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Chapter Fifteen

Remy had never been on a boat before. She held onto the banister with a white-knuckled grip as the creaky wooden barge crossed the Crushwold River. Behind her sat the Southern Court, and so far in front of her that it was a dot on the horizon were the shores of the Eastern Court. The stench of the humid Southern jungles still clung to her skin. The last week had been a grueling slog. The cool river breeze should have been a relief . . . but not while on a wildly rocking boat.

Red witch magic could animate objects and, if the magic was strong enough, it could keep them moving, like the fountain at the prayer tree. Whatever spell was cast on this barge, the magic was ancient. It must have taken a hundred red witches to spell the barge to carry on crossing back and forth without sails or oars for all these many years. Only red witches possessed the level of magic to spell inanimate objects. It surprised Remy that their magic lived on, even though so many were killed. She wondered how many more years this barge would last before it broke, never to be repaired. There were so few red witches left. One day there would be no more magical objects such as this.

Carys and Hale had gone to the other side of the boat to discuss something while Remy perched against the railing between the Twin Eagles.

“Seasick?” Talhan asked, noting her peaky, pale face. The boat swayed wildly up and over the choppy waves. At least the wind on her face calmed her churning stomach.

“This feels really unsafe,” Remy said through clenched teeth. She was sure the banister would splinter if she gripped it any tighter.

“Only if you can’t swim.” Bri glanced sideways at Remy. “Can you swim?”

“What?!” Remy asked, sucking in quick breaths. The unpredictability of the rocking had her legs wobbling.

“She’s kidding,” Talhan said, chuckling. “The barge is perfectly safe. We make this crossing regularly to come to the South.”

His words did not soothe Remy. She had learned to swim as a child whenever she and Heather stopped into towns that had rivers or ponds, but she never swam out of her depth and not in water with heavy waves or rushing currents.

“Are you excited to be heading back to your court?” Remy asked, trying to take her mind off the swaying boat.

“None of us have particularly good relationships with the Eastern Court,” Bri huffed.

“Do you have any family in . . .”

“No,” Bri cut her off. No, they did not have any family in the East and that was that. No more explanation.

“I am looking forward to some chimney cakes from that bakery in the garden district,” Talhan said with a wink. “Maybe His Highness will give us a couple of days to enjoy the city before we head back into the mountains.”

“I doubt it,” Bri said. “He’s on a mission from the King, a mission he still hasn’t completed, and so we’re just passing through.” She chewed off a bit of her fingernail and spat it overboard. “With any luck we will not have to see the royals at all.”

Carys’s voice called from behind them. “Hale needs to speak with you at the back of the boat.”

“As long as it’s not below deck . . . ,” Remy groused.

Looking at Remy’s green face, Carys snorted.

“Keep an eye on the horizon,” Bri said, giving a patronizing tap on Remy’s hand still grasping the railing for dear life.

Remy walked shakily to the stern of the boat, where the Southern shoreline was pulling farther and farther into the distance. No other passengers gathered there, most looking forward toward the East. Hale leaned his forearms on the balustrade, confident on his feet.

Remy wobbled like a newborn fawn toward him. Turning her way, Hale was about to make some teasing comment when Remy cut him off.

“Don’t,” she snarled.

Hale remained silent, but that insufferable smirk crossed his face.

Remy grabbed on to the railing, holding it tight to keep her from moving. Hale stared out at Westdale. He twirled a purple flower in his hands. He must have picked it before they boarded.

“What is that?” Remy raised her eyebrows at the delicate flower.

Hale handed it to her, his expression sombre. Remy gave the flower a deep sniff.

“The fragrance is lovely,” Remy said. It had a beautiful sweet and fruity aroma. “It reminds me of something . . . though I’m not sure what.”

“Veliaris rudica, commonly known as blooming amethyst. It’s a wildflower native only to the banks of the Crushwold River. The violet witches of old highly praised it.” Hale’s thoughts seemed far away as he spoke. “You may well have smelled it before. They used it in many perfumes. It was once a favorite of the High Mountain royals . . . perhaps you were around them enough as a child you may remember it?”

That made Remy’s heart clench. Yes, she knew where the smell was from. The scent took her back in a way that no word or sound could. The pinprick of tears welled in her eyes as the wind whipped her hair against her cheeks. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she sniffed the flower again.