The Deepest Blue(107)

Behind him, he heard shuffling. Queen Asana’s mother and father joined him by the cliff, looking out at the sparkling sea.

“We shouldn’t be here,” the queen’s mother said. Her voice had an emptiness that hurt to hear. “No parent should outlive their child.”

Kelo stood for another moment, watching the sun sparkle on the gentle waves. He wondered if the abalone shell he’d carved for the queen had survived. Probably not. Perhaps he could make another, to help ease that emptiness. If anything could. “I’d like you to meet my wife’s parents.”

He picked his way down the path. Much of it was covered in rocks and branches. Chunks of houses had been tossed up as well—a bit of a roof, a door. Slowing, he helped the queen’s parents climb around a boat that had impaled the cliff. It stuck half out of the rocky sand, its mast broken and sails tattered.

At last, they reached the storm-shelter caves. Villagers were beginning, slowly, to come outside, blink at the sun, and marvel at the fact that they were still alive.

The village itself, at the base of the cliff, looked to have sustained less damage than it had experienced in the spirit storm—their village had been the target of that storm. In this disaster, Olaku had experienced only peripheral damage. Most of the spirits’ rage had been focused elsewhere.

Not on Mayara. Please, let her have survived.

It might be days, even weeks, before he heard word. She’d come home when she could, if she could, but given the damage in the harbor . . . It would be difficult to find a ship to sail her.

And I don’t know if they’ll let her sail anywhere.

She’d deserted the test. That was treason.

Maybe she’ll be forgiven. She must have delivered the queen’s message—the leviathans had departed, and the storm had ended. All was well, wasn’t it?

As the villagers poured out of the cave, Kelo located Mayara’s parents and then let Queen Asana’s parents introduce themselves as Horam and Pesana. He didn’t think those were their real names. “Horam and Pesana recently lost their daughter,” he told Mayara’s parents. “And their home. I was hoping they could stay with you until we’re able to fix up a house for them.”

“We don’t know the condition of our home—” Mayara’s father began.

“Yes,” Mayara’s mother said. “Of course you will stay with us, as long as you need.”

Mayara’s father stared at her for a moment, then an almost-smile touched his lips. He caught Kelo’s eye. I was right to bring them, Kelo thought. Mayara’s father said, “As my wife said: yes, of course.” And he clasped their hands, welcoming them.

Kelo moved away, searching the crowd for his own parents. He found them quickly—his mother with a bruise on her cheek, his father with a faint limp he hadn’t had before, both dirty, in clothes that were wrinkled and torn, like everyone else’s. But they were alive. He embraced them both at once.

“Mayara?” his father asked.

“I don’t know,” Kelo said. He looked out again to the sea. “But I have hope. And faith in her.”

MAYARA LIFTED THE CROWN ONTO HER HEAD AND FELT LIKE A KID playing dress-up with their parents’ ceremonial clothes. Except this was worse, because the crown was worth more than every fish ever caught and sold by her village.

“Do I have to wear this?” she asked Roe.

“You’re Queen of the Deepest Blue.”

“Yes, but it’s not like there’s ever been one before. Maybe the queen of the Deepest Blue doesn’t wear a crown.”

Roe rolled her eyes. Her crown was made of delicate pearls of different shades. It had been her mother’s crown and had most likely been worn by generations of queens before her. It was lovely, Mayara thought, and without many pointy bits. Mayara’s crown was newly fashioned of too much gold, and its filigree twists poked at her scalp. “You just don’t want to be a queen,” Roe said. “No matter what the headgear.”

“You know what it’s like to have three monsters crawling around in your mind?” Immediately, she added, “Sorry. Of course you do.” Roe, in fact, had hundreds of them in her mind. Just smaller and not quite as ancient.

Death, the kraken whispered in her mind. Blood.

Their dreams were filled with glorious destruction, tearing the world apart so that fire spewed from the sea floor and the ocean spilled over the land, and then rebuilding it from the ashes—she didn’t know if they were dreaming of a time before humans or a hoped-for time after. But at least they were sleeping again.

For now.

Every few hours, one of the three would rise to the surface of her mind, and she’d have to persuade them again that today was not the day for them to destroy humanity.

At least, though, they’re listening to me.

Sometimes she had the suspicion that they were only waking to make sure she was still there. They’d lost the Great Mother, their creator. While she knew she was a poor substitute for a god, she was at least something. They’d been alone for a long time.

You’re not alone anymore.

She sent the thought, not knowing if they’d hear it, but their dreams shifted to swimming through great oceans of kelp, shafts of sunlight filtering through the green. Grateful for that, she pulled her mind back into her own body. It was an effort, even though she was bound to them—she couldn’t imagine how much it must have cost the queen of Belene to send her mind out so far without that bond.