The Deepest Blue(92)
“I am not capable of pity,” Garnah said to Lord Maarte, and Mayara believed it. What kind of person has the queen sent us with? She tightened her arm around Roe’s shoulders as Garnah bore down on the island’s ruler. “Or guilt. No regret. No mercy. Your family will die if you do not obey, and I will feel nothing but the satisfaction of honoring my promise to one who valued me. In fact, it will be my pleasure.”
Lord Maarte struggled to his feet without another word and then followed them through the narrow path between the spirits to the dock. The trading ship was tied to the dock, though it strained against its ropes as the wind threatened to topple it. The dock itself swayed and creaked so loudly that Mayara thought it was going to splinter into a thousand pieces beneath their feet.
She saw water spirits around the posts, shoving against the dock. Their faces were split with mouths filled with shark teeth, and their bodies writhed in the waves. The water was so churned it looked as if it were boiling. She didn’t know how anyone could sail in this.
But then, with shrieks as if they were in pain, the spirits retreated. They swarmed the shore, forming a barrier of sand between them and Lord Maarte’s guards and a barrier of water between them and the Silent Ones from Akena.
The sea around the ship became calm.
Unnaturally calm. It looked like a mirror, with only the faintest wave to mar its surface. Farther out, the sea bubbled as if it were boiling, but not here.
Garnah herded Lord Maarte onto the ship. “To Yena.”
He didn’t protest, which Mayara thought was wise. He had a sense of self-preservation, at least, and his shore, swarming as it was with barely contained spirits, was no place to stay. He ran back and forth across the deck, preparing the sails and untying the ship from the dock. Mayara joined him, helping where she knew how, as did Roe.
Garnah merely watched them all with arms folded, and Mayara was reminded of the Silent Ones and the way they stood guard, faceless and voiceless. Except that Garnah’s face was her mask, and Mayara didn’t know if there was anything more human beneath it.
Still . . . it was working.
In mere minutes, they had the ship ready. Mayara helped unfurl the sails, while Lord Maarte took the helm. She felt an air spirit shift its attention from the shore to their sail, and a blast of wind filled the sail. It puffed out, and they sped away from the dock.
The air spirit separated from the others, following them. It was lithe and translucent and unnervingly elongated—it looked like a man who had been stretched so much that he’d become thin enough for light to pass through. It had arms and legs that wavered at its sides, thin as seaweed, and its face was distorted in a wordless cry as it blew into the sail.
“When she dies, you will need to fight it,” Garnah said softly. “Wise that the queen only chose to send one.”
Mayara jumped. She hadn’t realized how close the other woman had come. Sweat prickled her arms and back—she had been running around the ship, readying it to sail. “I don’t know if—”
“Kill it if you can. Or drive it toward me, and I’ll take care of it.”
Mayara swallowed. And then nodded. She’s right. When the queen dies . . . An heir was always present in the grove so that the transfer would happen as smoothly and quickly as possible, but there would be a few minutes where no one controlled the spirits.
They’d have to survive those minutes, out on the open sea, with a spirit filling their sails.
“This is unnatural!” Lord Maarte called from the helm. “The ship isn’t built to withstand these speeds!” He hurried away from the wheel to secure a line that had loosened. The sails were straining against the mast, and the ship was keeling in the water as it sliced through the waves.
“If it breaks, we’ll swim,” Mayara said.
“Do you have any concept of how far—”
She stole a little of the cold darkness she’d heard in Garnah’s voice as she interrupted him. “Then you should make sure the ship doesn’t break.” She crossed to Roe, who was leaning against the port railing. Behind them, in the distance, the island of Olaku looked as if it had been swallowed in mist and foam. It was the spirits, she knew, churning up the sea, but it felt as if her island had been erased, smudged out of existence like a smear of paint on a canvas.
She hoped Kelo had made it home.
“I thought it was possible I’d die on the island,” Roe said. “I was all right with that. Not that I wanted to die, but I’d accepted it as a possible result of my choice. And I was willing to take that risk, because I didn’t think I could live with myself if I didn’t at least try. But this . . . was not in any of my plans.”
“I know.” Mayara tried to think of more she could say. She thought of how she’d felt when Elorna had died . . . or when she’d believed her sister had died. But she didn’t want Roe to feel like she was comparing their pain. “I’m sorry.”
Roe leaned farther out, letting the spray hit her face and dampen her arms. “Lanei will pay for this.”
“If she’s queen—”
“Queens can die,” Roe said. “As we’ve seen.”
“You aren’t a murderer,” Mayara said. She knew the rage that Roe was feeling—after Elorna’s death, she’d had the intense need for someone to blame. She’d railed against the queen, the world, even Elorna herself for not hiding her power better. But with time, the pain had softened, though it had never gone away. “Killing her won’t bring your mother back.”