “So that you do not misjudge what comes next.”
I don’t need anyone else deciding for me how I will react to a thing. I can react on my own without prompting. I’ve been doing it for twenty-nine years. Grief has not robbed me of autonomy.
I return to the point, very intentionally not looking at our wretched craft, distinct lack of supplies, and tattered clothing. The sun is already beating on my head so hard I think it might drive me mad, but all these warnings have me wary. What could be troubling enough that he must warn me? I can only think of one thing that could earn him both a wound of the gods and secrets he cannot share. He might be the chosen hero of one of them—though the idea of that is as laughable as a queen marrying a fisherman.
Even so, I have to ask. “Are you god-blessed as well as a catcher of fish?”
“I am the Fisher King,” he says coolly, avoiding my question. “I see everything from the view of the sea, from the eye of the whale, from the end of the tentacle.”
“I cannot imagine,” I say dryly. “And so, you are the Fisher King. Is this the same thing as the Drowned Queen?”
“Precisely so.”
I have not yet decided if I am amused or annoyed. He is not taking my questions seriously.
“And what do you fish, Fisher King? Do you go after great schools of tuna and cod?”
He laughs, and if I must admit something, I’ll admit I love his laugh. It ripples like water now that it is no longer rusty and broken.
“I fish for possibilities.”
“And is marriage to me one of those possibilities?”
He leans forward so far now that we are nose to nose. I feel the brush of his against mine. It’s an unsettling level of intimacy I’m not certain I’m prepared for. It mimics too much the closeness I shared with Lieve. And it does not help that whatever he reeked of before has been blown away and he smells now only of the sea and of a strong young man—a man who has married me and likely would have plans to bring me to his bed were he not so grievously wounded.
“It is the greatest of possibilities, Lady of the Sea, but I do not need to lay hold of what is already mine.” He draws back, watching my breath catch, and runs a hand over his beard. I’ve seen Turbote do that when about to engage in a tricky negotiation. “I crave your complicity, wife. I have… plans.”
“Plans?” I am careful in how I pitch my voice. It is neither no nor yes just yet.
“There are some who have wronged me,” he says carefully. “Precisely who, and precisely how, I do not fully know, and I dare not lay bare to you yet. First, we trust this much, then more later. Yes?”
“Yes,” I agree, and I swallow and match his trust with my own. “I have been wronged, too.”
“Have you?”
“And I, too, want my revenge,” I say, clenching my jaw. I want it with all the aching longing of my mourning heart.
“And will you tell me who has wronged you?” He is very grave, and I am pleased that he takes my concerns as seriously as his own.
I give him a long look. “When you tell me the names of your enemies, I shall reveal my own. Suffice it to say, they are powerful indeed.”
“And how will you take this revenge?” His voice has taken a wary edge. Perhaps he fears being caught up in a plot of murder.
“However I can,” I say grimly, but it is sorrow that fills full my voice. “A life, or a soul, or the tiniest scrap of flesh—what I can take, I will, and I will use every violence at my disposal. Will you help me?”
He runs a hand through his hair and curls his body around his wound before looking at me with a worried frown. “I will help you see clearly. I will keep you from harm if I can. As for vengeance, that we must speak more on later, I think. When you have had time to consider if this is truly the course you must take. But know this, Coralys of a drowned crown and a storm-tossed fate, you are my wife and I will shed any blood I must for your sake, ruin any creature, destroy any bastion. I will shirk no great task that must be done for your good.”
Chapter Six
Ithink he’s probably crazy and definitely dangerous, but as long as he’s willing to go along with my plans for vengeance, then I really don’t care. I will find the god responsible for the death of my husband and I will make that god suffer to the full measure that I have suffered. Even if it seems impossible.
Oke cannot prevent it. In his current state, he can’t overpower me, and I’m not certain he will live the seven-day out in either case.
He settles back on his seat looking almost content. The wind whips up, tossing the sea in choppy frenetic waves, and I snug his tunic around me for what little protection it offers.
“Home then, I think,” Oke says. He scrubs his fingers through his beard as if considering something, lifts that hand, and makes a twisting motion as if he is turning a large bowl.
