“I will do my best to reach Tyrus. But there is something else . . .”
Kast heard the hesitation in the other. “What is it?”
He glanced away. “The one who holds your heart . . . She is in danger.”
“I know. The tentacled creature—”
“No, it is more. My abilities to farspeak are tied to my deeper gift—to read another’s heart, not just his thoughts. The mind is less trustworthy than the heart.”
“And what have you sensed?”
“The creature nests in your love’s skull, coiled and holding her will trapped. But it is her heart that worries me. She loses hope. She knows that she can only be free if you are gone. In this, she despairs.”
“I will find a way to break this curse,” he said fiercely.
Xin placed a palm on Kast’s chest. “Your heart is an open book. I know your determination—and so does Sy-wen. Her fear above all else is that you will do something rash, something that will harm yourself, so she might be free.”
Kast glanced out over the rail. He remembered his promise a moment ago: to find a way to free her or die trying. He did not deny Xin’s words.
“She feels the same,” Xin said again, clearly reading what his heart held close. “She would rather die than see you come to harm. Corrupted as she is, she cannot see a way to hope. There is where the true danger to her lies.”
Frustrated and powerless, Kast felt tears well.
“Though her cell is deep in the ship’s hold, she remains a beacon to a wizen like myself. The creature’s madness is like kerosene thrown on fire; it shines like a blaze in the night. But at its heart rests a bastion of goodness and love. It has glowed as fierce as the fiery madness around it. But now . . .” His voice trailed off.
Kast spoke the words he knew to be true. He too had felt it. “It fades.”
“She allows herself to be consumed, like tinder in a blaze.”
Kast took a shuddering breath and asked the question that terrified him. “Is there a way to stop it?”
Xin did not answer. Kast turned to him. The tribesman met his gaze. There was an answer in those eyes.
“I must go to her,” Kast said.
“You are both one heart. In that there is strength.”
Since the incident in the dungeon, he had avoided any contact with Sy-wen, fearing it would unman him when he most needed to be strong.
“There is a storm unlike any other on the horizon,” Xin continued. “If you mean to face it, you’ll need all your heart.”
Kast glanced again to the sweep of sea and clouds. He took a deep breath, drawing strength from the salty winds, steeling himself for his meeting with Sy-wen.
Xin touched him on the arm. “I go to my cabin. If I learn anything new, I’ll alert you immediately.”
“Thank you,” he mumbled as the tribesman departed. Once alone, Kast sought the dragon inside him. With each transformation, the line between the two thinned. He could sense Ragnar’k brooding. “She’ll need both of us,” he whispered to the dragon. “It will take both our hearts to bolster hers.”
A roar echoed through his being. Their wills were one.
Kast strode the planks to the middeck ladder. He clambered down and headed toward the stern hatch. Overhead, elv’in sailors hung from the rigging, calling to one another. The mainsail snapped angrily as an adjustment was made. The winds howled in protest. The ship bucked as if riding a wave crest, then sped faster. The captain plied her skies with the skill of the best seafarer, always seeking the best line, calculating, adapting.
Unlatching the stern hatch, Kast left the deck and the ship to her captain. He climbed down the stairs to the passageway below. It smelled musty after the free winds above, and foreign. The timbers used to build the elv’in ship came from lands other than Alasea. The resins were too sharp to the nose, discomfiting. And everywhere the air seemed to resonate with a whine just beyond the reach of ears, vibrations that tingled the smallest hairs. As much as the ship might appear like any other seafaring vessel, it was not.
Kast crossed down another deck. Down here lay the crews’ quarters and storage rooms. But one cabin had been converted into a makeshift prisoner cell.
At the end of the passage, two Bloodrider guards flanked the door—Garnek and Narn. They drew straighter at the sight of Kast. He crossed toward them, feeling the hum of the elemental-wrought iron keel under his feet.
Garnek stepped forward as he approached. “Do you need assistance, sir?”
“I came to see Sy-wen.”
“Yes, sir.” He turned to Narn and nodded. The way was quickly unlocked, and the newly installed bar removed.
Kast passed between them, and Narn stepped to follow, a hand on his sword. “No,” Kast said. “I would visit her alone.”
“Sir, your own rules say none may visit the prisoner by themselves. A guard must be present.”
Kast paused in the doorway and glanced over his shoulder.
Narn’s eyes widened a fraction at the expression he found on the other’s face. “Of course, sir,” he mumbled, backing a step. “We’ll stand guard outside.”
Kast entered, then waited for the door to be locked and bolted behind him. A single oil lantern hung from a hook in a rafter. Set to the lowest flame, its meager light created more shadows than it vanquished.
Girding himself with a deep breath, he crossed to the room’s lone bed. Straw ticking covered the hard wood, and atop the bunk lay the girl he loved, each limb tied to one of the posts.
Kast did not bother to turn the flame higher in the lantern. What the dim light revealed already threatened to break his will.
Sy-wen had been stripped naked, the easier to keep her clean. A blanket had been tossed over her, but her thrashings had dislodged it. It lay crumpled on the floor beside the bed.
He bent and picked it up. Her eyes tracked his every movement, like some shark eyeing its prey, waiting to strike. Her hair lay like a tangle of seaweed on the pillow.
He shook out the wool blanket and swept it over her form.
This kindness earned sharp laughter. “Join me, lover,” she rasped. Her lips were bloody, and froth flecked her chin. “There’s always room for another. Loosen these ropes and I’ll show you pleasures like you’ve never experienced before from this wench.”
Kast tried to close his ears to these words. “Sy-wen,” he said, speaking not to the thing on the bed, but to the mer’ai woman buried deep inside. He reached to touch her cheek, but the creature flung herself at him, snapping at his fingers like a starving cur.
He pulled back his hand and sat on the edge of the bed. “Sy-wen, I know you can hear me. You must not lose hope—not for your freedom, not for us.” But his own words sounded hollow. How could he recharge her confidence when his own ebbed to such a low tide?
Laughter bubbled from the bed, mirthless and cold.
Kast closed his eyes, his shoulders trembling with grief. It was wrong to come here. It was too hard. But deep inside him, a dragon roared. The simple, raw love of a beast for its bonded welled through him. He basked in its glow and discovered something that had never occurred to him.
Love did not have to be hard. It was a simple thing, uncomplicated, pure, and glorious. No matter the trappings, hardships, and entanglements, at its core, love was simply warmth, two hearts fueling one another, stoking a flame together.
Kast shoved aside all thoughts of tentacled creatures, great wars, and black magick. He listened to Ragnar’k roar, and deep inside him, he echoed this call of love, a chorus of two hearts. He found blind strength and stood.
Crossing to the lantern, he twisted the flame brighter. He would not hide in shadows any longer. He turned back to the bunk.
Sy-wen still sneered at him with disdain, but now he recognized the shine of her eyes, the fullness of her lower lip, the soft tones of her skin. But it wasn’t just her physicality; he saw her spirit, the heart that had stolen his. There was nothing so dark that it could dim that light.
&n
bsp; He sank back to the bed.
Somewhere far away he heard the laughter and the slurs and curses. But it fell on deaf ears. It was only mud on a diamond; he could easily wipe it away.
“Sy-wen,” he whispered, “I love you.”
He loosened the rope that bound her right wrist and drew her hand to his cheek. He ignored her attempts to break free; his fingers were iron on her wrist. He pulled her palm to his cheek, careful to avoid his dragon tattoo on the other. Nails dug at his skin, but they were worn and dull. He felt nothing.
“Sy-wen,” he murmured.
Slowly the fingers relaxed on his face. Her cold palm grew warm as it rested against his skin. He felt his love returned to him from afar, stoked from another’s heart.
“We are not lost to one another, not even now.” His voice was a breath, nothing more. “Nothing of any importance has been taken from us.” He pressed her palm more firmly to him. “This is all that matters. Us, together—that is a purity nothing can corrupt.”
The heat bloomed on his skin. Faint words reached him from the bed. “. . . love you . . .”
Kast squeezed the fingers and drew them to his lips. He kissed her palm long and with a passion that melted away everything but his love. Time stretched forever. The moment became written on their spirits, to last them through the hardships to come.
Sy-wen . . .
Finally, a commotion at the door drew him away. Shouts erupted, followed by a small girl’s scream.
Kast sat up straight. A clawed hand swiped at his eyes, but his grip did not fail him. He forced Sy-wen’s arm down and re-bound the wrist to the bedpost.
He risked a touch to her cheek, but beyond the door, the childish cries of a small girl continued, accompanied by the furious anger of a young boy. Scowling, Kast crossed to the door and pounded on the oaken frame. “Unbar the way.”
A latch clanged, and wood scraped as the door was yanked open.
Beyond the threshold, the two Dre’rendi guards faced a pair of elv’in sailors. The thin-limbed newcomers each held a child by the upper arm.
He stared in shock at the pair of youngsters.
The girl spotted him, too. “Uncle Kast!”
“Sheeshon?” Kast stepped toward her. “What are you doing here?” He had left the child in the care of Mader Geel, her nanny, back at the island.
“We snuck aboard,” Sheeshon said. “I hid in an apple barrel. He hid in a box.” She pointed to the other child, and Kast recognized Rodricko, Nee’lahn’s boy. His eyes were stretched wide, and his lower lip trembled as he fought back tears.
One of the elv’in sailors spoke. “Captain Lisla sensed them in the hold. She sent us to root through for stowaways.”
Kast waved for the two sailors to release the children. He knelt by Sheeshon and pulled the boy to his side, tucking him under an arm. “Why did you sneak onto the ship?”
Sheeshon stared over his shoulder. Her eyes crinkled, and an arm pointed. “Aunt Sy-wen . . . is she sick?”
Kast glanced behind him. The cabin door was still open. Frowning, he motioned for Narn to close and lock the door, then turned back to the young girl. “She’s fine, little one. She needs to rest.”
Sheeshon nodded sagely. “She’s got worms in her head.”
Kast was taken aback by her words. He knew Sheeshon bore her grandfather’s gift of the rajor maga, an ability to see beyond horizons, but at times like this, it chilled him to see such insight mixed with childish simplicity. He pinched her chin and drew her attention to him. “Sheeshon, why are you here?”
Her voice shrunk to a whispered secret. “Hunt needs me.”
Kast sighed. Back at the castle, he had tried to explain to her that Hunt was simply away. He should have known that such lies would not be believed by someone with her abilities, especially when she was bonded to Hunt by ancient magicks.
“We’re trying to find him,” Kast said. “But you shouldn’t have left Mader Geel. She’ll be scared for you.”
“I had to come. Hunt needs me.”
“And what about Rodricko?” Kast asked.
“He had to come, too. He didn’t want to, but I swore that I’d scrimshaw him a pony if he didn’t cry.”
“And I didn’t cry!” Rodricko burst out.
“Well, you were gonna.”
Kast shook his head. Both children looked exhausted, red-eyed, and limp of limb. He gathered them under his arms and turned to the guards and sailors. “I’ll take them to my cabin. Send a crow back to A’loa Glen with the news of the children. If I know Mader Geel, she’ll have the entire castle torn apart stone by stone looking for the girl.”
One of the elv’in stepped forward. “Captain Lisla said she is prepared to head back to the island at your word.”
Kast nodded. He hated the delay in backtracking, but he had no choice “Have her tack around as soon as the winds are favorable.”
“No!” Sheeshon said. “We don’t want to go back.”
“Hush, child. Rodricko can’t leave his tree for very long. He is nyphai. He must go back.”
“No, he doesn’t! I showed him how.” She glared at the boy. “Show Uncle Kast.”
Rodricko shook his head. “I don’t want to.”
Kast hiked the boy higher. “What is Sheeshon talking about?”
“Show him!” Sheeshon demanded.
Kast leaned his forehead against the boy’s. “It’ll be our secret. You and me. Bloodrider brothers.”
Rodricko’s eyes widened. He stammered, then reached in his jacket and pulled out a twig upon which hung a heavy flower. It was rumpled, but clearly one of the koa’kona blooms. “Sheeshon says that I got to prick my finger and put blood on the broken end of the stem. It’ll keep the flower fresh, and I’ll feel good.”
“Have you tried this already?”
Rodricko nodded. “I used a rose thorn.”
“He yipped like a puppy when you step on its tail,” Sheeshon added.
“I did not!’
Kast frowned at the girl. “Sheeshon, where did you get this idea?”
She squirmed, biting her lips. She would not meet his eyes.
“Sheeshon . . .” He kept his tone stern.
She leaned closer, pressing her cheek to his. “Papa told me in a dream. He showed me.”
Kast knew she meant her grandfather, Pinorr, the shaman of the Dre’rendi. He had died during the War of the Isles. Could the child be right? Would Rodricko be safe as long as he watered the twig in his own blood?
“Papa says Rodricko is different. He comes from bloodsuckers.”
Kast startled. Sheeshon knew nothing about Rodricko’s heritage, that his roots traced back to the Grim wraiths. He turned to the boy. At half a day out from the island and the tree the boy should be ailing, fading, and weak. But besides appearing tired, Rodricko was pink of cheek and full of nervous energy. He did not seem to be suffering in any way.
“What should I tell the captain?” the elv’in asked.
Kast considered the situation. Dare he put faith in Sheeshon’s dream? A boy’s life hung on this hook. But so much also depended on a swift rendezvous with the fleet.
“Sir?”
Kast straightened and stepped away with the children in his arms. “Stay the northerly course for now.”
Sheeshon clapped, then hugged him around the neck. “We’re going to find Hunt!”
“Yes, we are.” Kast headed to his stateroom at the other end of the passageway.
As they reached the door, Sheeshon whispered in his ear. “When I’m growed up, I’m gonna marry him.”
He lowered her to the floor. “Hunt is too old for you.”
Sheeshon giggled. “Not Hunt, silly.” She pointed a small finger toward Rodricko, then pressed the same finger to her lips, indicating secrecy.
Kast tousled her hair. He hoped that girlish fancy came to pass. As such, a part of him still balked at his decision to continue with the voyage. He was leading the children into a realm of danger beyond the darkest contem
plation.
He opened the door and guided Sheeshon ahead of him, then followed with the younger boy in his arms. Rodricko was already dozing off.
Sheeshon clambered onto the bed, and he settled the boy beside her. Rodricko crawled to the pillow and fell into its embrace.
“You both rest,” Kast ordered. “I don’t want either one of you even stepping off this bed.” He turned to go, but the girl reached out and touched his arm. “Uncle Kast, Papa told me to tell you something.”
Gooseflesh prickled the skin on his arm. “Your papa . . . from another dream?”
“No, the same dream as the one about Rodricko.” Sheeshon yawned, a jawbreaker that would not stop.
Kast had to restrain himself against reaching out and shaking the girl. “What did he say?” His voice was strained.
Sheeshon curled into a tired ball. “Papa says you have to kill the dragon.”
“Kill Ragnar’k?” His words were not so much a question as simple shock.
But Sheeshon answered it anyway, stifling another yawn, “ ’Cause the dragon will eat the world.”
18
The summer sun offered no warmth in the cold, wintry woods. Tyrus marched over soil as hard and flinty as the trees themselves, while gray ash puffed up with each step. He grumbled under his breath, while the Magus trod ahead of him, slogging up a wake of clogging soot, moving no faster than a man might crawl.
“How much farther?” Tyrus asked.
The Magus pointed vaguely ahead. “Still another league.”
“And you’re sure Raal will be there?”
“With Raal, I can never be certain. He has become as wild as his creations.”
Tyrus studied the woods to right and left. Though the trees were leafless, the forest remained gloomy from the fog-shaded sun. Still, green life poked through here and there: twisted and stunted bushes bearing more thorns than leaves, scraggly grasses, a few gnarled saplings. And with the greenery came all sorts of small life: beetles, snails, snakes, voles, and scrawny rabbits. He even spotted one deer.
But conspicuously absent were any sign of the fae-nee, the tiny inhabitants of the dead forest. Throughout the trek yesterday and this morning, he had sought some evidence of the creatures: tiny footprints in the ash, distant voices, movement. But it was as if he and the Magus were the only ones who moved through the woods.