“Fia’s elite guard of military assassins,” the Collector replies. “That I can’t just kill,” he says to Keth. “They are Fia’s men. They hunt down trespassers. They are loyal to their queen, and she to them. It probably wouldn’t go over well if I slaughter them. But they aren’t a concern for us because we’re going to keep our heads low and our magick concealed and get through Itunnan and the provinces undetected so we can reach the City of Ruin. Right?”
He looks at every face, then watches Joran closely, his sharp-as-glass eyes saying all I need to know. He’s wondering the same as me. How does Joran Dulevia from the northernmost village of Reede know so much about the Summerlands?
Within the hour, we cross the main deck and climb the steps leading to Dedrick’s cabin. The air is so warm this far south, the night and sea dark as pitch. Our blue world has been exchanged for one that could’ve been carved from an obsidian mountain in the Mondulak Range.
The ten of us take turns sitting, pacing, and standing in nervous silence as the ship slows.
“Empty your packs of anything you cherish,” the Collector says, pointing to an empty crate in a corner. “Leave it all there. Perhaps we’ll have the chance to retrieve everything one day.”
I watch as he opens his own pack and removes the golden box that contains my necklace, along with his journals.
His journals.
He holds them for a few minutes, running his thumb over the wool he keeps them wrapped in, before carrying them—and the gift box—to the crate, carefully placing them inside. When he turns and meets my eyes, a deep sadness sweeps through me. To treasure something for three hundred years only to have to walk away from it… I can’t imagine what that must feel like, not to mention that earlier today, I had to inform him that his old friend is indeed practicing her skills with opening a portal.
Talk about a past coming back to haunt.
I’m not sure what gets into me, but I walk over and remove the golden box. I can’t salvage his beloved journals, and I can’t change that his friend unwittingly made a deal with his enemy, but he didn’t want to chance losing this little pearl, and something about that softens my bitterness.
I remove the necklace and fasten it around my neck before tucking it beneath my jacket collar. “Not letting you give away my jewelry,” I sign.
He smiles with one side of his mouth—the dimpled side—and I can’t handle what it does to me, so I walk across the cabin to the single porthole and peer outside. Anything for a distraction.
A smaller vessel rows up broadside, and in seconds, our crew begins shouting and laughing with the guards. I hold my breath, ready for this to be over, and soon enough it is.
Dedrick opens the cabin door and pokes his curly head inside. “Never underestimate a good forger and an even better liar.” He curls his lips into a satisfied smirk. “They welcomed us to anchor in the harbor. Time to see what you Northlanders are made of.”
46
NEPHELE
The Summerland Coast
Itunnan Harbor
* * *
The night is thick on the eastern side of Itunnan’s massive harbor.
I can’t see anything in front of me, and my body is screaming. Behind me, dozens of ships and boats and cogs and skiffs float on the water, their lantern lights bobbing against the backdrop of the port city’s rocky shoreline.
There are sandstone buildings and mud-brick homes stacked tall against the rugged coast, looming above the ancient torchlit sea wall that surrounds the docks, their square windows lit with golden candlelight.
Terrowin anchored us away from the other vessels in the harbor, as close to Goma Pier as possible without seeming odd, the Lady Belladonna angled to shield us from view. The swim isn’t a terrible one, but my pack is strapped tightly to my back, the weight making the effort more difficult than it has any right to be. Then again, it isn’t as though I’ve had a warm sea to tread through every day for the last eight years. The last time I swam was in the valley, with Raina.
No matter, I keep pushing through the water, telling myself that I am not alone. Everyone is out here with me. Somewhere.
Suddenly Joran is at my side, gliding through the harbor like a shark. If not for his silver hair and the smooth slip of his muscled arms just above water every few seconds, I wouldn’t know a human was beside me at all.
The water around me cools, which is strange, but there’s a propulsion beneath the surface, a stirring undercurrent, a push nudging me toward the darkened pier shadowed by a four-story dimly lit warehouse in the near distance.
Regardless of Joran’s aid—because I know that’s what it is—I still struggle to keep swimming. For all the vast magick I can create, the one thing I cannot do is transport myself elsewhere. What I wouldn’t give for the gift of Loria’s children right now, or to be like Fleurie, able to slice open the world and move across cities and continents and bodies of water as I please.
Joran sharply angles his trajectory to the left, and I realize I’m veering right—away from Goma Pier. I correct and follow the Icelander, thankful that he stayed behind to guide me.
That he did not leave me.
Just get to the pier, I tell myself. Just keep going. Push, push, push. You do not quit, Nephele Bloodgood.
