Maris nodded, lips pressed thin with worry. “I’ll be careful.”
As dawn continued to crack open over the eastern sky, painting the sails in molten silver, the Argo drifted from the cliffs of Nerium, the tide churning with each breeze.
Toward the Hollows and whatever laid in wait.
Chapter forty-four
Salt, Sickness, and Silverfire
-Maris-
The sea had betrayed her. Six days aboard the Argo, and Maris was fairly certain her stomach had disowned her entirely. She clutched the edge of the low wooden rail, face pale and hair wind-tossed, as the horizon bobbed and spun like a drunk noble at an over zealous ball.
Beside her, Serenya groaned into her palms. “If I die here, tell Alarik it was noble, and push me over board.”
Maris managed a weak laugh. “You said that yesterday.”
“And the day before,” Serenya muttered. “But I mean it now.”
Waves slapped the hull with gentle persistence, not enough to warrant fear but more than enough to churn what little remained in either of their stomachs.
“I swear to any god who hasn’t tried to kill me,” Maris mumbled, “after this, I am never setting foot on a ship again.”
Serenya only whimpered.
The sky above them was clear, a rare gift streaked with violet and copper. Alarik had said they would make landfall by dawn. One more night on this cursed vessel. One more sunset of salt-wind and nausea.
Maris pulled back from the railing, steadying herself with trembling fingers.
Her magic stirred.
Not the wild, untethered inferno it had once been but a flickering ember that danced in her palm, responding to her breath. The training had helped. Her control had grown. Still, she didn’t dare reach too deep, for fear of hurting another after Alarik.
Not out here.
Not where the sea whispered to the gods like old lovers.
She’d practiced in secret, mostly below deck focusing on projection, shielding, and low-light summoning. The spells were small. Harmless. Just enough to stay sharp, to keep the power from overwhelming her again.
It helped that Alarik watched without hovering and offered his assistance when she asked.
Unlike Kael, he didn’t try to shape her to his will. He only offered space and quiet confidence. Though his eyes always burned like they knew more than he ever said aloud.
Still, despite the weight of the mission ahead, the looming threat of divine retaliation, and the unpredictable bond humming faintly between her and Kael…
She had found a rhythm here.
Just enough stability to stand upright.
Even if her stomach still wanted to mutiny.
As she made her way carefully down to the lower deck —Serenya trailing behind like a ghost of noble nausea, Maris reached again for the power of the pulsing mark on her hand.
The sigil glowed faintly in response.
Straight ahead. Still leading her true.
Toward the Hollows.
