tragic, early death of Curmana’s very own Elias Freebourne, who Amora was reportedly cozying up to several days prior?
Is it possible that Visidia’s future king has already been found?
Perhaps our queen has been scorned by rejection?
Or are we giving Her Majesty too much credit? Perhaps there is no obvious answer for her outburst other than teenage indecisiveness and lack of experience.
Whatever the reason, it looks like all we can do now is wait for Her Majesty to show up somewhere, and to explain herself once and for all.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
This time as we approach Arida, it’s not to the cannon fire and smoke of an attack. It’s not the screams of my people as they fight for their lives.
This time, it’s with nothing but a set jaw and determination. This time, it’s with hope.
“Brace yourselves.”
The winter sea is fierce and jarring. I grip the helm tight, wrapping my fingers firmly around the wood and refusing to let myself be bullied by the tides.
Sand red as blood waits for us on the shores of Arida, marking our destination. I focus on it as the sea drags us in, and so does Bastian. Ferrick and Shanty brace themselves, grabbing on to the rigging to keep stabilized. Bastian’s truly taken to Valukan air magic; he whirls briny air through his fingertips, using it to billow and twist the sails while I take the helm to direct Keel Haul to the docks.
We make a good team, he and I.
Shanty’s the first one off as we dock, not bothering with the ramp, and Ferrick is fast behind her. He happily crouches upon the sand, dragging his fingers across it and looking like he’s half ready to roll himself in it. I wish I could share in his enthusiasm, but worry claws my throat, knowing how much there is to do now that we’ve arrived, and not knowing how anyone will respond to the changes I’m about to make.
The worry dwindles when a calloused hand wraps around mine, flooding me with warmth.
Our arrival has alerted the royal soldiers, some of whom gawk at our appearance, not having anticipated us back on Arida so soon. They flock to our side and to our ship to help unload the cargo, but I’m quick to stop them.
“Spread word that there’s something I’d like to discuss with my people in one week’s time,” I tell them. “Make sure every island is alerted. Everyone who can is encouraged to attend. And make sure that, this time, Kerost is here.”
The lead soldier, Isaac, hesitates. “It’d be best if you let me escort you to the palace, Your Majesty. We need to let Visidia know you’re safe. There’s been a lot of talk in the press…”
Ferrick had seen the parchment through mind speak and informed me of its contents. But I can no longer concern myself with appearances or gossips. I’ve already made up my mind, and I’m not about to give anyone or anything else the opportunity to convince me otherwise.
Besides, I’ve kept Blarthe from justice long enough.
“You should do as I say, Isaac.” My voice is unwavering. “Right now, I need you to fetch a prisoner for me. His name is Blarthe, and he’s dangerous. Be careful.”
It doesn’t take long for the soldiers to find him. Feet and hands chained, Blarthe looks more haggard than ever as the soldiers drag him down the shore. He squints at the unfamiliar sunlight, deep shadows beneath his eyes. Time magic has taken its toll on his body; each footstep looks painful and deliberate, and he babies his left knee. His skin looks as though it’s tightened into leather, riddled with sun spots. Upon seeing him, Bastian grimaces.
Blarthe doesn’t look concerned to see me, nor is he too eager. Hungry eyes scan my hands, then my coat, looking for any sign of the artifact.
“Did you find it?” are the first words out of his mouth, and the soldier scowls, yanking Blarthe’s chains.
“Bow before your queen,” Isaac warns him.
“I don’t need his bow,” I tell him. Then, to Blarthe, I nod. “Just how many times do you plan to go against the gods, Rogan?”
At first, I’m only guessing, but the way the hunger in his eyes dims and his hands twitch at his sides tells me I was right to gamble.
“I met your daughter, but she wasn’t in Kerost like you thought she’d be. She’s happy and thriving somewhere far away from you, where she’ll never have to see your sorry face again.”
“I don’t care if you