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“You are late, Dalzana.” Her lips curl back, revealing her shark-like teeth. “But no matter. Let the contenders take their places!”
Drums pound among the ranks of the warriors, and each tribe raises a cry of battle. I tense as the contenders step from the crowd, each decked in war paint and loincloths. They raise their spears and draw great shouts from their kinspeople as they step forward to the edge of the cliff. I feel ridiculous, unarmed and dressed in elven robes, but my mind strays back to the memory of Evya singing over me on the beach this morning. I square my shoulders and lift my chin.
“Take your place.” The Seamother’s rasping voice jolts me out of my musings. Her sharp nails dig into my skin as she grabs hold of my wrist and tears my grip from Evya’s.
Evya’s face flushes with rage. She lunges between us, fangs bared, and snatches me from her mother’s hold. “Don’t touch my mate!”
The words carry over the crowd, carrying terrible silence in their wake. The Seamother’s countenance turns dark as the depths of the ocean. She clenches her hands into fists. I brace myself for her to strike, preparing to dart between her and Evya should she turn on her daughter.
Instead, the Seamother stands completely silent. Her jaw works, but she says nothing. The silence is somehow worse than her anger. My pulse pounds in my ears as the tense quietness goes on.
At last, she turns from me and looks to the other contenders, who have formed a line along the edge of the cliff. “The challenge is simple. There is a rune-lantern hidden in the depths of the maelstrom. He who brings it to my hand will be my daughter’s mate. Offer your last prayers and cast yourself upon destiny. May all strength go with you.”
I look to Evya, confused. Did the Seamother not hear what Evya said?
Evya clenches her teeth and starts forward, pulling me with her. She steps between the Seamother and the contenders with her back to the roaring maelstrom and her bare feet disturbingly close to the edge of the cliff. “Enough of this. I am already mated to the one I chose. There is no reason blood should be spilled today on my account.”
The Seamother looks out at the maelstrom, pointedly refusing to meet her daughter’s gaze. Behind us the gathered onlookers are coming out of their silence. Murmurs run through the crowd, swelling to shouts—some of protest, some of approval, as Evya’s words sink in. The contenders’ faces twist into expressions of outrage—all except Arcorlan. The Fethani contender’s eyes narrow for a moment, then he shrugs as though not particularly bothered.
“There will be a challenge, no matter what you and the elf have done.” The Seamother’s voice rises a pitch higher. “All will be set right by the sea.”
My stomach twists. The Seamother would make Evya a widow and marry her off again in the same day. From the unsettled murmurs of the tuath, they seem to hate the idea almost as much as I do. I open my mouth to protest, but Evya gives me a slight shake of her head.
She lets go of my hand and moves toward the Seamother. “You are not acting as one who belongs among the maraseyas, Mother.”
The Seamother lets out a hiss that sends chills down my spine, but Evya barely reacts. She strides closer, edging her mother backward toward the unsettled tribes.
“Everything I do, I do for my people. Even this. You know this, for you knowme.” Evya looks out at the gathered tuath, tall and noble even as her face pales. “If Keliveth and I only wanted our own way, we would not have returned to you at all. We stand before you at your mercy because the fate of all our peoples is at stake. You know this challenge is not a tradition worthy of upholding. It accomplishes nothing except to turn the great warriors of the tribes against each other and spill blood without cause. We feed the rage of the sea until we can only think of battle and death. If we do such things, how are we any different from the elves we despise?”
New appreciation dawns on me as she speaks. She cares little for political intrigues, but suddenly I see how well she carries the weight of leadership and calculates every nuance of her words and actions. The faces of the onlookers are filled with warring emotions. They murmur as she speaks. Some of them drift toward us, nodding in agreement with Evya’s words. Others edge toward the Seamother, snarling at Evya and me.
Evya looks to me, and her eyes glisten with unshed tears. “I love Keliveth Dalzana, and our love was born out of courage—the courage to believe this war and this raging sea are not the sum of our fate. I ask you to take heart and do the same. I ask you to be as the roots of the maraseyas again, as the Creator made us to be, though all the world should rail against us.”
By the time Evya stops talking, every tribe has divided. Some of the people have come closer to Evya and I, while the rest stand near the Seamother. The Seamother looks from one side of the crowd to the other, her gaze lingering on the gap between them. She trembles violently, as though finally allowing herself to understand what is happening.
“Do not divide us.” There’s a note of pleading in her voice as she turns to Evya. Her hand clenches around the shaft of her spear until every sinew stands out. She stalks around us like a shark circling prey. “We cannot survive against the elves if we are not united. I will cast you out before I let you split the tribes apart!”
“Do it, then.” Evya stands resolutely. “Cast us out and see what it gains you. I have chosen my path.”
The Seamother takes hold her shoulder, her fingers digging into Evya’s flesh so hard that Evya winces. “Then go and seek a life among your enemies. See how long they will endure your presence before they destroy you. You leave yourself without a tribe and without a home.”
“My home is with my mate.” Evya speaks with utter calm, holding the Seamother’s gaze in challenge the whole time. She steps back and takes my hand again, standing close as if to shield me from her mother.
But it seems she doesn’t need to. The Seamother makes no move to attack either of us. I think she might actually let us walk away alive.
I let out a tense breath, waiting for relief to wash over me. Instead, a deeper foreboding wells up in my heart.
This isn’t right.
The thought of Evya being cast out of her own people, just because of me, is utterly wrong. And the idea of allowing the tribes to divide and leaving them vulnerable ...
We chose this path together.I repeat the words to myself, trying to convince myself to accept this chance of escape.
But something deeper nudges me, swelling until the certainty rings through me. The next instant my thoughts are consumed by a vision so clear and potent I barely keep from falling to the ground. Distantly, I feel Evya steady me on my feet, but my mind is filled with scenes, playing out one after another in vivid, terrible color.
I see the tribes divided, quarreling with each other. I see the elves attacking and no tuath army being strong enough to withstand them. The seas burn and the skies are filled with ash and magic, and there is no one to stop it.
The vision pulls away and leaves me breathless. I lean on Evya, trying to ground myself in my surroundings—the cold sea breeze and the smell of woodsmoke and the unsettled voices of the tuath.
