Page 65 of The Stolen Crown

I propped my chin on my fist. “Far Seas folk are quite isolated and retain beliefs from many legends.”

She turned two more pages, scanning each symbol with care. “I think whatever trade agreement went on with these strangers lasted turns. Seems folk here might’ve been healers of a sort. This says they traded some ‘elixir,’ a ‘tea’—I’m not certain on the proper translation—in exchange for the fine wines and herbs and iron. The elixir ‘healed’ or ‘brought strength’ to the body. Hmm, the scribe believed their concoction could heal nearly any ailment.”

“Sea witches often craft spells that keep the body youthful,” I said. “The noble houses were once scattered in the Far Seas before the Ever was united as it is now.”

Mira flashed a bright grin. “I do enjoy when you tell me about yourself and your folk.”

I frowned and nudged the corner of the book. “Anything else?”

“They don’t name themselves as sea witches,” she said. “But it would seem they were proficient with herbs and spells.” Mira went quiet, turning pages until she drew in a sharp breath. “Gods.”

“What?”

“The trade relationship soured eventually. Here.” Again, she tapped a line and leaned closer to me, as though I might understand each symbol. “The scribe writes that the herbs for their trade eventually depleted. They could no longer offer the elixir to the people they called ‘children of the gods.’ This mark here, I think it means the gods’ young ones—yes, ‘children of the gods’—did not return for quite some time. The gods’ children were disappointed. Seems they grew rather desperate to restore what was lost. This speaks of an ‘elder,’ a ‘leader’—I’m not certain—who left to find a worthy trade.”

“Is there anything more?”

Mira swallowed. “A final entry.”

“What does it say?”

“Their leader returned with a gift from the deep Far Seas.” Mira let out a rough breath. “I don’t know what it was, but the clan was fearful of it. The entry describes how the village leader kept…it ‘hidden,’ ‘caged’—I’m not sure. When the children of the gods returned, the scribe writes that they no longer brought peace. The final words are strik kommer.” Mira peeled her attention from the pages and locked eyes with me. “Battle comes.”

I looked around the pond. A broken village. Bones. Death. Unease lifted the hair on my arms. “I think it’s safe to say battle came.”

Mira closed the tome and hugged it to her chest. “It would seem so.”

“Think a clan like the elven did this? They hail from the Far Seas, and those light elven sods think themselves rather close to the gods’ chosen folk.”

“No. Elven don’t require healing or strength; most already summon healing. The gods’ children must be another clan.”

“It’s Old World.” I shrugged. “They could be describing anyone in the only way they knew how.”

Mira closed her eyes. “Something terrible happened here.”

Darkness lived on this isle.

And in the back of my mind, I could not deny the sense that it did not want us to leave.

20

The Illusionist

One of the fish from the village seared in an iron pot, pieces of the golden berries boiled beside it. Tait tossed a few of the smaller fish onto the iron, flesh hissing and spitting from the sear.

I knelt beside the flames, stretching and rolling my bruised wrist.

After reading from the old tome, unease burrowed beneath my ribs. So much death and blood remained, as though frozen in time.

What had happened here? Who had done this and why?

I glanced over my shoulder toward the dark sea. What sort of beasts lived here in the Far Seas?

“Stop fretting over it.” Tait’s low rumble drew me back to the moment.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“The tome.” He flicked his eyes up for a breath, then focused on the fish. “I can practically hear your thoughts swirling about.”