The Girl Who Belonged to the Sea by Katherine Quinn

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Margrete

Bash scoopedMargrete in his arms and carried her from the throne room, past the gossiping onlookers. Margrete felt safe against his warm body, her face tucked into the crook of his neck. They didn’t speak as he carried her up the staircase, where he paused only long enough to shift her in his arms and open the door to his rooms.

He kicked it closed behind them with his boot and gazed down at her, his eyes shadowed and full of worry. She could tell it had taken him great effort to keep his emotions in check before his people, but his facade was crumbling. She’d never seen him so pale.

Without a word, he brought her over to the bed and gently lowered her onto the plush bedding. Taking great care, he climbed in beside her and pulled the blanket over them both. He held her close, his muscled arms winding around her, one hand pressed into the small of her back.

Would she ever be able to get the image of his father bleeding out on the throne room floor out of her mind? Or the captain and Arlin’s cold, cruel gazes as they watched the king die? Margrete already had enough nightmares to contend with.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“Yes. A little.” She couldn’t help but hold onto him. He felt like an anchor tethering her to reality.

Bash watched her, one hand propping his head and the other resting on her waist, his thumb rubbing circles. “Can you tell me what you meant when you said you knew where the Heart’s power went?”

Margrete could still see the stunned look on the faces of the onlookers. Their whispers echoed in her mind.

Unnatural.

Blessed.

Divine.

She let out an involuntary shiver.

“I was early meeting you,” she began, her throat painfully hoarse, “and there was this urge, this voice, compelling me to sit on the throne.” It was well past time she told Bash of the two entities, the two otherworldly voices that whispered secrets into her ears. He deserved to know, especially after what her vision had shown.

“A voice?”

“Yes. I’ve been hearing it since I came to Azantian,” she confessed, and the weight fell from her shoulders. “I should’ve told you sooner, but I thought I was imagining it. Or maybe I just hoped I was.”

Bash drew her further into his embrace. Her nerves lessened, even if she dreaded speaking the next words.

“When I fell into the sea during the storm, I heard Malum. I understand how absurd that sounds, but I know it was him. He told me he was trapped but working to free himself.” She squeezed her eyes shut at the memory of drowning. When she opened them, Bash was staring at her in awe. “But tonight…Tonight, I heard another voice, one that I recognized, and I believe I understand who it may belong to.”

Darius. Malum’s brother. The other god of the sea. It had to be.

She didn’t know why she felt so certain, but she couldn’t deny the truth that reverberated inside of her like the drums of war.

“He told me to sit on the throne, and I foolishly heeded his request. The next thing I knew, I was no longer...I was somewhere else. Still in the throne room but trapped in a different time.”

She expected Bash to look at her like she’d lost her mind, but instead, he took in a steadying breath and asked, “And what did you see?”

“The night your father was murdered. The night my own father attacked Azantian.” She cleared her throat, preparing for the next part. The hardest part. “As the captain killed your father, I spotted Ortum. He was hidden in the shadows, murmuring something beneath his breath. Performing some kind of enchantment, I assume.”

Bash’s breath hitched, but she continued.

“And then there was a small flash of blue light, and it sparked across the pregnant belly of the woman who stood at my father’s side. They were…together, it seemed.” Her eyes held Bash’s, focusing on those endless green pools and the gold dusting his irises. “Bash. She looked like me. She had my nose, my chin, my hair. My hazel eyes, before I drowned, were her eyes.”

He stiffened, seeming to grasp what she was trying to say. Bash had asked her once about her mother and where she might have hailed from, but when she told him, she could tell he didn’t believe her.

“No one in that room seemed to notice when that light flashed across her pregnant belly at the same time Ortum performed his enchantment. I think…”

“That the Heart’s power went into her. Into the child she carried.” Bash gave her a pointed look, and his hold on her hand tightened. He had put it together—what it would mean if Arlin was indeed her mother. “Before the captain attacked him, my father asked Ortum to attempt the ritual, even if it carried unforeseen risks.”

Bash clenched his jaw, eyes flitting to the shadows that clung to the corners of the room.

“What is it?” she asked, pulling her hand from beneath the covers and placing it on his shoulder.

“Ortum is missing,” Bash whispered, his chin dipping. “We sent for him when you were on the throne, but no one has been able to locate him.”

“I don’t understand,” she said. “I could have sworn I spotted him in the hall on the way to the feast.”

Bash nodded. “I know. It doesn’t make sense, and I know he wouldn’t just leave. That’s why I think something else, something we don’t yet understand, is at play. And then there was the blood on the throne.”

Her brows scrunched together. “What blood?”

He heaved a sigh. “I found evidence of dark magic, blood magic, being used on you tonight. Two intertwined circles were painted on the side of the throne, and when I rubbed it away, the enchantment finally released you. My father outlawed the practice decades ago, but I’d recognize it anywhere. It leaves a distinct smell.” His nose wrinkled in disgust.

Margrete had heard stories of blood magic, of how the practitioner would sacrifice a piece of their soul in order to gain access to power no mortal should own. But that’s all they had ever been—stories.

“Are you sure?” she asked. Bash nodded without hesitation.

“Someone wanted you to sit on the throne, and they wanted you to have that vision. I just don’t know who.”

If what she suspected was true, if Arlin was her mother and Ortum had mistakenly transferred the power of the Heart into her pregnant belly, then did that mean—

“I think you were always meant to come here,” Bash murmured, his thumb still rubbing circles on her hip. “Ortum said the blood of my enemy would bring me salvation, and I think he knew what he’d done that night. I just wish he was here so I could ask him.” Margrete grimaced, her heart aching for him. “But Ortum hasn’t been himself for the last few weeks. I noticed the change, the way he kept to himself, how he seemed withdrawn and guarded, like there was something he was hiding. I could see it plainly in his eyes, but I kept quiet, trusting that if it was important, he would come to me. It got worse when you arrived, and I suspect I now know the reason why. He knew what he’d done.”

Margrete grasped his chin, forcing him to look at her. “Is it truly possible?”

For her to be carrying Malum’s essence? The very power that had filled his heart?

Bash’s eyes grew dark, the flecks of gold dimming. She knew his answer before he spoke.

“I-I never did believe in chance, Margrete Wood.” He gave her a grim smile, and her chest ached at the sight.

Bash brought her to lay against his chest, and her cheek pressed against the silken material of his fine jacket. They didn’t speak, didn’t move. The answers they needed may very well destroy them, but right now, they merely held one another.

It was an hour later, when Margrete’s eyes fluttered open, that she realized she’d drifted to sleep.

Bash was not beside her.

She shot up in his bed and scanned the room until her eyes landed on his pillow. A folded note was placed on top.

I need to speak with Adrian.

Sleep, princess. I won’t be gone long

-B

She dropped the note and slumped against the headboard. Without a doubt, he was discussing what was to be done. Done about her.

Margrete didn’t find sleep again until the first rays of light peeked across the horizon.

Bash never returned.