Page 145 of Crown of the Courtesan

The darkness in the sea calls.

Each wave, a whisper.

Each whisper, a promise.

A song.

I climb onto the balustrade railing, holding my mass of skirts up so my feet are more nimble. My body sways as the wind bites my skin. Static causes my hair to fly in every direction as uncontrolled energy thrums under my fingertips.

Rett sprints forward. “Get down now!”

He grasps at my gown, but it is too late.

Through the air, I plummet backward a hundred or more feet. Rett’s betrayed face peers over the balcony—the last thing I see before the ocean claims my body. Like a thousand knives stabbing me, it swallows me with an unyielding force that has no reasoning.

Has no sympathy.

Has no mercy.

Sixty-One

The wool of Rett’s cloak drags me deeper until I believe it’ll sink me. I unfasten it and let it fall to the sea floor. With a powerful push and kick, I swim for the top, not knowing if I’ll make it.

As I break the surface, my lungs inflate with gasping, gulping breaths of air, but my ballgown keeps pulling me under the rolling waves, making me snort saltwater through my burning nose and throat. But I don’t give up; I use every muscle in my legs and arms to stay afloat.

At least I’ve landed precisely where I thought I would—the loading docks under the castle kitchens.

Fighting against the choppy water, I swim until I reach the pier. The first half of the harbor is busy and full of men unloading supplies for the wedding, but the back portion is the private wharf, dark with empty rowboats.

If I hurry, they might not see me.

Teeth chattering, I edge around the pillars and hide under the floating platform. I close my eyes briefly and send a prayer to the Spirit Goddess before I hoist my dripping-wet body into a boat, my knees slamming down with a sharp jolt. I ignore the pain, wasting no time untying the rope and pushing off with shaking hands. It isn’t until I row past the underwater cave entrance and into the bay’s unyielding darkness that the dockworkers point and shout at me.

But it’s too late as I disappear from their line of sight. I scan the horizon, but there’s nothing but an endless sea.

Where’s the ship?

The ocean sprays me with cold foam, and my teeth chatter as I search. I row and row until every muscle of mine screams. It starts to rain. Slowly at first, then each drop comes down faster and faster, drenching my already-soaked body.

How will he ever find me now?

My ring finger burns. The bonded lines continue to glow crimson through the gloom and fog and rain. A sinking ache burrows deep into my stomach.

Then…

Like a monster of old, the ivory ship appears over me, vast and imposing. Sailors on board shout commands and adjust ropes and sails. The belly of the magnificent vessel moves past my little rowboat, producing a great wave. I fear I’ll capsize at any moment as I’m violently rocked.

A rope ladder falls, landing nearby. I let go of the oars and lunge. I’ve barely set foot on the bottom rung when the ladder heaves up the ship’s side. The white planks of the ship shimmer as I’m hoisted higher and higher. An intricate carving of a name adorns the wood.

The Cliodna.

With a final pull from above, my body is heaved over the ship’s railing, and I roll onto my stomach. My soaking-wet skirts slap the deck and act like a restraint as I crawl forward on my hands and knees, wondering at the choices that have led me here. I try to breathe, clutching at my bodice.

Raindrops fall on me as I sit on my heels and gaze upward. Ashland stands over me, holding the other side of the rope ladder in his tightened fists, panting hard breaths of exertion as shadows slick at the corners of his form. He’s just as I remember, dressed in black armor, a midnight cloak pinned to his onyx breastplate. Raven hair curls around his temples, slightly longer than before and dripping wet.

My cheeks flush as I glance down. My silver-beaded gown might as well be sheer. The soaked and tattered fabric clings to my shivering breasts, threatening to slip off entirely. We stare at each other, both still breathing hard.

“Must you always be half-dressed whenever I find you?” he asks, that northern accent rumbling like an earthquake. His square jaw is now fully bearded, making him appear even more rugged as he wearily views me from above.