“You’re married.” It was a pathetic thing to say, made more so by the way my voice cracked.
His face softened, even as his desperate grip on the front of my coat firmed.
“Theodore…” I said his name softy, so only he could hear. “I’m fine.”
His knowing look lanced through me. “Liar.”
My mouth fell open, but no defense came forth. I wasn’t certain how much time passed as we stood like that, close and angry, taking each other in, one feature, one breath, at a time. The corner of his full mouth began to lift. Not quite a smile, not quite a frown, but it revealed that lone dimple in his cheek all the same, and my resolve shattered.
My fingertips burned as my talons stretched forth. I shoved his chest. “Release me.Now.”
Dark heat reared through me as Theodore stumbled back, arms out at his sides to keep his balance. Lachlan swept in between us, his sword poised to protect me. I grasped for some composure, which was a feat with sailors, Theodore’s council, and Halla watching on with wolfish, shocked attention.
Eftan crossed the deck with measured steps and stopped at the tip of Lachlan’s blade. He gave me a small smile, dark eyes glittering with loathing. “In time…”
He did not need to speak the whole of the threat for me to understand.
Lachlan held his sword higher, the end now trained on Eftan’s throat. The chancellor’s entire countenance remained cold, locked on me, until he eventually began a reluctant retreat.
I set a shaking hand to the middle of Lachlan’s backplate. “Thank you,” I whispered, grateful for how he had not once balked.
“Get in the boat,” was all he said in response.
I finally gathered myself enough to move, took a step toward the launch, and froze. In the midst of the chaos, Lachlan had drawn a second blade.
A dagger, clasped tightly behind him, and its sharp end was pointed directly at me.
11
Imogen
TheEleuthiostowed my launch boat behind it. I straddled its middle bench holding a pewter cup of Halla’s blood in one hand and Lachlan’s dagger in the other. A compass sat on the bench beside me. After feeling that swell of power and nearly hurting Theodore, I’d refused to let anyone come with me.
The morning was bright, throwing yellow light over the swollen guts of gathering storm clouds to the north. They were gray and portentous, but they were the very least of my worries now.
I held up a hand against the glare and peered at the faces haunting theEleuthios’swindows. Eftan and Markis stared down at me—Eftan with unbridled abhorrence and the royal steward stroking his beard, studying me with a slimy sort of fascination. Beside them, the stoic woman in blue robes—who I’d learned was Aleka Baros, Theodore’s marshal—watched me as a naturalist might, free of judgment and brimming with curiosity. I’d insisted that Theodore be contained to the ship’s bow, as far from me as possible, with Lachlan and his other guards at his side.
The sun flashed off the dagger in my fist. I stared at the dark blood in the cup, but I couldn’t bring myself to start. Shame felt like muckon my skin. I did not want to confirm what they already believed—that I was touched by death and darkness. Monstrous. Dangerous. I did not wish for Theodore’s council to see me summoning rotting Sirens from the water to serve me in my task. There were few crimes more heinous than the act of abusing the dead.
On Seraf, we could not bury bodies. The soil was too craggy or loose from sand. So the deceased were burned. I did not recall anything from my lessons about Varya’s death traditions, but I’d never forgotten what the Sirens did with their loved ones.
Had the nekgya died naturally, Siren tradition would have seen them washed and wrapped while those preparing them sang. Their hair would have been oiled and tightly braided, and wildflowers—like the ones that once grew in the rolling fields of Anthemoessa—would have been tucked into the strands. Weighty stones were set into the folds of their wrappings, and then, once they’d been made heavy and adorned with perfumes and song, they were given back to the sea. A gift returned with gratitude.
As a girl, I’d pictured the entire ritual in such vibrant detail. Even now, I wondered over the scents of the oils, the melodies and harmonies of the songs. I’d mourned the fact that I might never learn.
A deep breath. Then I forced my thoughts toward the water. It was gentle now, even as I rode in the ship’s wake. We were much farther out to sea than I’d been on Nemea’s ship, when that nekgya had taught me Eusia’s spell. They occupied the shallows, where hunting was best. I searched the water’s depths and while I could not sense any of Eusia’s undead, I could feelher.
I’d grown used to her thrumming presence, used to the vibration of the debased string that connected us. It was the very same span that tied me to all the nekgya. It was to that bond in my middle that I sent my command.
It wasn’t long before I felt something surge through the water. I’d sensed it surfacing from far, far below me, and I wondered with a morbid shiver if Eusia kept her nekgya across the whole of the Leucosian Sea, dormant, ready for when they were needed.
A small hand shot up from the water and grabbed hold of the port side of the launch. It was missing its last two fingers on one hand but easily heaved itself into the boat, spiderlike, where it settled on the bench across from me.
I stared at it—no. Ather.Water ran down her horrible body in thick cascades, the bright sun glinting off the droplets. This nekgya was different. She was only a girl. Fifteen or sixteen at most. Her frame was small and her once deep golden coloring had drained to a grayish blue, but that wasn’t what made me stare. It was the scaled, iridescent skin that shimmered across the lower half of her body. It had stretched itself between her upper legs, fusing them.
Her toes had grown long, and were slotted with crimson webbing. Her eyes had become too large and too round. The inky pupils were wide inside the light brown iris, so that they looked uncannily, unsettlingly, like those of a fish.
So long in the deep, dark water must have turned her into this.
