“In his old age, the King simply vanished one day. Bregonians think that he dove into the ocean to be united forever with his lover. By drowning,” Ramson added, as though to clarify. “As a kid, I’d always thought—if there was any truth to such a preposterous tale—that this might be where he dove off and died.”
She frowned at him. “That’s a horrible love story.”
Ramson grinned. “It’s a very Bregonian love story.”
“Well, remind me not to fall in love in Bregon,” she replied. He caught her gaze, and the teasing smile on his face softened as something flickered in his eyes. Heat crept up her neck, but before she could say anything, Ramson strode past her, kicked off his shoes, and dove into the pool.
Ana rushed to the edge of the water, her heart thrumming as she searched for him. There it was, that age-old fear, pumping adrenaline into her veins, heightening her panic.
For several moments, Ramson was submerged, darkness clouding him. And then, from beneath the surface of the pool, the water began to glow. It was as though the moon were blooming frombeneathhim, dusting light from the depths that fractaled up all around Ramson as he swam the length of the pool.
“It’s glowing,” she exclaimed when he surfaced.
Ramson laughed and straightened, his hair dripping water, his shirt wet and clinging to the ridges of his body. He pushed aside a lock of hair, looking up at her through half-lidded eyes. It took her a moment to realize thathewas glowing, silver trickling like liquid mercury down his cheeks, his jawline, his neck, glistening on his shirt and pooling at his chest.
Ramson held up a hand, silver droplets threading down his wrist. Ana could just make out the faint outline of his tattoo, a curled stalk with three stems. “Seadust,” he said. “They’re actually infinitely small creatures that glow when they come into contact with heat, but Bregonians believe they’re the souls of the ones we’ve lost, come to greet us in the oceans.” He dropped his hand into the water again, making a small splash. “It’s why our oceans glow during the hottest days in the summers, and why our Moon Lagoon in the south shines the brightest. Whereas you Cyrilians celebrate the First Snows, we celebrate Sommesreven, the Night of Souls.” His smile dropped slightly, and his eyes had a distant look. “We commemorate those we’ve lost on Sommesreven, when the oceans are brightest and the souls of our dead linger in between, held by our Three Gods.”
She’d never learned this in her studies, which had always been focused on politics and economics. “It’s beautiful.”
His gaze snapped up, and he held out a hand. “Try it. Seadust is good luck. Go on.”
She hesitated, but he waded to her and took her hand in his. His eyes flicked to hers and he paused, one finger hooked under the edge of her glove, as though asking for permission. When she didn’t protest, he gently peeled back her glove.
She shivered at the combination of cool night air, the rough calluses of his fingers trailing feather-light against her skin. As though he held an infinitely precious object, Ramson set her glove at the edge of the pool and clasped her hand in his. Slowly, he lowered it into the water.
“There,” he said. Was it her imagination, or did his voice sound huskier than normal? “Now you’re blessed by our Sea God.”
She chuckled, wriggling her bare fingers and marveling at how the water lit up. “Well,” she said, lifting her gaze to look at him from beneath her lashes. “Please extend my thanks to your Sea God.”
A far-off sound interrupted them. At first, Ana thought it was the whistle of the wind between rocks, but the noise grew louder: a haunting keening sound that echoed off the rocks surrounding them, cresting.
Ramson straightened, gazing out at the expanse of night, stock-still. “Gossenwal,” he murmured. “Ghostwales.”
Beneath the surface of the ocean far below, Ana could see glimmers of light weaving through the water. They grew brighter and brighter until one burst through the surface, emitting a call that sent shivers down her spine. Even from this high up, she could make out their fins, the sleek twist of their bodies and the curve to their tails as they arced out of the water before diving in again.
“They’re beautiful,” she whispered.
“The Sea God,” Ramson said quietly, “had a disciple named Jonah. The myths say that after he died, he was reincarnated as a ghostwale. That his soul still wanders the oceans every night.”
Ana had never heard this story, but she was surprised at the way his voice caught.
Ramson looked as though he were in a dream, his face bright with reflections from the water. Ana could have stayed here and listened to him talk about his kingdom and his gods forever. The sky, strewn with stars like a canvas smudged with the dust of pearls, the whisper of the water and the wind, and the glow of seadust draping them both in light—itfeltlike a dream, like another world.
And perhaps it was the surreality of it all that held her still as Ramson turned to her and reached out a hand to brush aside a strand of hair that had fallen into her eyes, his touch blazing heat down her cheek.
“Do you believe in Sommesreven?” she asked, her voice barely a breath.
Ramson’s eyes were half-shut as he trailed his fingers down a lock of her hair. “No. What’s dead is dead, and there is nothing in this world or the next that can bring them back.”
She shivered at his words, the faces of her dead swirling in her mind. Mama. Papa. May. Luka. All those who had died by her hand.
And all those who would die, if she didn’t find the artifact before Morganya.
“Ramson,” she said, pulling her attention from the tips of his fingers on her hair to her words. “Tell me about your father.”
Ramson turned his gaze away. Drops of silver liquid clung to his lashes. “Don’t trust him, Ana,” he said. “There are things he’s not telling us regarding the artifact. It’s here. He knows about it.”
Her stomach tightened. “What did he say to you? When did you see him?”
