Two Dark Reigns (Three Dark Crowns #3)(41)

Ahead, the port is full of docked boats but nearly empty of people. Only a few sailors busy themselves on their crafts, tying and retying knots, checking sails, cleaning decks, shooing off the seabirds, who seem perplexed by the lack of activity. The birds at least are everywhere, posting atop masts in great patches of shifting feathers or aimlessly waddling along the shore.

“Which is it?” Katharine asks, and Lane points to a small fishing boat with dark green decks, laden with nets.

They dismount on the hill and make their way to the docks. Those who have been working in the port stop to watch, and people from the marketplace farther inland begin to gather as well, drawn by the murmurs of the queen’s presence.

“This is the same vessel from which she was taken?”

“It’s the only one I own.” He leads them down the dock and boards the boat.

“Where is the rest of your crew?” Rho asks. It is not a large craft, but too big to be sailed alone across such a distance.

“I sent them ashore.” Lane’s voice is gruff as he checks knots and runs his hand along the rail. “They didn’t want to be close to the water.”

Nor does Katharine. With every board that creaks beneath her feet, she grows less and less brave. And a glance at the boat tells her that she was right: it will yield no answers. What could she have hoped to find? Remnants of the mist still gripping the hull? The poor girl’s blood splashed across the deck?

“Bree,” Katharine whispers, and Bree draws close. “Do you sense anything amiss here? With the water?”

Bree looks down, along the side of the dock to where the waves lap against the wood and rock. She shakes her head.

“My gift is for fire. The water has never spoken to me. Perhaps if my mother were here . . .”

“Look!”

Back on shore, the gathered crowd stares out at the sea. More voices join the first shout, and a cacophony of cries sends the nearby gulls winging into the air. Katharine turns to see what has their attention, though the dead queens inside her already know.

On the horizon, the mist has risen like a wall.

“Oh, Goddess.” Bree makes a pious gesture, touching her forehead and her heart. “What does it want?”

“It wants nothing,” Rho replies. “It is only the mist. Our protector, since the Blue Queen’s time.”

Only the mist. Except that Katharine can feel it looking at her. Watching. The mist would speak. It has spoken, by laying bodies at her feet.

“Oi!” someone calls from inland. “What’s that?”

“What is happening?” Pietyr grasps Katharine’s hand as the water beneath them quickens. “The waves . . . The current is coming in harder.”

The boat lurches as the surge hits it, and the ropes holding her strain and squeak. Rho, who had boarded to further inspect the deck, is tossed against the mast.

“Priestess,” Lane says, and tries to help her. She has struck her nose against the pole and come away bloody.

Inside Katharine, the dead queens tug, this time toward the water. It takes only a moment to see why. There is a corpse drifting in toward the boat, facedown.

“Get it out of there. Paola, Pietyr.” Katharine nods to the body. “Antonin, help them.”

They use gaffs to pierce the flesh and drag the corpse closer. It is unpleasant to watch it bob in the waves, which have slowed now that the body has reached the shallows. It is also unpleasant to watch them drag her up by the hook. But even worse is the sight of her watery, gray eyes when she rolls faceup.

“Allie?” At the sight of her face, Lane leaves Rho and nearly pitches himself over the side. “Allie!” He pulls the dead girl into his arms and shoves the gaffs away.

“This is your friend?” Antonin asks acidly. “Who disappeared off the coast of Wolf Spring ten days ago? What kind of stunt is this? What kind of naturalist plot?”

“A fine plot, indeed, if it allows a naturalist to manipulate the mist and the water.” Rho speaks through her own blood, her teeth slicked red. Then she twists her nose back into place.

“Give her over,” says Pietyr, and holds his arms out with a grimace to pull the body onto the dock.

Rho glances toward the shore and the rustling crowd of onlookers. “Bree.” She jerks her head. “Block their view.”

“How did she follow me here?” Lane asks helplessly. “I lost her off the point of Sealhead. Those currents aren’t right . . . to carry . . .”

And something more. Though her flesh is slightly bloated and her cheeks fish-bitten, Allie’s corpse is far fresher than one would expect after making such a long journey through rough waves.

“She is just like the others,” Pietyr whispers.

Katharine crouches. The girl must have been very pretty once. She touches the dead girl’s chin. “We would keep her here to be examined for a time, to learn what we can of her death. After that, she will be returned to Wolf Spring under royal banner, with more than enough coin to pay for her burning. Do you know the family?”

Lane nods.

“Then this news will sit easier with them, coming from you.”

Katharine’s hand hovers over the man’s head, but answers are what he needs, not embraces. She nods to Rho and strides back down the dock to return to the horses. Ahead, the crowd has grown, and the people frown at her approach.