The Deepest Blue(24)

“Does anyone get used to the idea of facing death?” Palia asked. She then frowned at Mayara. “You don’t look upset at hearing the test is going to start.”

Mayara considered that. “Upset” wasn’t a word that fit. She felt as if her insides had been ripped out, like a clam pulled from its shell. It was all too much. The storm, the failed escape, Kelo . . .

Oh, Kelo.

It suddenly hit her, hard.

Maybe the effects of the cartena flower had finally worn off. Maybe it was discussing the test with Palia and Roe. Maybe it was only that enough time had passed that the reality became impossible to ignore.

“Are you all right?” Palia asked.

“Whoa, don’t faint,” Roe ordered. The two women were on either side of her—Mayara hadn’t even noticed they’d moved. “I suppose it’s healthy you aren’t taking this all in stride. But you’ll have to develop a way to cope soon. We’ll be taken for three days of intensive training before we’re delivered to Akena Island. It will be our last chance to prepare for what’s to come. And your first chance.”

Mayara didn’t care about training or about what would happen on the island. She knew she wasn’t going to survive it. At least Kelo won’t have to face a world without me.

It was a terrible, horrible thought. But he’d said it would break him if she went to the island. At least he’ll never know. He died thinking I’d live. She felt as if she wanted to burst into sobs, but the sobs were clogged in her throat.

She wished he hadn’t asked it of her, to be a Silent One. It wasn’t for him to decide whether she should choose death or a life like death. And then she pushed that thought down—he’d only said it because he was afraid.

She wondered if her choice would break her parents. Her mother . . . Would she feel this new pain on top of the old, or would it all mix together in a perfect storm of sorrow? How would her father bear it, losing two daughters? She’d have to trust her aunts and uncles and cousins to watch over them now. Mayara gulped in little breaths, as if she was about to dive. She felt as though there wasn’t enough air.

“Three days to train,” Roe repeated. “You can do this!”

“Maybe it will be enough,” Palia said. “Maybe we won’t die.”

“Optimism, Palia?” Roe asked. “I’m proud of you.”

“I’m lying through my teeth,” Palia said. “Obviously we’re all going to die. But I didn’t think it would be helpful to say that.”

Mayara almost smiled, painfully. “You just said it.”

“Thattagirl.” Palia patted her shoulder. “No more panicking. Gather your courage and all that. Just because it’s hopeless doesn’t mean we can’t act like it’s not.”

“You’re really terrible at comforting people,” Mayara told her.

“I blame my upbringing,” Palia said. “And Lord Maarte. And the queen. And the archaic traditions that put us in this position. I also blame the spirits, bad luck, and an unripe mango I ate for breakfast. It really didn’t agree with me.”

This time, Mayara smiled for real—something that she wouldn’t have thought possible in the wake of Kelo’s death. Her smile died almost as quickly as it came.

I’ll never see his smile again.

AT DAWN, MAYARA WAS ESCORTED OUT OF THE FORTRESS BY A Silent One. She, along with Roe and Palia, was to be transported to the training site via one of the Family Neran’s trading ships—which would be an honor if we weren’t being taken to our deaths, Mayara thought.

As she stepped through an archway onto a white-and-red dock, she saw the famed triple-masted sailing ship, gorgeous in every detail and worth more than the combined wealth of every villager Mayara knew.

Kelo would love to see this.

Just thinking of him made Mayara feel as if a wave had hit her full-on. Halting at the plank that led to the deck, she blinked back tears as she stared at the ship. Kelo would have spent the whole journey gawking at the artistry. Every inch, every plank, every rope, and every sail was as exquisitely crafted as the furnishings in the fortress. The ship itself was made of red-, white-, and yellow-hued planks that had been fitted together to make the hull into a beautiful mosaic. All the ropes were braided with strands of shimmering silver, woven together with water-reed fibers. The sails were a brilliant red to rival the brightest sunset, and the sailors wore clothes as fine as any lord, embroidered with silver threads and studded with bone buttons. Completing the picture, Lord Maarte himself was at the helm. He looked even more intimidating outside in the light than he had in his darkened office. He shone in the sunlight, the gold and silver of his uniform reflecting the sun in almost-painful flashes. His hair and his beard had been tied in multiple braids, and he wore a heavy pendant—his house’s symbol, a bird whose wings held the sun. The sails too bore the same symbol, white against the red. Altogether, it was glorious.

And horrible.

“Kelo won’t ever see this,” Mayara said. “Because of you.” She directed the last at the Silent One who guarded her. “He won’t see another ship or another sunrise. He won’t . . .” She swallowed hard, unable to go on.

The Silent One looked at her, and Mayara imagined she saw a hint of pity in those shadowed eyes—but no, the Silent One was emotionless and unreadable, because the woman behind the mask wasn’t human anymore.