“I could ask you the same. Ididask you, if you’ll recall.”
“When? When did you ask this?” Oke’s voice is sharp, but his friend speaks right over him.
“This is not an enchantment easily untangled, paltry queen, because the power of it lies in his death. If he was not dead, he could not be held this way.”
“I am yet unaware of a way to raise the dead,” I say grimly, and he wiggles the fingers of his hand dismissively.
“You’re new yet. New enough that your eyes are still closed and you stumble with each step. You’re like as not to break your own neck as survive to grow. He won’t tell me why he wed you. We don’t marry as a rule. Last I heard a god had wed was well before my time. Before even Aurelius or Glorian or Heskatan, and they are the oldest of us. No one would open themselves up to the chance of such treachery. None but our hubris-bloated friend here. But it is for that reason that I’m here. I would try my hand at freeing him and I would have your help.”
“She’s already committed to helping me with my task,” Okeanos says sharply. There’s fear showing in how he holds his limbs so rigidly. “Nothing must take precedence over that.”
“While he is bound here,” Markanos says, ignoring Oke, “the rebellion grows. Those of us who do not like it are isolated and harried on every side. We need Okeanos back. When his power is full, there is none who dare defy him. I would have your help to free him from his bonds so he might stand shoulder to shoulder with us.”
“The rebellion will fail,” Okeanos says. “You have no need of me. But my people need their sanctuary.”
Markanos growls in his throat as if they have covered this ground before and now he has lost patience. “You are too single-minded, Okeanos. Take pity on us all and have a moment’s self-interest.”
“Can I speak a moment with my husband?” I ask Markanos. I’m still wary of him, but I won’t reject an offer of alliance.
He shrugs. “Do as you must.”
But he goes nowhere, simply leans back in his seat and savors the smoke of his pipe. I must creep very close to Okeanos and squat down to speak to him privately.
“Oke,” I begin, trying to compose my thoughts. He’s very cold so close to me. The fire paints him with a wash of violet light, a pretense at life and health, but the Okeanos I remember warmed the bed and the air around him. This one is but a cold shell. I shiver.
“Coralys.” For a moment his eyes are unguarded.
There are so many words we aren’t saying. Mine are full of regret. Full of guilt. His are full of something else—something I’m terrified to name.
“Keep your promise to me,” he begs.
I look away, swallowing. “One of the tasks on the list is to heal the Crown of the Sea. Who is that but you? I can keep my promise to youandhelp Markanos.”
“That’s a girl,” Markanos says from his place on the log. I shoot him a poisoned look. He is not helping. “We don’t have much time. If we’re going to free this seaweed-encrusted god, then we must leave now. While our enemies are distracted. Before their plans are in place.”
“If you can heal me while you attend my tasks, that is well and good, but, Coralys, I beg you,” Oke says, lurching violently toward me. His restraints hold him back, but I feel his cold breath on my cheek and look directly into his green eyes. “Don’t waste your time on me alone. Not as a crab. Not as a woman. Go home. Fulfill the tasks. Save our people as you said you would. Don’t follow the lead of my old friend. His heart carries him down the wrong path.”
I won’t promise him that. How can I?
But now his eyes are frantic and my heart squeezes. How can I deny him this request when I’ve taken everything else from him?
I feel terribly torn. I would like to fulfill his requirements while giving him back his freedom—maybe even his life. And that could absolve me of my guilt and still save my people in the end. For surely he would do a better job of beingtheir god and lifting their Lighthouse than I would. I want both things at once.
I stand abruptly.
“We must make ready to leave, Markanos of War.”
“So we must.” The God of War stands, dusting off his trousers and knocking the ash from his pipe.
Okeanos spasms against his bonds, his face a rictus of pain. He barks a short, hard curse. But my back is already turned to him.
I hear a sharp inward draw of breath as he gets himself under control, speaking then in a tight tone to my back. “No matter what you feel for me—no matter what pity or regret—it cannot outweigh the needs of our people.”
He’s right, of course. He must be right.
I speak quickly so that I won’t have to think too hard about what I am saying. “I give you my word that my primary aim will be to raise your Lighthouse, Okeanos. But I will do it my way.”
“And I will help, of course,” Markanos surprises me by saying.
