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Chapter 7
Evya
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I’ve seen my motherturn the sky into a hurricane in a matter of minutes. I’ve seen her tear warriors apart for questioning her will.
Yet I’ve never seen her eyes blaze with this much raw hatred. She draws a jagged knife as long as her forearm and lunges at Keliveth, aiming for his throat. I whirl between them and thrust her blow aside. The blade whistles through the air, a hair’s breadth from my face, but I stand my ground between my mother and Keliveth.
“Does the king of the elves think to insult us by sending one of his serpents to win you?” she growls. “And why do you shield him?”
“You can’t touch him,” I remind her, each word as sharp as the blade she holds. I can’t best my mother in a fight if it comes to that, but I’ll protect Keliveth in the one way I can think of: by throwing the Seamother’s beloved rituals back in her face. “He has declared his intention to challenge, and no one among the tribes is to harm him until the challenge is complete. Unless you’re suddenly willing to break the traditions of the rite.”
She lets out a shriek like a winter gale and raises the knife again. I don’t let myself tremble or even wince. The blade hovers inches away, ready to lash out at whichever one of us stokes her fury next. A reprise of our confrontation just a few hours ago, but this time I tilt my chin up and look her in the eye.
This time, more lives than my own are at stake. I must convince her Keliveth is really here to join the challenge. Otherwise, she’ll run him through before I can speak another word.
“He’s a fool if he thinks he can survive a challenge made for the warriors of the sea,” she spits.
“Of course he is. So why not let him join, and enjoy his downfall in the competition? If Falamar means to insult us, he will only insult his own kind in the end.”
Each harsh word grates me, and I pray my face doesn’t betray my bluff. I don’t glance back to see Keliveth’s expression. I can explain this to him later—while I’m helping him escape to someplace where the Seamother’s gaze can’t follow.
Unless I really could convince him to join the challenge.
The thought wrings my heart. Keliveth is a healer, a dreamer, nothing like the vicious sea warriors who want to claim me as their mate. My shoulder still tingles with the remnants of his magic—beautiful, impossible energy that felt as if it were singing life back into me. His soul remembers everything mine has forgotten, and if anyone could help me heal the seas, I believe it would be him.
But he wouldn’t stand a chance against the other contenders. It would be cruel to ask it of him.
“If he wishes to challenge, why does he not speak for himself?” the Seamother demands.
“To be fair, you haven’t given me much of an opportunity.” Keliveth’s voice rings out clear and confident behind me.
I glance back in surprise. I thought he’d be cowering at the sight of my mother, but instead he’s standing with his arms folded and a frown on his face. He is shorter than the Seamother by nearly a head, yet he looks at her if thoroughly unimpressed with her.
My mother’s face crinkles in disgust. “And what would you say that would be worth hearing?”
“Perhaps nothing.” His mouth turns up into a small, sly smile. “Or perhaps you would be interested to know the elven customs of marriage as they pertain to political truces.”
“... what?” My mother goes very still. I see the confusion in her eyes. She knows little of the elves besides their language and their warfare tactics—certainly nothing of their marriage customs. But I know the elves much better, and I begin to guess how Keliveth is going to play this. My heart speeds as inexplicable yearning rushes through me.
Keliveth takes a deep breath as if bracing himself. When he speaks, his words are calm and measured. “There’s only one form of agreement which my people consider unbreakable, and that is marriage. If I were to win the hand of the princess, and she were to accept me, our union would serve as a permanent truce between our peoples. There would be no more battles, no more attacks in the dead of night. No one else would have to fight and die.”
Depths, he’s playing along perfectly. A spark of admiration flares within me. For months I’ve known him only as a singer, a fantasy set apart from the brutality of life. Now I see the elven lord—the cunning in his gray eyes and the confidence in every word and gesture, as if the deadly machinations of rulers and realms are a familiar game to him. Where did he come from, before Dalzana House and the elven kingdoms were scattered?
The Seamother grips her knife so hard that every joint and bone in her hand bulges. “I do not wish a truce with your people.”
“Would you rather this war continue until the seas are stained red forever and there is no trace of life or beauty left? I know you care nothing for my people, but you care for the lives of your own, of course.” Keliveth almost looks smug, like he’s begging the Seamother to contradict him. “I swear I had no hand in the attack tonight, but I do have the ear of the king and a place of authority among the elves. I want peace for your people as well as mine. Let me challenge for Ev—for the hand of the princess. If I die in the attempt”—he glances at me—“then at least I will have died in pursuit of the most noble goal I can imagine.”
The words are something out of an old tale, and they hit me like stones. No one speaks like that. No onebelievesthat after so many years of war and bitter survival. Yet Keliveth sounds utterly serious—and so naive. I step closer to him, keeping my gaze fixed on my mother in case she lashes out for a quick strike. I need to end this conversation and get Keliveth out of here before he provokes her any further.
And before he speaks any more impossible hope to my heart.
