The Cerulean (Untitled Duology, #1)(84)

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Sera

THE TETHER.

It was still there. She had seen it with her own eyes in the picture of that stone temple, shooting straight into the sky from its highest point, a thin chain that glinted where the light hit it. And she had overheard Agnes’s father say to all those males that it was on an island that hadn’t been seen until now, which meant the picture was recent. The City Above the Sky was there. Her home. Her family. Sera’s eyes pricked with tears. They had not left her.

They’d brought her back to her crate after that red-haired male took her blood again, and she squinted, welcoming the morning light as Francis cranked open the cover over the glass ceiling. He slid a bowl of soup and a glass of water through the opening in Sera’s crate, and then, to her surprise, a blanket. “I figured you could use something to sleep on,” he said. Then he blinked. “Wow. That’s an awfully pretty dress they put you in.”

Sera had forgotten about the dress. It was pretty, she had to admit—she especially liked the pink lacy part. Dresses in the City Above the Sky only came in shades of white and blue. The maid called Hattie had taken out the pins she had put in Sera’s hair, and now it fell in big bouncing curls around her shoulders.

The blanket was soft and gray, and Sera wrapped it around her as if she could hide away in it.

“I hear they started calling you Azure,” Francis said, standing up and brushing some dust off his knees. “That’s nice, but not your real name. We don’t know any of your real names, do we, Boris?” He moved to prune some of the young saplings, talking to them gently as he talked to all things. “No, we don’t know anything,” he murmured.

My name is Sera Lighthaven, she wanted to say. I am a Cerulean and I am going home.

Just how she could accomplish this was unclear. But as James and the other storytellers arrived to start the day’s rehearsal, Sera refused to fall into despair again. For the first time since she had come to this planet, she felt a real, pure, true hope take root inside her, a seed that was strong and fast-growing. She knew the tether was still there and she knew where it was. That was more to hold on to than she had had yesterday morning. She wasn’t sure where that temple itself was, or the island it was on, but she was confident Agnes would know. And now they could actually speak to each other.

She ignored the storytelling today, the voices of the performers fading into background noise as she mulled over her blood bonding with Agnes. It had worked—she had been right to try it, despite the thrill and terror that had come along with the unexpected intimacy of sharing memories. And then the sense of control she had, the way she had commanded her magic and it obeyed her. But now, just as she was beginning to truly understand it, she was threatened by men wishing to take it from her. She could not let that happen.

It was as if, in the time since she’d been on this planet, her magic had become stronger, declaring itself in ways that she was unused to. But she liked it. It was like connecting to a piece of herself she’d never truly known, the same way she had felt when she realized she was attracted to males. James caught her eye then, delivering an impassioned monologue about his determination to bring Errol and Boris back to Kaolin and defeat Gwendivere; she tried not to give in to the weightless, shivery feelings, the thought of running her fingers over the muscles of his arms, entwining his hands with hers, his lips pressing against her own. . . .

She shook her head and turned away from the stage. Focus, she had to focus. Her magic might be getting stronger, but it could not get her out of this crate, nor could it break the chains that had bound her wrists last night. She knew in her heart of hearts that Cerulean magic was not made for that sort of thing—it was healing, and loving, and communicative. It wasn’t violent or aggressive. And even if she did get out, where would she go next? She needed help. She could not do this on her own.

The performers only practiced until early afternoon. Once they had gone and the theater was empty, Sera called out for Errol. It took some time, but he finally emerged, looking disgruntled.

“It is too bright, Sera Lighthaven. Light may be pleasant for Cerulean but not for mertags.” He held up a clawed hand to block out the sun.

“Errol, I need to ask you something,” she said, her fingertips flashing. “Do you know of a temple made of stone? It would be on an island somewhere, on a cliff overlooking the sea, with spires protruding from it, and a many-pointed star above its doors.”

Errol let out his croaky laugh. “She speaks of the temple of Braxos,” he said. “But no human has seen Braxos in many, many long years, by waves and whitefish. So how does a Cerulean know of it?”

“I saw a picture,” Sera said. “In the place they took me yesterday. The humans have seen it, Errol.”

All the laughter vanished from Errol’s face, and his huge eyes bulged even bigger. “That is not possible,” he said, his filaments lighting up in serious blues and grays. “Humans cannot find Braxos. Only mertags know which waters lead to it.”

“How do mertags know where it is?”

Errol puffed out his smooth green chest. “The first mertag came from Braxos. It is known by all of us. It is in our scales, in our fins, in our bones.”

“Is it close?” she asked. “How do I get there?”

“Not close, Sera Lighthaven. Oh no, in Pelago is where it lies, across the Adronic Ocean and far, far to the north, in islands hidden by rock and fog and other dangers.” He shuddered.