The Girl Who Belonged to the Sea by Katherine Quinn

Chapter Forty-Four

Margrete

Margrete’s eyesfluttered open as a pointed boot poked her in the ribs.

The world was awash in shades of yellow and burnt orange, the taste of wood and salt heavy in the air. As her vision cleared, the blurred shadows grew sharp.

She was once again in a cabin aboard a ship.

Although, this time, it wasn’t the Phaedra, and the man looming above her was not a handsome king set on saving his island home.

The man’s polished boot lowered back to the planks with a thud.

“Good. You’re up.” Her father’s voice was just as she remembered it: hard, cold, and all things grating. Its jilting melody was like sandpaper to exposed flesh.

Margrete pushed up onto her elbows, her head swimming from whatever Casbian dosed her with.

“You.”

There was malice and anger and years of heartache directed into that one syllable. She hoped her father choked on its venom.

“Did you miss me, dear daughter?” The captain hooked his thumb through his belt loop, a triumphant sneer curling his thin lips.

“Go to hell,” Margrete snarled, her teeth bared.

“Oh, not even the underworld could hold me for long.” Her father chuckled, his eyes crinkling. “It seems you’ve found yourself a spine during your stay here. Not that it will matter.”

The captain took a few steps closer to the cot, hovering like a gray rain cloud. Margrete twisted the sheets, her fingers twitching. She wanted nothing more than to curl her hand into a fist and attack him the way she had Casbian.

“All of this mess”—he waved his hand to her trembling frame—“could have been avoided if you’d just given me what I wanted. But no, not even hours spent inside the box confined with the Heart could persuade you.” He laughed harshly. “I always knew it would take something more drastic to make you cooperate.”

Margrete flinched.

All those many years of her father shoving her inside the iron contraption. He hadn’t just been punishing her—

“You locked me in the box with the Heart.” It wasn’t a question. “What did you expect would happen, hmm? That the pieces would reunite simply because you placed us close together? How did you even know what I was?”

The captain went rigid. “It was obvious to me that day in my study all those many years ago. The Heart hadn’t pulsed with life for years, but the second you entered the room where I’d kept it safely hidden, it came alive again. I thought Malum’s magic had returned, that his power would be mine, but the stone was merely reacting to your presence. Nothing more.” He scowled.

That day in his study came back to her like a violent surge. She’d been so young, but she remembered him holding something in the palm of his hand, and, for once, when she came to him, he didn’t send her away. It was the very next day that he began locking her in the box.

“If it didn’t work for all these years, then how the hell do you plan on joining the Heart and the magic inside of me?”

“Ah, yes.” He lifted his shoulders, a cruel confidence sparking in his eyes. “I was rather fortunate when Casbian came to me in hopes of forming a business partnership. When I paid him a visit on Cartus, he was kind enough to show me his extensive library.” Her father turned to his desk and grabbed a simple, leatherbound book. He held it in the air for her to see. “This is what I’ve been searching for all these many years. A back-up plan should the pieces not come together...naturally.”

He took a step closer to the bed, causing her to flinch.

“What is that?” She despised how her voice cracked.

“A book that contains outlawed magic. I thought all traces of the practice had been wiped from the earth, but Casbian possessed a single volume, and, within these pages, I discovered everything I need to complete the transference. In return, all Casbian requested was to marry you.” He scoffed as though the thought were truly laughable. “Well, he was aiming to gain the hefty dowry that would come along with you, I suppose, seeing as his treasury is all but empty. Either way, it was an easy trade to make.”

Margrete wished she was still capable of being shocked by such an admission, but his words washed across her without provoking an ounce of emotion. Nothing he could do would surprise her.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this moment,” her father continued. Margrete pressed her lips together, refusing to indulge him with her words. “When I returned home from Azantian, the Heart had turned dull and gray, barely pulsing with life. I knew something transpired on that island, and Arlin had her suspicions, too. Especially when you were born. That was the day the seas ravished Prias, and a great storm assaulted the city. She held you in her arms just before she died, and do you know what her final words were?” He paused, nostrils flaring slightly. “Arlin looked me in the eyes and told me, ‘I can feel it in her. We always had it.’ Though I was never awarded the time to ask what she meant, it was made clear years later. Somehow, while you were still in her womb, you were given the magic that should’ve been mine.”

Margrete wondered if her father knew about Ortum’s role the night he attacked Azantian. Then again, in her vision, when the advisor drained the Heart, he’d been cloaked in shadows.

“What are you planning?” she asked, her breathing growing uneven.

With the heart of a god, he would be unstoppable.

“I will command the sea’s children, of course.” He answered like it was obvious. “And the tides themselves, I suppose. Though one would imagine an army of monsters at my disposal will convince my adversaries of my right to the throne of Marionette. Finally, the Heart will thrive, and the beasts will be forced to listen. They were created from its power and will follow its command.”

Gods. She prayed Bash discovered her missing, that he’d look to the waters and see the captain’s ship on the horizon.

“While it’s been fun catching up, I’ve waited too many years for this moment,” her father said as he yanked on her arm and lifted her from the bed without care. He forced her above deck, where the moon shone with ominous brilliance. Men scurried all around the Iron Mast, their boots pounding on the wooden planks, weapons in hand.

They were already moored at the southern arch, held back by the steel outer band. She noted the remaining crew was busy lowering thin longboats onto the waves.

“Hello, Margrete.”

Casbian emerged from below deck, his hands tucked into his trousers. “Sorry about earlier, but we had a schedule to keep.”

Margrete snarled at him. “You idiot!” She seethed. “He’s just going to use you like he does everyone else!”

Casbian shrugged. “Not when my influence with the nobles will help ease the transition of power. As you’ve been told, I hold a decent amount of sway.” He smirked, clearly pleased with himself.

He had no sense, no idea of who he was dealing with if he believed the captain would honor their deal. Margrete watched as he sauntered over to the vessel’s railing, leaned against it, and crossed his arms. Not once did his confident smile falter.

“Alright, daughter.” The captain shoved her in front of him. “You’ll have enough time later to talk with your fiancé, but now we must prepare.”

A snicker left Casbian, and she wished she had inflicted more damage on that pretty face.

Craning his neck, her father snapped an order, and a lanky guard fell into place.

“Bring her up. We’re ready to begin.”

Her?

Two dim figures emerged from below, one clearly a woman, and the other—

“No!” she shouted, a wild scream that came from the deepest parts of her soul. She thrashed in her father’s grip as her little sister was ushered forward by her governess. The older woman’s face was pinched in remorse.

“Margrete?” Birdie took a hesitant forward, her crystal blue eyes wide with fear.

“I’m here, Birdie,” she cried, tears welling up in her eyes. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” Even as she made the promise, Margrete knew it might not be one she could keep.

“What’s going on?” Birdie turned her head toward their father, who heartlessly avoided her gaze.

“What is she doing here?” Margrete asked the captain, twisting her head to snarl in his ear. “If you hurt her, so help me—”

“You’ll what?” He jerked her against him and lowered his voice so only she would hear. “There is nothing that can be done. I need her in order to complete the transfer. Believe me, if I could use you, I would. But I need you alive for the process. Unfortunately.”

Alive. He needed Margrete alive, which meant—

“This is too far, even for you!” He was a monster. Worse than anything she could’ve ever imagined.

The captain used his free hand to reach into the pocket of his jacket, and Margrete felt the power before she saw it. Her skin buzzed almost violently.

Within his palm was a pale, gray-blue gem. At the sight of it, her stomach plummeted.

Malum’s Heart. It had to be.

Margrete peered down, watching in amazement as a gentle light pulsed at the core of the gem. It was weak, the light, but it throbbed like that of a beating heart.

“Take her,” the captain commanded, and Margrete was suddenly thrust in the direction of one of his men, whose thick arms banded around her torso and rendered her immobile. From beyond the dim light of the lanterns, she heard Casbian chuckle.

She tore her eyes from the Heart as her father was handed a wrinkled piece of parchment. With the sacred gem resting in his palm, he unfurled the paper, revealing words belonging to an ancient tongue scrawled in red ink on the page.

No. Not ink. Blood.

She scanned the paper, hoping against hope that she was wrong and that this was a nightmare she’d wake from.

There, at the bottom right-hand corner of the page, was a symbol etched in red—

Two-interwoven circles.

And now her father held a parchment—written in blood—with the same emblem that had tied her to the throne the night of her vision.

Blood magic.

“What is that?” she asked. Tears burned her cheeks as they slipped free, sliding down her face in tiny rivulets.

“It’s a sacrifice, Margrete.” He brought the page closer. “Birdie’s blood must be spilled before I can transfer Malum’s power to its original vessel.” The gem pulsed in his hand, seeming to sense its missing power nearby.

Margrete fought against the arms that held her, kicking out her legs in a futile attempt to escape. “Why her?” she roared. “Why?!”

He sighed, seemingly bored. “Because this enchantment requires the blood of your kin, and Birdie is my only option.”

“It won’t even work!” Margrete bared her teeth. “If one of Malum’s own descendants couldn’t figure it out, then what makes you think you can? You’re risking your own child’s life, and for nothing!”

“It is a chance I’m willing to take,” her father gritted out, jaw impossibly taut.

“I’ll kill you!” Margrete vowed. She stomped on the boot of the guard holding her back. He grunted, then jabbed her in the ribs. Pain radiated up her torso, but she hardly cared. She could only feel Birdie’s fear and hear her tiny sobs.

“Hold her steady.” The captain jerked his head to his youngest daughter, who let out a startled scream as two guards swarmed her on either side.

He transferred the paper to the same hand as the Heart and reached for a gilded dagger. A blood-red ruby decorated the hilt.

Birdie cried into the night, her whimpers cleaving Margrete in two.

“It’s all right, Birdie, it’s going to be all right,” Margrete whispered, her face a mess of tears and anguish.

But nothing was all right.

Margrete focused her gaze upon her father. He turned the knife over in the moonlight and lifted the parchment, beginning to read the guttural words that were meant for no mortal.

A tortured scream pierced the air before Margrete realized it belonged to her. “I’ll kill you!” she repeated, shouting over the captain. Her blood boiled, and the guard who restrained her struggled to keep her still. Margrete was the embodiment of rage.

Ice snaked its way into her core, traveling up to encircle her pounding heart where it squeezed. Her body buzzed, and suddenly Margrete felt nothing but the chill, which stung her skin and awakened something deep within her soul.

She felt weightless. A wraith without a body.

And it felt good.

Margrete welcomed the foreign sensation, allowing it to blossom and ignite, to wash across her vision until all she saw was red. Just as she shuddered from the intensity of its grip, just as it was about to consume her whole, a wave crashed into the hull of the Iron Mast.

The arms around her loosened for only a second, but a second was all she needed.

Thanking Adrian for his lessons once more, she jabbed her elbow into the soldier’s ribs and knocked the air from his lungs.

Another wave shattered against the ship as Margrete lunged toward her little sister and swaddled her in her arms.

“I’ve got you, I—”

The island trembled. A violent roar reached out into the waters, and the planks of the ship vibrated beneath her boots. Birdie gripped Margrete, her soft cries muffled as the winds picked up. Behind them was the shuffling of feet, and then her father roared above the chaos.

“The gates are opening! Ready the men!”

Margrete rocked Birdie gently back and forth, shushing softly into her ear. If the gates were opening, then death was coming for them all.