The Girl Who Belonged to the Sea by Katherine Quinn
Chapter Seventeen
Margrete
The morning after the quake,her breakfast arrived on a silver tray as usual. This time, however, something else accompanied her eggs and toast.
A book.
Before digging into her plate and devouring her tea, Margrete picked up the thick tome which looked to have been read numerous times. The pages were yellowed with age. Tides of Revenge, the title read, and a sword embossed the cover in gold.
She brought the cup of steaming tea to her lips and opened to the first page. There, she found a single word circled in black ink.
Pirate.
Her brows scrunched, but she kept reading…until the tenth page, when rogues attacked the protagonist’s ship. In the scene, one of the rogues held a dagger to the hero’s throat, but the assailant hesitated to make the killing blow, and the story’s hero escaped his hold.
Scrawled in the bottom right corner of the page, with an arrow pointing to the skirmish, were five words.
This reminded me of you.
Margrete scoffed, knowing exactly who bestowed this gift. She flipped through the pages and found several other notes, most teasing. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine the laughter that laced Bash’s every scribbled word.
That afternoon, Adrian fetched her for another training session, and she abandoned the novel, but when he brought her back to her chambers, she hastily grabbed it and resumed her reading. More often than not, she found herself smiling at the king’s jokes. At the circled words meant for her eyes only.
At dinner that night, Bash didn’t mention the book, but she caught him looking her way whenever she glanced up from her plate, a spark only a secret could ignite.
She bit back her smile.
The next day, after she stayed up well into the night to finish reading of the pirate and his high-seas adventure, another book arrived with breakfast, this one thin and blue.
She opened it, expecting another work of fiction, but she wasn’t prepared for what she saw hidden between the pages.
Poetry.
Margrete flipped the book in her hands. It had to be some kind of mistake. A man like Bash wouldn’t favor such heartfelt and flowery words.
There were no scratches of ink scribbled in the corners of this book, though she found the corners of several pages folded, as though the owner wished to be able to return to his favorite poems whenever he desired.
One particular earmarked page caught her interest—
The Lure
I float on the crests of your love
And drown when the tide has changed
I am a fool, pulled by the promise of the wild
That sweet surrender of being drawn under
A fool in love with a toxic beauty
I choose the wild and pray for the thrill
Jumping into a sweet oblivion of vicious waves
Realizing too late, my mistake
The sea never gives—it only takes
Margrete nearly dropped her tea, but before she could think too much on what she’d read, Adrian emerged through the mist of her portal, dressed in his training leathers. While she wished to read further, she was eager to learn more from the skilled warrior. Learning how to defend herself was entirely liberating.
Hours later, after she washed away the sweat and grime from practice, she curled up on the balcony and consumed the entire collection of poems. This time, when Bash lifted his head at dinner, his eyes sparkling with mischief, she didn’t hold back her smile.
Margrete woke before dawn on the third morning, hating how much she anticipated what Bash’s next book would be, what he’d picked out for her today, but it was another hour or so before her tray would be delivered, and she had no choice but to be patient.
“Good. You’re up.”
Margrete jumped at the voice, which possessed too much energy for the early hour.
“Good morning,” she said to Bay, who bounded into her room and made himself comfortable on her bed. She was thankful she’d already dressed, her fingers working to tie the ribbon at the end of her braid. It made it easier to train when her hair wasn’t flying in her eyes.
Bay’s eyes strayed to her nightstand, the two books Bash had sent on display, though he didn’t say a word of them.
Margrete cleared her throat, wishing to draw his attention away. “Have there been any more…tremors?” She hadn’t felt anything since that night, and Adrian had been rather tight-lipped about the subject. Perhaps Bay would be more willing to open up.
Bay heaved a sigh, seeming to read the desperation in her gaze. “No. Not since the other night. It’s only a matter of time before Ortum isn’t able to hold them any longer.”
“Wait. What does Ortum have to do with it?” Bash had asked Adrian to find the advisor the night of the quake, but Margrete had been too shocked to question anything.
“Shit.” Bay grimaced. “I thought you knew already.”
She eyed him, hands drifting to her hips. “Knew what?”
He let out another curse, this one fouler than the last. “Ortum has been…keeping the monsters secured since the captain stole from the island. He’s the reason the barriers went up in the first place. It was the only way he could keep the sea’s children imprisoned, but it keeps us imprisoned as well. It wasn’t until recently that the barriers shielding our island wavered. That was why Bash decided to act when he did, why he sought out your father. Ortum is losing strength, and we need what Captain Wood took from us or all hell will break loose.”
“So it’s true…the legends.” She took a seat beside him on the bed. “Since all the other myths have been accurate, I shouldn’t be surprised that the monsters of the deep are locked below the island.”
A deathly chill crept up Margrete’s spine as she recalled how the island shook with fury. It was the sea’s children testing the bars of their cage. No wonder Bash had held such fear in his eyes.
“I had no idea Ortum held that kind of magic.” She turned to Bay. “What is he?”
Only a god, or something damn near like it, could possess such an ability.
“That, I will leave to Bash to tell you.” A guilty look weighed Bay’s face. “I shouldn’t have even said anything at all. It’s his place to tell you our island’s secrets, not mine.”
Margrete nodded, not wanting to get Bay into trouble.
“All I know is that the other night was a taste of what will come should we fail to make the trade with your father.”
She suppressed an involuntary shudder. If that had simply been a taste of the beasts’ increasing strength, then she’d hate to see what would happen if they broke free.
“Enough talk of monsters and the possible end of the world.” Bay forced a smile, changing the subject. “Today, I thought it would be best to show you one of my favorite places on the island. I am, after all, a much better tour guide than Adrian.”
Margrete smiled, thinking about what Adrian had said about Bash wanting her to see the beauty of Azantian. She still had to find a way to leave, but she had to admit that this place was growing on her. Not that it mattered. It wasn’t home and never would be.
She didn’t have a home. Not anymore.
“I thought you weren’t risking escorting me anywhere after that first night?” she said, a teasing lilt in her tone.
Bay huffed. “What can I say? I’m a glutton for punishment.”
Margrete’s lips quirked at that. “After you, then.” She tilted her head toward the portal.
The mist lightened when she and Bay stepped through, her companion’s steps giddy. He was nearly skipping as they went down the staircase and through a narrow corridor on the ground floor. His lively energy was infectious, and she didn’t even try to hold back her smile.
Thoughts of beasts and thieving captains were pushed to the back of her mind. For now.
Bay guided her to a new part of the palace where the glass walls were an obscure shade of dark gray. It smelled damp and salty, and reminded Margrete of the docks back in Prias.
“Is this where you murder me?” she quipped, poking Bay in his side none too gently.
He tilted his head and gripped his angular chin as if mulling the thought over. “No,” he said. “If I were to kill you, it would be under the cloak of darkness, and certainly not in the palace. Harder to dispose of a body.” Bay shrugged, one eye winking mischievously.
“That’s good to know,” she replied coolly, though her lips tugged up at the corners.
Bay beamed back before twisting to a lone door at the end of the hall. It was the color of a lush palm frond, decorated with gilded dolphins along the edges.
“It’s beautiful,” she remarked, trailing a finger over the border.
“And that’s only the door.” Bay maintained his wicked smile as he pushed it open.
A strong breeze assaulted her as bright sunshine warmed her skin. Her hair whipped up and around her shoulders and danced in the briny flurry. She squinted her eyes against the light to make out her surroundings.
Bay had brought her to some sort of private beach behind the palace. There were three guards posted beyond the door, all of whom nodded and waved at Bay. It appeared as though soldiers manned every entrance and exit point. Bash must’ve added security after her little trip through the garden.
“Come on.” Bay scooped up her hand to tug her forward.
They walked down a short flight of stone steps to where a wooden walkway twisted along the shore’s golden sands. The lapping waves of aquamarine caressed the grains before receding back to their home.
The boardwalk creaked beneath their boots as the path steered around a slight bend. “It’s just past this turn,” Bay assured her.
When Margrete stepped onto the last plank of the boardwalk, her eyes widened with both fear and wonder. Before them stood the looming mouth of a vast cave, the opening stretching like a gaping maw.
“So this is where you kill me,” she said, peering into the obscurity.
She was only half-joking. If Margrete had seen such a place etched into any storybook, she would’ve instantly turned the page to a less menacing venue. The cave resembled what she pictured the gateway to the underworld might look like.
Nothing could be seen through the gloom besides a single streak of wavering light. If she tilted her head just so, the light morphed into an iridescent rainbow.
“Oh hush,” Bay chided, sliding his arm through hers. “Where’s your sense of adventure, Miss Wood?”
“Possibly buried beneath my sense of self-preservation,” she replied, holding her ground. “Seriously, this place is…unnerving.”
That was putting it mildly.
Bay sighed. “I promise no harm will befall you here. Bash would kill me if anything happened to you.”
While this served as a reminder that she was a prisoner, his words did manage to soothe her nerves. Bash wouldn’t have permitted her anywhere near this place if there was the slightest chance of danger. She meant too much to his island.
Margrete allowed herself to be guided through the dim cave, her feet unsteady over the unknown terrain. The rock was slick, making every step treacherous. “It’s just up here,” Bay encouraged, gripping her arm.
“You keep saying that,” she muttered, but she continued to clutch at him as she stumbled on a slippery patch of rock. So much for Bash not allowing her anywhere dangerous.
There was nothing but the patter of their boots and that single streak of light guiding their way. Margrete was about to question just how much further it would be when an ethereal glow lit up Bay’s face, a result of the sun reflecting off a deep turquoise sea. The light bounced from the waters and into a sea cave, highlighting each and every otherworldly feature.
The rocky landing that they stood upon rounded against lapping waters, a trail of brilliant sea-green leading to the open sea. Overhead, the rock curved like a cathedral ceiling, the walls comprised of hundreds of hexagonal columns of basalt. The six-sided columns were nearly a hundred feet in height, an impossible triumph of nature.
“It’s—it’s gorgeous.”
“That it is,” Bay replied, his voice reverent. “I am silenced every time I see it. A very rare feat, I might add.”
Margrete smiled, but her eyes didn’t stray from the sea cave. It was so serene, the whistling wind playing an eerie melody that lifted the fine hairs on the back of her neck.
“What is this place?” she asked Bay, whose eyes were watching the open waters with uncharacteristic caution.
“It’s called Kardias in the ancient tongue. Roughly translated to ‘dawn.’ It has been in our lore since the beginning of Azantian.”
Her fingers trailed down a column, the geometric pillar a spectacle in itself.
“They say the walls were chiseled by the God of the Sea himself,” Bay whispered. “It is also the entrance to the gates holding the sea’s children. If you were to dive below, you’d find an opening beneath the rocks we stand upon.”
“You brought me to the place where, at any moment, monsters could emerge?”
Bay only shrugged, unaffected. “Eh, I think we’re safe today.”
“You think we’re safe?” she bit out, incredulous. But something else niggled the back of her mind. “Does Bash plan on feeding me to the beasts beyond?”
Bay laughed. “Of course not. I may have lied to Bash about where we were going. He thinks we’re sticking to the shoreline, but once we return safe and sound, I doubt he’ll be all that mad. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, Margrete. Know that.”
She shook her head, impressed with the young soldier. “You certainly don’t fear your king’s wrath, do you?”
“I’ve known Bash for most of my life. He may have a temper from time to time, but he’s like a brother, and brothers don’t stay mad at one another for very long.” His eyes danced with mischief. “Let me be the one to worry about the brooding king.”
“You better,” she threatened, though she was hardly angry. Not when she was standing in such a place. Even if it held monsters below the surface.
Something pricked Margrete’s finger where it rested, some jagged rock perhaps, and she withdrew her hand. A bubble of blood formed on the tip of her finger, a perfect bead of crimson. She placed her finger between her lips and licked it away absently, her attention focused on the majesty of her surroundings, a sight she imagined very few mortals, if any, had ever witnessed. The longer she stood there, the more her pricked finger itched with a foreign buzzing, and an ensuing tingle began running up and down the length of her spine.
As if her spilled blood on such hallowed ground had awoken the waters, the pull she’d known her entire life grew taut, the chorus of the rushing waves roaring in her ears. With a shudder, she focused her gaze ahead, scanning the never-ending stretch of blue.
Margrete closed her eyes and pled for but a hint of the sea’s ethereal song, the melody her soul knew by heart. In reply, a mighty breeze gusted, tangling her hair and filling her lungs with a wildness she longed to capture and keep forever.
One word, the same whispered name she’d heard since arriving on Azantian, rang true, the ethereal voice that uttered it a silken caress. Shana.
A name. A plea. A request.
Shana. You’ve come home.