Luella was certain of it.
Just as it had once gifted her the memory of her Vincire—called to the Fate’s lair in the Silva Noctis. That memory had been soaked in darkness and youthful rage, a fragment offered to her in the unmoving sleep of her coma, forced by a dagger coated in poisoned blood. And the dreams of the Tenebrae had felt the same. The stardust—a piece of the Lux, the Tenebrae’s opposite—seemed to be showing her something. But what?
Why?
That was one answer that danced away from her. Though, things were growing clearer to her with every passing day, imprisoned on this ship as they sailed for the Fallen Isles. There was nothing to do but talk, and the answers she sought were gifted from the males she was tethered to.
Luella could not help but feel like all the secrets hadn’t been revealed.
"Now, move your arms," Tharen told her.
Luella did, feeling only the slightest bit of resistance at her back.
"Good. You’ve healed well. Your body was made for the wings. They suit you," the Prima said darkly.
His words stirred a distant memory…
It had been four days since Graves had forced her upon the netting and kissed her dizzy. Tharen finally demanded she remove her bandages, stripping away her last control, warning of complications if kept too long.
Below deck, the rattling air outside made her breath catch.
Tharen’s icy eyes fell to her, as she quickly tugged down her billowy blouse to cover the pale expanse of her stomach. He checked her bandages daily, rousing her in stolen moments at dawn or midnight.
She sat cross-legged on a small patch of blankets piled on the floor, Ven curled by her thigh. The Prima’s wolves were absent—relief given against the memory of their bloodied snarls.
Tharen packed away his supplies as he said, "I’ll still check you daily." His voice was soft, the anger tempered when he spoke to her, as if afraid to break her. "Just to be safe."
"Okay," she replied. Her wings shuddered, nerves prickling at the sudden chill that stroked the feathers like invisible hands.
The door opened, and they both looked up toward it.
Graves entered, without his hood or cowl. The laces on his dark shirt were loose, water dripping down his chest from the mist that had befallen them since yesterday morning as they sailed further into the endless sea.
Graves leaned against the door, eyes drawn to her wings as always. "You must uphold what you agreed to."
Luella swallowed. "You would like me to come… now?"
"You should know the basics before we reach the Isles," Graves answered, holding out a hand. "Come with me."
She stood unsteadily, proving his point.
Tharen’s hands hovered near her hips. "I’ll walk with you."
They guided her down the swaying halls where flickering flames danced with the ship’s tilt.
"How do the flames not catch the wood?" Her curious tone echoed in the narrow halls.
Behind her, Tharen spoke. "Enchanted. By me."
Another piece of the Prima’s power—he commanded the ship effortlessly. She had seen but brief glimpses, enough to begrudgingly respect his mastery, but would never speak of this to him. He was prideful enough.
They walked up the steep stairs that led above deck, Graves leading the way, with Tharen close behind her, his hands skimming over her calves as he gently pushed her up the steps, keeping her steady when she almost toppled back. She gripped the top rung and poked her head out, wind and mist chilling her instantly. It was still not as freezing as it had been in Serpentis. The air was thick with humidity, making her white curls turn frizzy in an instant.
Graves crouched to help her up, gripping her forearm and wrist. She stood, Tharen looming behind her.
The sea churned beneath a lonesome, unfurled blanket of white clouds, covering every speck of the late morning sun. A part of her felt empty without the sun’s presence—when had she seen it last? She grew cold without its warmth.
Wrapping her arms around her middle, she allowed herself to be led to a small open space in the center of the main deck. Vale stood at the quarterdeck, the misted air turning his golden locks into a dark, wet mess. When not steering, Vale stayed below deck… with her. Always watching, sometimes dozing, a half-eaten bowl of hard crackers and dried strips of fish in front of him, before waking with a start.
