Page 26 of Across an Endless Sea

The long flat vessel is an ostentatious display of wealth and power. Brutal gold spikes glimmer across the sides, and two dozen oars rest in the water along each side. Despite the Fomorians wielding weapons all over the deck, the boat obviously isn’t made for more than light pleasure cruises. It has no sails, no cabin, and little shade from the bright cold sunlight beyond a blue silk canopy tied between four of the tallest gold spikes.

The intimidating throng of blue warriors part eagerly as Caed and Prae tug me up onto the deck. Once I’m steady on my feet, they fall back, striding behind me on either side.

That’s when I see her.

Maeve.

She’s faded, barely visible, but she’s definitely there. The tension in my shoulders eases slightly at the sight of her. She puts one hand on her sword and offers me a stiff nod. Her mouth opens, but no sound comes out. The stupid bangle on my wrist has made it impossible to communicate with her, but her presence still injects a little confidence into my step. My back straightens slightly, and I take the next step forward, knowing that—whatever happens—I’m no longer alone.

I shouldn’t be surprised that I can see her. I walked around Nopchurch for decades, seeing my three guides and talking to them, all while wearing my iron cross and carrying an iron-topped walking stick. Perhaps some of my more innate gifts—like seeing my guides—still work, regardless of the bangle.

Out of curiosity, I try to use my glamour to change the colour of my fingernails, but nothing happens. I sigh. Okay, so I’m limited to seeing, but not hearing, my guides. It could be worse.

The Fomorians are watching me too closely for me to experiment more. I can’t acknowledge Maeve as I pass her, but she falls in on my left, keeping close as I cross the final ten paces and brace myself to finally meet the Fomorian King, Elatha.

Beneath the blue canopy, a cruel male lounges on a low, wide throne carved from gold and obsidian. His white-streaked blond hair spills down past his shoulders in soft waves which frame his long face. Double pointed ears peek out from beneath the pale locks, decorated in rings of dark steel. The resemblance to Caed is uncanny, so much so that when I make the mistake of meeting his eyes, I expect them to be a cold turquoise.

Instead, it’s like looking into the eyes of a spider. Black. Reflective.

Chilling.

The wicked grin he levels at me is no less frightening. Where my Guard is all cocky good looks, his father possesses an eerie, unsettling beauty that leeches the warmth from the air around him.

Caed and Prae drop to their knees before his throne, and a hand yanks hard at my skirt, encouraging me to do the same.

I don’t.

Whether it’s stupidity, anger, or fear that holds me immobile, I can’t say. Perhaps it’s a combination of all three. My knees are locked. My feet frozen in place.

Maeve moves behind Elatha, and I catch her proud, solemn nod in the corner of my vision. Unfortunately, I can’t give her my full attention. Those black eyes are holding mine captive.

The Fomorian king rises from his throne, and everyone on the barge drops to their knees. Now it’s just the two of us standing.

He takes one step closer to me, and it takes all of my bravery—or foolishness—not to move back. My legs shake, wanting to give way, but some unseen force holds me upright.

Elatha takes another step.

The Fomorian king is forced to stop as a ghost-white sword appears between us, the tip pointed at his chest.

“Caedmon,” his voice is a silken whisper. “What is the meaning of this?”

Caed looks up, and I swear his eyes widen slightly with fear before they narrow into angry slits.

“Apologies, my king.”

The ghost sword disappears.

“A hundred lashes.” Elatha hands down the sentence like it’s nothing. “For your impertinence.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Did he seriously just agree to be whipped?

I blink.

“No.” The word slips out before I can stop it.

Elatha’s eyes, which never left mine, narrow.

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