The tightness in my chest eases. ‘She can do that?’
Maris shakes her head, stares down at her feet. ‘She’s not herself lately. I don’t want her draining her Aether reserves. She’s too proud to admit it, but she needs to conserve her energy.’ Maris looks like she could say more but she only sighs.
‘My Guardian’s the same. Refuses to accept the Sickening’s weakened them.’
I search for the door linking my mind to Orthriel’s, but it’s shut. Locked tight. Evidence of their waning power. We’re supposed to be reuniting in Lulana, the heart of Estelia’s growing region, in the space of three moonsrisings to collect dried starfruit for our onward journey, and horses to carry us to the High Hills. The river there is too narrow and shallow for boats to navigate.
‘Delphine’s always been stubborn, immovable as a barnacle.’ Maris tosses her braids. ‘It’s one of the reasons things didn’t work between us. We’re too similar.’
My mouth gapes.
Maris arches a cerulean brow. ‘Catching glowflies, Princess?’
I clear my throat and study the grain of the decking. ‘I… But I thought you and Blayze…’
Maris laughs. ‘You needn’t look so shocked, oh Radiant one. You Star-Shackled are so quick to label, so fond of your narrow, rigid absolutes. Things are more fluid in the Isles.’
I tug my hood lower. Such things are not unheard of at court. I’ve long had my own suspicions about Izarius – he’s never been bound, always claiming to be wedded to his work. But such unions are not openly discussed, frowned upon by some – including my father – given the plummeting birth rates.
Delphine’s upper body breaks through the surface of the river with a splash. Her skin’s moonsblushed with a lilac haze, but her hair’s flaming red, and she’s scowling. Bruise-like crescents smudge her eyes. I thought this time in the river would revive her, but she looks peakier than when we first left Meissa.
‘I heard all that, you know.’ The pearlsprite’s words carry in the darkness. ‘I’m not a child. It’s my decision to make.’ Delphine doesn’t speak often, but her voice is lush as velvet.
‘Fine. Have it your own way. But don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ Maris calls back.
A tiny smile of satisfaction tugs Delphine’s full lips as she whispers to the surface of the water. A stream of liquid vowels I can’t understand.
The river starts to ripple. Only a faint ruffling at first, but stronger as she starts to sing.
A pure, sweet melody spreads over the night like honey. Sugared notes soar and stretch in the darkness, and tears well in my eyes. Orthriel once described starsong as the most beautiful sound in existence, but I can’t imagine anything sweeter than Delphine’s voice. My mind slows, my eyelids grow heavy. Maris appears unmoved. She folds her arms and shakes her head. Delphine continues singing till a cutting breeze whips the air, kissing my ears and the back of my neck. When the sail billows, inflating with air like a giant pair of lungs, the cloying music melts away.
Maris sighs as the last notes ebb, snatching up the compass hanging from a fine rope of pearls around her waist. ‘I’d better raise anchor.’
I shake myself free of the stultifying grip of the spritesong and follow her over the tents. ‘Are you all right?’
Maris peers up through wet lashes. I can feel her weighing her options as she unties the ropes: answer me truthfully – trust me; or terminate the conversation.
‘It’s a relief to be back on the water,’ she says at last. ‘But it’s made me realise how much I miss home.’ She drums long, tapered fingernails against her compass. ‘This was my mother’s. My father gave it to me when I passed out of the Maritarium with the highest honours in my brigade. He was so proud. If I’d stayed in the Isles, I’d have command of the fleet by now. I had plans. I wanted to brave the Strega Pools, trawl the Wind-Whipped Isles for untainted fish, work harder to protect our reefs. Help my people. Make a real difference.’ Maris swallows. ‘And I miss my father. For the past five spawnings, it’s just been the two of us. He’s not well and relies on me. I won’t see him for many tides, and perhaps…’
She breaks off, but I don’t need her to say the remaining words. I whisper them all too frequently myself.
And perhaps never again.
‘I envy you that. My father and I have never been close. I’m a constant disappointment.’ My gaze locks with hers, and for once, I don’t find judgement in her lapis eyes. She places a cool hand on my shoulder and squeezes. Her sharp scent of salt and snowberries shrouds me like a night mist.
‘I… I hate him.’ My voice cracks, and something inside me breaks as well. The dam stemming the pain of a lifetime of rejection. The hurt rushes out, leaching through my body like a sour wave.
I’ve never said those words aloud.
A throat clears behind us. Blayze is still in his seat, but he’s awake and staring at me with a knowing expression that suggests he’s been listening to every word I said.
Maris snatches her hand from my shoulder. Her expression shutters, turns grim as she hoists the anchor onto the deck with a loud thump.
I don’t understand. I thought we just shared a moment of genuine connection, mending one of those broken threads.
She remains close enough that we’re practically touching. If my fickle powers can be prevailed upon, I might be able to scry her thoughts. I grip the side of the boat, bracing as silver freckles my vision. A connection: wavering but real. Giddiness sweeps through me. It’s dark, but if Maris notices my misted eyes and buckling knees, I can pass it off as another wave of water-sickness.
I watch our conversation back through her memories. Maris thinks I regret confiding in her.
