Markanos gives me a sharp look. “And he did not warn you to stay away from them?”
“He might have,” I say. What business is it of his? Besides, this trident gave me victory over the sea serpent. I will not give it up. Especially not now when I might need it.
“Well, if you took it up as your first weapon as a god, then it’s yours now,” Markanos says. “Let’s see what we can do with it.”
He has the trident cleaned and sharpened and the shaft free of burrs very quickly. I sip my tea quietly and watch. I am growing tired and my thoughts are far away.
Now that I know it was Okeanos who saw and saved me in my youth, who was there when no other was, who later knew what I had done when all else believed a differentstory, I can’t shake the thought that he’s still one with the sea, watching my actions and knowing everything that happens while he is tortured far away. Is there a way that I might watch him—watchoverhim in return?
“Have a care with this trident,” Markanos says, frowning as he finishes his work. “It sings to me of a dark power. I think it could pin a thing so well in place that it could stitch a soul back into the world of the living.”
“Truly?” I ask, not certain if I believe him. “How would you know?”
“I am God of War, Drowned Queen. I can feel the heart of a weapon in a way you never could. Tell me, have you used it?”
“I killed a sea serpent with it,” I say uneasily as he hands it back to me. “What do you expect me to do with it now?”
“Stick it in your enemies.”
A laugh gusts from me without any conscious thought. “So simple?”
“It usually is. It’s only people who insist on complicating things. Death is as simple as breathing. Now. We have a plan. You have a weapon. I will return tomorrow at dusk and we will see what Ordanus might reveal to us.”
“Why not now?” I ask. I’m exhausted but unwilling to let such an opportunity pass.
“Because I am tired and so are you,” Markanos says with a wry twist to his lips. “Besides, war has begun on the mainland. I have prayers to attend. I’ll not leave my people without my aid. Get some rest. Don’t play crab all day.”
And with that, he rises, slices the air with his sword, and is gone.
I follow his lead, spending the rest of the night trying to do my best to answer what small prayers I can. My people are stirred up. We’ve lost trading ships close to where Alexandros and Glorian fight along disputed shores, merchants far from home when hostilities broke out, and traders who thought to profit on the chaos, and there’s little I can do to ease their pain except help the passage of those in flight.
When dawn rises, I am a crab again. I cannot be otherwise because far away there is an ache in the sea that I am failing to mend, and I fear that if I do not find some way to heal it, then I will lose it entirely.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Markanos comes to collect me at dusk. I am ready for him: neat, tidy, dressed in fresh clothing, and carrying my trident as he asked.
“Let us find Ordanus,” he says when he sees me standing on the shore.
The evening is cold and I have found a piece of cloth and a simple pin to wear as a chlamys over the belted tunic. My hair and the chlamys both billow in the shore wind, and it carries to me the scent of the fire he lit last night. It was still smoldering when I walked past it, turning my stomach with the twin realities that I have an enemy who wants me dead and that keeping him at bay will require violence.
“We will ask him what he knows and see if he can help us. Expect opulence and extravagance. Our brother Ordanus is not one for stark simplicity.”
I nod. This should be easy and yet I am nervous to visit a god. I have not been to the home of one except for Okeanos.
“Follow my lead and be as silent as you can be,” Markanos says, watching me with narrowed eyes as if he thinks I am about to burst forth into speech. I meet his eye steadily and he snorts before grabbing my hand and cupping it with his. He twists it as he slashes his sword.
I find it interesting that his way of shifting between planes seems to be linked to his sword slash just as mine is connected to the sea.
I have grown so used to Oke’s cottage that I have almost begun to think that all the gods might live in such simple domestic circumstances. How foolish of me.
Ordanus is God of Art and Music, and when we arrive at his home, I can see he has embraced his role with his whole heart.
Ordanus’s home is set along a lakeshore, and it follows the flow of the shore, hugging its curves, straightening with its sharper lines. It is sculpted from honeywood and round river stones. Flowering vines creep up the sides and hang along the edges of the roof. There are stained glass windows everywhere—whole walls of them depicting fanciful creatures of land and sea and sky locked in battle or embrace or rising in glory. Music ripples from wind chimes like none I’ve ever heard, filling the air as we pass. It seems to me that the very house sings to me.
Markanos is looking in every direction at once, on guard despite the pastoral setting.
“It’s oddly quiet,” he says calmly.
