“One, this was my cabin.” I grab the straps of my open pack and sling them across my chest. “Two, we’ve sailed past the Northland fleet. In fact, we’ll be in Summerland waters by day’s end thanks to Joran slipping us across the sea like a godsdamn falcon. So if you want to see the Malorian before we get into the thick of danger, now is the time.”
She frowns, and her eyes go wide. “What? Tonight?”
“Yes, tonight, so get dressed, go get some food, sit above deck in the sun, check the waters, and get your mind right.” I head to the door, looking back at her before I leave. “Because come nightfall, the hard part of this journey begins.”
A dozen emotions flutter through the bond. I’m not able to decipher them all anymore, but I can guess.
Raina’s chest rises and falls on a deep inhale and exhale, and she levels me with a look. “Prick,” she signs. “You could have said that first.”
“What would’ve been the fun in that?” I smile as she grabs the mug of cider and rears back, but I’m out the door by the time it smacks the wood with a loud thud.
Standing in the narrow corridor between the crew’s quarters, I scrape my hand over my face, trying to tamp down the maddening ache that threatens to choke me. I'm so in love with that infuriating woman, and one day—one day—she will realize how much she loves me too.
45
RAINA
After breakfast, Nephele, Hel, and I stand together on the main deck. We lean over the port side rail, the salty wind tearing at our braided hair as we watch foamy waves churn away from the starboard side. No matter where we look, there’s nothing but blue: the dusky indigo of the sparkling Malorian deep that meets the azure sky at the horizon. It’s breathtaking.
For a while, there are no other ships in sight, until white sails appear in the distance, speckling the dark water to the west like birds.
“Fishing boats,” Zahira says as she walks up beside me, cider in hand. “And likely small cargo ships from the Western Drifts.”
The Western Drifts. An archipelago that links the western waters between the Northland Break and the Summerland coast. They’re as foreign to me as the City of Ruin.
“Do they sail into Itunnan too?” Hel asks, running her hands along the wooden rail.
“They do,” Zahira replies, “though there are more port cities to the west. They’re mostly for the people from the Drifts to trade, but they also intercept ships coming from other lands and determine who gets to enter Summerland waters.”
Hel gazes out over the sea, the apples of her brown cheeks bronze in the sunlight. “I’d like to see the Drifts someday.”
Zahira smiles. “It’s a beautiful place, peaceful. Blue-green waters. White sands. When this is over, perhaps Yaz and I can take you.”
I recall that the captain has friends there who plan to visit Malgros soon if the Watch lets anyone into the city. At least Finn will have the distraction of new people to keep him from worrying about me and Hel.
With Finn on my mind, I head back to my borrowed cabin with a canteen strapped over my shoulder. I glance across the main deck, only to spot a dove perched on the rail on the starboard side, watching me.
I stop and stare back. The prince manipulates crows and ravens. A dove seems far too innocent for his employ, but this dove—or a dove—has been following me since shortly after we left Winterhold.
Again, just like my first day in Malgros, the little death behind my heart flutters. This time I can’t help but smile a little and nod in greeting. Perhaps that little one is my guardian, sent from the Ancient Ones.
In the cabin, I sit at the weathered writing desk and fill my scrying dish. Since being unable to see Joran back in Malgros, I’ve worried that something was wrong with my magick. It’s time to determine if it was a simple one-time occurrence, very possibly due to the horrific night I’d had, or if I’m facing a greater problem.
Finn and Yaz are first, my heart heavy for them both. Much to my relief, they appear in the waters. Finn is sitting with Mari on the bed where I left him, a new bandage on his throat, playing a game of dice on a shiny wooden board positioned between them. Yaz sits curled in the chair in the corner, knitting and watching. They look worried, like they’re trying to occupy their minds. But they’re safe, and that is everything.
Vexx is my next effort. He’s standing somewhere along Malgros’s harbor, watching as a crew works to prepare a ship for sailing. At least that’s what it looks like to my eyes, though I’ve never seen a ship or harbor or crew until these past few days. His expression is a dark one. Malevolent and rotten. I’m certain he’s taking every advantage of Rooke’s loss. The Northland Break is now not only missing its king, the Watch is also missing its admiral, and we’ve an Eastland menace on our land.
Where’s he going? Back to the East? Or is he planning to follow us?
I realize it’s probably an unwise hope because the Summerland Guard would surely stop him. But I pray to the Ancient Ones that Vexx sails at our back soon, or that I at least get one more chance to make him pay.
Come find me, you pig, I think as I stare into the waters.
Before I prick my third finger, I’m unsure who to ask the waters to show me—Colden or the Prince of the East. Neri isn’t an option. Since the prince is always shielded behind that godsdamn impenetrable barrier, I decide to look for Colden. He so often provides a bird’s-eye view of a resting Fleurie.
Only today she isn’t resting. And she and Colden aren’t in the dungeon.
My heart pounds as I watch the scene unfold. Fleurie is outside, standing on a stretch of red clay with her pretty face lifted toward a blue morning sky, her radiant red hair aflame in the sunlight. She isn’t bound. Even the iron collar I normally see is gone.
