3
Imogen
The heat in the armory grew choking as I waited for Lachlan’s response.
He’d become pale and tense, fighting to keep his breaths steady. “Get to the ship and dowhat?” he finally asked. “I’ll say it again: Anthemoessa is inaccessible.”
“It’s not inaccessible for me.” Merely speaking sent a new jolt of pain through me. I paused and blew out a breath. “Eusia will permit me onto the inner island.”
Incredulity overlayed his grief, making his voice go harsh. “Eusia?Making bargains with monsters, are we?”
I met him with cool resolve. “For Agatha, yes.”
Luckily, he shucked his judgment and gave me the barest nod of approval. He didn’t need to know that I’d made the bargain for myself as well. I’d made it because there, alone in the middle of the sea, on my father’s ruined ship, creeping toward death, I’d felt that familiar spark ofwant.A foolish, ruinous sort of want that had threaded itself through me and grown so strong, so quickly, that it had eclipsed all reason.
The right thing to do would have been to smother it. To tearit—and Eusia—from my body in one swift pull. Even so, I’d not been able to let myself die in order to defeat her.
Lachlan began pacing the flickering armory, chewing the inside of his cheek. Three steps there, three steps back. Pauldrons clanged against his breastplate; the torchlight flashed over the gold with every thoughtful turn he took.
“You can sneak me out of here and onto the ship,” I urged. “We’ll kidnap Halla to force them to reroute it. We’ll get to Anthemoessa. We’ll get Agatha back. And once I’m there—where Eusia is—I’ll use Halla to help me unbind from her. She can perform magic. The bond I share with Eusia won’t let me perform a spell that harms her.”
“I don’t give a shit about Eusia right now, to be clear, but you really expect Halla will just perform this spell, willingly?”
I didn’t care about her willingness. Nevertheless, I clenched my jaw, fully aware her cooperation would be a hurdle, but my desperation didn’t mind my weak scheme, it simply wanted me tomove.“We can work out the bumps while we’re making our way to the ship.”
“While I admire the cruel poetry in forcing Halla to kill her own saint, that’s not a viable plan.” When I opened my mouth, he held up a silencing finger. “Let me think.”
My head was going light from pain, so I lowered myself carefully onto a chair. “How long will this take? Isn’t it better to be enacting an imperfect plan, than waiting for inspiration that might not come?”
He still paced, breaths coming fast, and shot me a glare. “Thatis the best summation of your greatest flaw. And why you’re in the mess you’re in.”
I scowled. “I have greater flaws. And my impulsiveness is onlypartiallythe reason for my predicament.”
Lachlan only rolled his eyes. Some terrible tension built through him until his pacing came to a sudden stop. There were too many emotions on his face for me to decipher. He was a tapestry of feeling, and I could not follow the path of a single thread. Lachlan understood the insanity and danger of my request, the near impossibility of its success even better than I did, but as I beheld him, one emotion began to pull forward, surfacing from his tumult.
Determination.
It was the determination of a guardsman, an officer’s steely resolve. The irrational kind, the kind worn in the face of mortal threats. He gave a resigned curse and made for an oaken cabinet in the corner of the armory to rifle through its contents. Out came two dark and neatly folded military cloaks with leathered shoulders. Next, he pulled out two glass vials of some draught. He pocketed one, then set the other on the table with aclack.
I recognized the littleNon its label. Nepenthe. I gave Lachlan a questioning glare. “Does this mean you have a plan? Tell me.”
He swiped a hand down his face. “Not so much a plan as the terrifying realization thatyouare the worst and only option I have if I hope to get to Agatha.” He pointed at the bottle. “So drink up. You’re in pain and we need to hurry.” His wary gaze dipped to my stomach, making me suddenly aware of how my spine curled forward, as if that were enough to protect my wound. “We’ll fix whatever the hell is wrong with you when we’re on the ship.”
Gratitude and relief flooded me. The chain between my wrists rattled as I took the vial in my fist and shot it back. I didn’t expect it would do much for me. How could a healer’s draught touch a Mage’s spell? But I swilled it like it was liquid hope and prayed it would at least soften the ragged edges of my pain. I met Lachlan’s eye. “How will we get out?”
Lachlan swung a cloak over his shoulders and clipped it at theneck. “I’m thinking… the palace is already in a state of upheaval after the port attack. So perhaps we can add to the madness.”
I gripped the table as I worked to stand. The floor swayed beneath me, but I fought to find my footing. “Was all thisthinkingwhat kept you from going after Agatha while she was away on Seraf for all those years?”
Lachlan folded his lips in between his teeth, clearly biting back his retort, as he shoved a small flail in his belt.
I hobbled toward the armory door and let out a raw squeak as I reached for the torch on the wall beside it.
“Imogen?” Lachlan sounded leery. He grabbed Nemea’s sword and shoved it into his belt too. He reached for Nemea’s crown and the spare cloak. “What are you doing?”
I threw open the door to a burst of light.
“Imogen.”
