“You didn’t. Thanks.”
I cut the silence by saying, “Vinnie said we should reach the Florentine Port by tomorrow evening and two days after that, Frostmouth.”
“Yep,” Marshen said, head bobbing.
“My offer still stands, you know.”
“We’re going together.”
“I don’t want you to die.”
“I don’t want to die either…but I want to return home more. There’s someone I must find.”
“Let’s go back to Ramel. Tell Aegir. That’s what we should have done; it was selfish of me.” The thought had been lingering in the back of my mind since Jebel. I persuaded Marshen to takemeto Silch, and assured him thatIwould be enough. But what if I was not enough?
King Ryvar’s bargain specified that he return in the company of a Water Wielder or a Nymph, and I was neither. We should have sought Aegir, at least for the sake of the people of Ilma, for Alma, for Blake. He could have used his powers to further ward the island, especially from the Phoenix. And he could have provided safe passage to some, to travel with us to Nivaria—Marshen’s bargain would have been more than met, then. But my stubbornness and my jealousy—and my pained, selfish heart—clouded my better judgment, and so I found pretexts not to return home. The conceiving ritual was no true excuse. The guards at the tall house’s doors were no true excuse. It would have taken hardly any effort. I could’ve easily wrapped a beige veil around my head and pretended I was a Sand Priestess. I could’ve bribed Tomas…I could have sought Eldric. Now guilt was slowly creeping up on me.
Will Ibe enough? When was I ever enough?
“Are you fucking kidding me. We’re three days away, we’re not turning back now.”
“What if the king doesn’t accept me?”
“He will.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you’re you.”
I looked at him in confusion. “What’s t—”
“I think you should worry less about me and start worrying more about yourself,” Marshen said, lifting a brow while sipping on his ale.
“Why do you say that?”
“What willyoudo after we deliver the message?”
“I’m not sure. I have a mare to get to in Kalnar. I’m considering bringing her here.”
“A mare?”
“Mmhmm. A desert horse. Her name is Cinnamon.” My eyes prickled. Then they burned at Marshen’s question.
“What about finding answers about your family? I’ve never asked you this, but you—why were you so eager to leave the place that held your answers?”
“Whoever gave me that intel I once told you about also tried to trick me. I asked everyone on Mistgeil Island, I sought answers around the village, and inspected every nook and cranny of the hut. My answers weren’t there. The intel made no sense, and I, too, felt like I was chasing ghosts.”
The thought of telling the Ice King about the people of Ilma, the thought of their liberation and their safety, gave me a purpose in life, a sort of acquired identity. I could besomething—someone. Yet the prospect of them being discovered by the Phoenix, of me failing to deliver the message on time, made my stomach clench in urgency. Not to mention the possibility of failing Marshen…that, too, would label me with an unsettling identity I did not want to ever reflect. I knew it was something I could never forgive myself for. It felt as if precious lives could be lost either way.
I closed the door behind me with the faintest click and tiptoed past Marshen’s room. I knocked gently on Vinnie’s door, and he answered with a low grunt, rubbing away sleep and hangover.
“We leave now, pack everything and meet me downstairs.”
I asked for breakfast to go and went to the livery stable to prepare our mares for the daylong journey. The rain softened to a gentle drizzle. I hoped that Jebel was blessed with a few drops from the storm that originated somewhere in the south of Myrkvein
“All packed?” I asked Vinnie and Braun, who mumbled a yes and mounted their mares with a grunt.
“Let’s g—”
