The Girl Who Belonged to the Sea by Katherine Quinn

Chapter Forty

Margrete

The next day,Margrete drifted back to her own chambers, tired of waiting on the king. She was stuck between uncertainty and hopelessness, and she wasn’t sure which was worse.

An hour after she’d bathed and dressed, Casbian arrived at her chambers with two armed guards at his back. Still reeling from the monstrous vision, Margrete couldn’t seem to summon anything other than a polite smile.

“Morning,” she greeted weakly.

“I was hoping I could escort you to the gardens?” Casbian snuck a quick peek over his shoulder, the soldiers glaring daggers at his back.

“Fresh air might be nice,” she replied, heaving a sigh. Staying cooped up with her thoughts wouldn’t do her any good. They trekked down the staircase and through a winding corridor leading to the western side of the palace, where the guards motioned them to a set of stained-glass doors.

Casbian pulled on the handle to reveal lush green plants and overflowing buds. There was a gravel path at her feet, and Margrete stepped out into the untamed oasis.

“I overheard what transpired at the feast,” he said from behind her. She stopped beside a palm and faced him. “You had some sort of vision?

Margrete hardly wished to discuss that with him. So instead, she lied. “I must have had too much to drink. You know how gossip starts.” She continued down the path, Casbian rushing to keep up. Maybe a walk was a bad idea.

“Well, I was hoping to speak with you. About what happens after we leave…together, I hope,” he began, unwavering.

She stopped short.

“I don’t want to be married.” The words were harsh but true, every syllable heavy with conviction.

The count’s eyes darkened.

“Listen, we have much bigger things to worry about than marriage. Believe me when I tell you, we will be lucky if we see tomorrow.”

Casbian’s jaw clenched, and his eyes flashed with what she believed to be anger. “I see,” he said. “Well, perhaps we can speak of this at a better time. You don’t seem like yourself.”

As if he knew her at all.

“You know, I think I was too quick to agree to a walk. I’m still feeling out of sorts,” she said. The second lie came easily. It had been a bad idea to see Casbian, especially since she couldn’t even fake a decent nicety.

“We should get you back to bed then,” he gritted out, clearly eager to relieve himself of the unpleasant situation.

Margrete accepted Casbian’s arm as they made the quick trek back through the palace. It was an uncomfortable walk, and the count had yet to meet her eyes.

They’d just entered the main hall of the palace when she saw a familiar head of auburn hair. She froze, watching as robed figures in blue emerged from a set of double doors, their eyes downcast as they avoided their seething king.

Bash rubbed at his temples, his eyes shutting. He only opened them when a robed man with greying hair approached, his thin lips moving inaudibly.

“There’s no gods’ damned way I’m allowing that!” Bash roared a moment later, his upper lip curled in anger. The man before him flinched, but he continued, speaking too low for Margrete to hear.

Whatever he said only worked to enrage Bash more.

In a flash, the king gripped the collar of the man’s robe and lifted him up into the air. His sandaled feet dangled as he sputtered.

Beside her, the count let out a soft gasp.

“Find. Another. Way,” Bash snarled, every word meant to wound. “That’s your job, isn’t it? Think of something else!”

He dropped the man’s robe, ignoring him as he tumbled to the stones. Turning around, Bash grasped the arm of a passing guard.

“The advisor?”

“N-nothing, my king,” the young guard sputtered, clearly fearful of Bash’s wrath.

“Fuck!”

Bash spun around, stilling when he locked eyes with Margrete across the hall. She’d never seen him look so angry, and the sight of him unsettled her. Something dire had occurred, something bad enough for Bash to lash out in such a way.

He cursed again, this time softly, and began slowly walking in her direction. His fists were clenched at his sides, but he forced his features to soften. Still, Margrete could taste the anger that rolled off him in waves.

“I’m glad to see you up and about.” His eyes remained on her, ignoring the count entirely. He might as well have not even been there. “I meant to come back this morning, but I got delayed…” He glanced at the open double doors, to what appeared to be some sort of meeting room. “I should have more answers tonight. Perhaps we can talk then?”

“Yes, please let me know what you find,” she replied. Her brow scrunched as she took in the disheveled sight of him. Bash nodded stiffly and finally turned to acknowledge Casbian, though he only gave him a disapproving glance.

“Tonight, then,” he promised, before taking off in the opposite direction, his steps heavy. Before he vanished into the corridor, he paused and twisted back to look at her. In that brief exchange, Margrete saw all the shadows of conflict…and a hint of regret.

When she returnedto her stretching hallway, Margrete found the oddest sight: there was a solid wooden door at the end of it.

“What is that?” she asked of the lone guard posted beside it.

He eyed her as if she were a simpleton. “That’s a door.”

Margrete scoffed. “Yes, I’m fully aware of what a door is, but what happened to all the…” She waved her hands about. “The mist and clouds and such?”

“King’s orders,” he replied. The guard opened the door for her politely, and she drifted into the familiar space. While nothing had changed, it seemed as if everything was different.

Margrete was thankful for the time alone, however, and was glad that Casbian had left her to her thoughts for the remainder of the afternoon. She was sure he wanted time to lick his wounds, though his ego was far from her concern.

Out on the balcony, Margrete took in the view of the city and the waves surrounding them. The seas were tranquil, unnaturally serene. Numb.

An hour passed before a lilting voice greeted her.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you.” Adrian crossed through her chambers and joined her on the balcony.

“Not at all,” she replied, refusing to peel herself away from the view. The sea didn’t own a pair of pitying or sympathetic eyes. Ones that would inadvertently make her soul weep even more than it already was.

Adrian settled at her side, resting his elbows on the railing.

Margrete got directly to the point.

“So he thinks it’s true. That Ortum placed the power inside my mother, in me, the night my father attacked.”

“Yes.” Adrian didn’t hesitate. “Since day one, you’ve held an unnatural connection to the island. Your vision simply confirms the reason as to why.”

“And do you believe my vision holds truth?”

“Bash may be more superstitious than I am, but I find I agree. It can’t be argued that the events of that night don’t correlate perfectly with the timing of your birth.” Adrian gave her a pointed look.

She swallowed down the rising anger she felt at the mother she’d never known and asked Adrian about what she’d seen transpire this morning.

“Why was Bash…Why was he so furious when I saw him?”

Adrian’s hands slipped from the railing and came up to grasp both of her arms. “The council members want to…They want to test you. Bring you to the Kardias Cave, to the gates themselves, and try to attempt the transference into a temporary vessel until we find the original Heart. They’ve secured a jewel that belonged to Malum’s lover, an onyx stone the god created just for her. They hope it will be enough to hold the god’s power, seeing as he forged it himself.”

“But what if it doesn’t work?” she asked, fear making her voice small. She didn’t want to be afraid, but unknowns of this magnitude would frighten any sane individual.

“It could very well kill you.”

Margrete’s heart stilled at that.

“You don’t shy from the truth.” She let out a humorless scoff. Adrian glanced at the waves over her shoulder, frowning.

“If this new stone, however sacred it might be, rejects the power, then we cannot say what might happen to your mortal body. That’s why Bash is having such a difficult time. He knows what he should do as king, but as a man? That’s where he’s at war with himself.”

“Well, I don’t really see another option. He needs to at least try. Everyone is counting on him, and, if it works, then that means we keep the world safe from the sea’s children. Especially with Ortum missing, it’ll be worth the risk.” Even before the final word slipped past her lips, she knew it was true.

Adrian nodded in somber agreement. “We’re hoping to find out what happened to Ortum soon, but I’m losing hope.”

Margrete didn’t know the advisor well, but she grasped how much he meant to Bash. A hushed quiet fell over them as they gazed out at the horizon, both likely wondering what the next few days would bring. What terrors they’d encounter.

Margrete felt the foreboding in the air, and it weighed her every exhale.

“I’ve given up so much in my life,” she began after some time passed, breaking their uneasy silence. “But the reason for doing so has always been the same.”

She thought of Birdie. Of the nights she put herself in their father’s path so her younger sister might avoid his wrath. She imagined her sister’s sweet face and hopeful smile, and her heart lifted, knowing her years of suffering had all been worth it.

Margrete grasped Adrian’s hand and squeezed. “I’ve never feared death, or what might come after I take my final breath. I’ve only ever feared regret. And I will not sit by when I could save this island. The very sea itself. The world. The council has to try whatever they can. It must be done.”

Adrian’s fingers tightened around hers, his eyes welling with unshed tears.

“Don’t worry, my friend. Perhaps the gods will have mercy on me,” she said, though this time, she knew it was a lie.

The gods were never merciful.