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Many who look upon this frozen island have wondered at the source of Grand Duchess Gwynira’s unusual wealth. The truth is in the tundra cotton that grows effortlessly across the plains on the northeast part of the island. As mentioned in the introduction, the unique fibers naturally grow in prized shades of vivid teal, aquamarine, and green. The color of fabric woven from this cotton never fades—and is highly prized in the Empire.

Akeisa: A Study of Flora and Fauna

by Guildmaster Klement

Naia couldn’t sleep, and this time, it had nothing to do with being assailed by too-vivid dreams every time she closed her eyes.

She hadn’t been able to settle down since the fight earlier. Her heart still pounded, and her skin prickled with ... something . It wasn’t fear or even adrenaline, but a strange sort of nervous elation that no amount of deep breathing and meditation seemed to soothe.

She’d never won a battle before.

Oh, she’d been there when the High Court had vanquished Sorin and his forces. The Huntress had told her afterward, with full sincerity, that she’d fought well, and that her assistance had been indispensable.

But that was just it—she’d helped . She hadn’t stood as the vanguard against an onslaught. She hadn’t sunk any enemy vessels.

But, by the Dream, she had today.

Her entire body thrummed as she slipped from her useless bed. She didn’t bother replacing the nightgown the servants had insisted on helping her don, simply shoved her feet into her waiting slippers and threw a fur-lined cloak over it all.

She couldn’t go to the library again. It would only trouble the servants, and she’d done enough of that during her stay. She’d have to find someplace less obtrusive to spend her time. Perhaps one of the higher balconies of the palace. She could watch the stars twinkle, and draw the cool, salty night air into her lungs until it had washed away the edgy excitement that suffused her now.

She drifted past Aleksi’s door, only to pause when she saw that the ornate metal knocker had been wrapped in velvet. A flash of someone else’s memory supplied the reason for the quaint tradition—the Lover did not wish to be disturbed tonight.

Naia ended up at Einar’s door.

She raised her hand and tapped the far less ornate knocker against its metal plate. The door swung open several moments later, and Einar stood there. He wasn’t dressed. Of course he wasn’t—it was late, and the day had been long and arduous. He had every reason to be barefoot and rumpled, with his shirt half open.

In that moment, Naia was forced to reassess the truth of why she’d come here. Had she expected this sort of vulnerability? Wanted it, even? It was an intimacy she craved, but did she have any right to it, especially when she was wound this tight, like a spring? And would she let that stop her?

Could she?

A book dangled from one strong hand. The other swept his dark hair back as concern furrowed his brow. “Naia? Are you well?”

“Very,” she answered automatically, then gestured into the room. “May I?”

Einar stepped aside silently. His chamber was much like hers, though a bit more utilitarian. There was a sitting area arranged around a large stone fireplace. A low fire burned within, the kind that cast out as much shadow as light, and the bed had been made up with a thickly woven but plain coverlet.

Naia swallowed and looked away.

He clearly had not been offered the most sumptuous accommodations available, but this room suited him. It had been designed for a purpose, and it performed its function well, without distractions or frippery.

Einar closed the door and turned, waving a hand toward the plush seats in invitation. “I think I have some wine, if you’d like some?”

“Thank you, but no,” she demurred. Drinking with him could only lead down one path, and Naia refused to be out of her wits when she finally went there . “What are you reading?”

His fingers reverently stroked the book’s aged spine ... but his gaze never left Naia’s face. “I found it in the library. It was written a few generations after the Empire invaded.”

Curious, she moved closer and peered at the volume. “Is it a history of Rahvekya before its occupation?”

“Mmm. I’m surprised that Gwynira ever let such a thing survive, much less that she sees fit to own a copy.” His breath stirred her hair as he leaned in, his voice a low murmur. “Petya has told me some of the stories, of course. But there are so many things I never knew.”

“Like what?”

“How many things the people here did besides fish, for one. They were apparently famous for their weaving.” He lifted his free hand to the gifted sea glass pendant necklace that nestled between her breasts, then traced the deep vee of her neckline. His knuckles burned her skin through the sumptuous blue fabric. “I knew Gwynira got rich from exporting these textiles, but I never understood why. It’s a tundra cotton that only grows here. It’s prized because it never fades. They don’t have to dye it, because it grows in the colors of the sea.”

Naia suppressed a shudder at his touch, but it was his words that truly held her. They were hypnotic, rising and falling gently like the low waves far out in the midst of the ocean. Quiet but insistent, inviting you to let them wash over you.

Instead of shuddering, she drew in a sharp breath. She wasn’t ready to take her leave of him, but if they stayed here, like this, they would absolutely end up in his bed.

So she held out a hand, one eyebrow raised, and waited until he laid the old, creased book on her palm. Then she placed it carefully on the nearest flat surface and reached out again, this time to take his hand.

“Let’s go,” she whispered. “Now is not the time to learn about your homeland from a book, not when you can see it instead.”

He paused only long enough to pull on his boots and shrug into his long coat before following her out the door. But once they stood in the hallway, he hesitated. “Should we tell Aleksi where we’re going?”

“He doesn’t wish to be disturbed.” Naia glanced back at Einar, a sudden twist of mischief making her smile. “Are you worried that Father will be cross if we sneak out?”

A choked laugh rattled his chest as he caught up to her. “I’d like to see you say that to his face.”

“You think I wouldn’t? Don’t forget, I sank two ships today.” Her voice dropped an octave, and her next words came out sounding far more suggestive than she’d intended. “I can handle Aleksi.”

Einar’s eyes flashed, but he only bowed his head and gestured for her to lead the way.

Naia avoided the main hall and headed instead for the areas that seemed to bustle with domestic activity. She’d watched the servants come and go, always to and from this corner of the palace. She was rewarded with an exit near the kitchens, one that spilled out into a small courtyard framed by long, low greenhouses.

She supposed those were necessary in such a place as this. Considering the amount of food the palace must go through, it couldn’t be practical to have it all shipped in from the mainland.

A mountain loomed behind Gwynira’s palace. It was a hill, really, nothing so grand as the craggy peaks of the Burning Hills, or even the majestic caldera that sheltered Dragon’s Keep. But it was beautiful and mysterious, and Naia could just see a path winding up its side, lit here and there with glimpses of warm amber light.

“What do you suppose that is?” she asked softly.

He shrugged, his gaze following the twists of the path. “Maybe there’s a good view at the top? Should we find out?”

“An adventure,” Naia breathed, and tugged him toward the path.

It was a gentle slope at first, enclosed by gnarled branches free of foliage. They reached out and curved over the trail, almost as if protecting it from the elements. She and Einar passed the first light, which turned out to be a lantern of hammered metal with cutouts that cast fanciful patterns of light dancing across the path.

It was then that Naia realized this truly was a path, lined with flat, hand-chiseled stones worn smooth by the passage of time and many thousands of footsteps. Clumps of brush had grown up around the path, and the stone had crumbled away in places, but it was there . And someone was clearly still tending these lanterns with dedication, lighting them and trimming the wicks and refilling the whale oil when it ran low.

Soon, the path grew steep, and she and Einar continued to climb it without speaking. Something about this place, this ancient but remembered path winding up the side of a dark mountain, felt almost sacred. Deserving of their reverent silence.

Then they reached the top, a little plateau that had obviously been carved out of the mountain itself. The stones blossomed into a shattered floor, along with broken, sagging columns that ringed the area like soldiers who had fallen asleep during an endless watch.

Einar stepped up to the closest column and ran his fingers over the weathered stone until he found a raised spiral. “I think I know where we are.”

The stone almost seemed to hum beneath Naia’s feet, the same sensation she’d felt in snatches of other people’s memories, recollections of consecrated lands and other hallowed spots. “It’s a place of worship.”

Instead of answering, he held out his hand for hers. His fingers were warm and gentle as he pressed her fingertips to the worn pattern and guided them in a slowly tightening spiral. “Like the necklaces they gave you,” he murmured, his breath stirring the hair above her ear. “A seashell, to honor the goddess. This was her temple.”

The ridges of stone were rough beneath her fingers, but she barely felt them. “What do you know about her?”

He hummed, the vibration rolling through her. “They say she walked this island for centuries beyond counting. And that when she lived here, it wasn’t frozen like it is now. It was a paradise. Green, rolling hills. Flowers in every color you can imagine.”

The description was nothing like the island now, but Naia could see that rainbow of blooms scattered across verdant hillsides, and all of it surrounded by lush turquoise waters. “How long ago was this?”

“Hundreds of years before I was born. Maybe a thousand.” His fingers trailed up Naia’s arm. “When she left, the island froze.”

“Where did she go?”

A chill breeze swept through the shattered pillars just then, stirring Naia’s hair. Einar moved closer, as if to shield her with the warmth of his body. “According to the stories, there was a terrible, cataclysmic storm. The seas went wild. The earth trembled, and waves as high as the mountains rose in the bay.”

Einar coaxed Naia deeper into the temple, into the center of the ruined space, and turned her with gentle hands on her shoulders. This spot, situated as it was on the edge of a sheer cliff face, offered a breathtaking view of the sheltered harbor bay, as well as of the ocean beyond it.

Naia stared out at the water, her body hot wherever Einar touched her, despite the cool breeze sifting through her hair. Her toes curled in her slippers. She could almost feel the raging storm of which he spoke, angry waters pounding desperately against the rocks below until the mountain itself seemed to vibrate with their fury.

“Supposedly, this is exactly where she stood.” Einar’s lips grazed Naia’s temple. “They say the goddess raised a wall of water that surrounded the entire island. She held it, day after day, as the sea raged and the earth shook. When the wall of water finally fell, the ocean beyond had calmed.”

“And the goddess?”

“According to Petya? Dead. But a piece of her remained.”

Startled, Naia turned to face him. “What does that mean?”

His lips curved in a soft smile. “I don’t know. As a boy, I used to demand that she explain it to me. All she ever said was that the goddess may have died, but her heart still slumbers here.”

It was a story Naia had never heard, but she knew the rhythms of it like her own name. The people had watched their goddess die, and their gorgeous island paradise had frozen over along with their bitter tears. Now, they waited in futility for the impossible return of everything they’d lost.

No wonder they kept bringing Naia gifts. To have survived this long, their hope had to be a beating thing, slamming against the walls of their chests in sheer agony. “The only difference between death and sleep is waking up. To say she slumbers, they must expect her to return someday.”

“Yes.” Einar touched the leather at Naia’s throat again, stroking his finger down to the sea glass nestled against her skin. “Have you figured it out yet? Why the seas roiled and the earth quaked?”

There was only one event she’d heard about that might possibly have carried that sort of destructive power. “The War of the Gods?”

“It must have been.” His knuckle grazed her collarbone, gentle and warm. “Petya didn’t know about it when she first told me the stories. But after we met the Siren and learned about the sundering of the continents? A mountain range rose in the span of heartbeats. It would have caused chaos far beyond the confines of the Sheltered Lands. And the timing seems right.”

Naia gazed out at the calm, cold waters of the bay, caught between Einar’s very real warmth and the frigid tragedy of history. She tilted her head, inviting the exploration of his touch to continue. “How horrible for their goddess. To stand alone, and then to die the same way.”

Einar hesitated, seemingly balanced on the edge of some vast emotion. When he finally spoke, his voice rolled over her, dark as the ocean depths. “She wasn’t alone.”

Naia held her breath and waited.

The warmth of his hand vanished abruptly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out something that glinted bronze in the moonlight—a charm, similar to the ones the servants had gifted her, but in the shape of the kraken sigil that flew above his ship.

“I grew up on stories of the Kraken,” he whispered, his gaze finding hers. “In the legends Petya told me, he was a protector. Guardian of this island and of its goddess.”

Naia’s heart ached at the revelation. Einar had grown up hearing the stories of his homeland, of a hero who had protected his people. One so strong he had been tasked with guarding the well-being of another god. She imagined him, an orphaned little boy sitting cross-legged on the swaying deck of a ship, listening intently, needing to believe.

And the story could have ended there ... except that theirs was a world built on belief. It could make things true. Make them real .

Smiling, she touched the charm. “And so you became the hero you needed. The one your people once had.”

He closed his fingers over hers, his dark eyes intent. “Here, the Kraken is a hero, yes. But out there? To everyone else? He’s ...”

A monster. Naia could already hear the words, so she trapped them with her finger over his lips. “Also a hero. That’s what I see, Einar. What I’ve always seen.”

He leaned into her touch so that his next words fell against her fingertip like a kiss. “Maybe that’s what the goddess saw, too. Because the Kraken wasn’t just her protector.”

“Oh?”

His gaze burned into hers. “He was also her lover.”

Naia felt dizzy with sensation. There was that soft word again, whispered this time against her flesh, so different from the sudden hardness of cool stone against her back. Everything else had grown warm, as if the night breeze echoed with a hint of the tropical breezes that had once blown through this temple.

And then she heard him. Really heard him, and she thought she understood. “Is that why you look at me the way you do? Because I remind you of the goddess of your legends?”

His laugh was warm, too, curling around her as one hand ghosted up her side, the touch electric even through the layers of her clothing. He turned his face into her hand without releasing her gaze and brushed a kiss to her palm. “I’ve never looked at the Siren like this.”

It wasn’t exactly a denial. “Speak plainly, Einar. What are you saying?” Her words fell into the scant space between them, barely audible but louder than cracking ice.

“That you’re different.” The hand at her waist glided higher, up her arm and across the fur collar of her cape until his fingers found her chin. “That I’ve never looked at anyone like this before.”

It held the ring of absolute truth—but Einar had always been honest with her. Painfully honest. Nothing about this declaration nullified his prior insistence that he wanted her, but only for a night or two. And, as tempted as she was to experience those nights, whatever their limited number, Naia was more convinced than ever that she would not survive watching him walk away.

Where does that leave us? The question hovered on her tongue and died there, because Einar was leaning even closer. Or perhaps she was the one doing that, stretching up on her toes. His hand was still on her face, and her fingers had wound into his hair, and every tiny moment that passed felt exactly like the inexorable push and pull of the tides.

Their lips met, and the electric shock of it startled Naia into a laugh that swiftly turned into a moan. Einar echoed the sound, the rumble of it as deep as the warning of an approaching storm. For endless moments, that was the entirety of her world—warm, firm lips on hers, gentle. Exploring.

Then the storm within him broke. With a hungry growl, he hoisted her up against the pillar, pressing into her with the hard length of his body as his head tilted. His tongue swept over her lips, demanding, and she opened to him, utterly and completely lost.

Yes.

Her head was spinning by the time Einar broke away with a groan that coalesced into her name. A frigid breeze whipped between them, but she barely felt it as his lips found her cheek. “Naia.” Another kiss, this one on her jaw, and then another. His open mouth grazed her ear, and she felt the teasing sting of teeth before he rasped, “I’ve dreamt about tasting you every night since I met you.”

It hit her like a bolt of lightning forking down to the churning surface of the ocean, and she knew. It didn’t matter if this ... thing between them lasted for a single night or a thousand years.

It would happen.

Naia laid her hand on his face and leaned back just enough to hold his gaze. “Of course you have. I remind you of your goddess.” She curled her fingers, raking her nails slowly across his cheek. “So why have you never knelt for me?”

His eyes sparked at the challenge. Then his clever fingers found the clasp at her throat, and her cloak fell away, baring her neck to the icy wind. Einar was there a moment later, dropping a line of taunting kisses all the way to where her pulse fluttered rapidly in the hollow of her throat. The rasp of his stubbled cheek against sensitive flesh was lost beneath the sudden heat of his mouth—and the renewed sting of his teeth.

She only had time to gasp his name before he moved, sliding down her body until he was kneeling before her. “We are in the goddess’s temple.” His fingers slipped beneath her long skirt to trace over her ankle. “Should I worship you?”

“Yes.” She touched the tip of one finger to his lower lip. “You’ve promised me untold pleasure, Captain. I want it.”

He caught her finger between his teeth, his gaze still locked on hers. His tongue swept over the pad of her finger, tracing in a teasing circle that his eyes dared her to imagine as even more intimate contact.

Naia happily complied as he slipped his hands under her nightgown. They were hot against her chilled skin, and they seemed to grow hotter with every passing moment.

He hesitated when he reached the tops of her thighs, his fingers stroking up and down in minute increments. Waiting.

Naia exhaled sharply and met his questioning gaze. “ Now , Einar.”

The corner of his mouth kicked up in a wicked half smile, and he finally— finally —touched her. His thumb rubbed circles on her clit, each stroke firmer than the last, until she had to reclaim that sharp exhalation with an even sharper gasp.

She gripped the pillar behind her, fingernails scratching the pitted stone. In that moment, she knew that by the time Einar was finished with her, she’d be just as shattered as the rest of the ruins.

And if she let him take his time, it would be so good . So she tried to remain perfectly still, resisting the nearly overwhelming urge to seek deeper contact by arching her hips into his touch. But her body only wanted more, faster, and her hips jerked against his hand.

In that instant, Einar pulled away. Naia bit back a protest that melted into a moan when he pushed her gown higher ... and licked the inside of her leg. That alone was enough to weaken her knees, but he kept going, drawing his tongue up her thigh.

Lightning flashed, inside her and out, and Naia whimpered. A moment later, a crack of thunder drowned out the sound of Einar’s growl against her inner thigh. But she didn’t need to hear it, because she felt it, reverberating through her like a promise.

Then he put his mouth on her, fulfilling that promise. He nudged her clit with his tongue, then slipped away to explore, over and over. Naia drove her fingers into his hair and clutched his head, trying to chase the sensation.

But she knew that Einar—damn him, bless him—would make her wait until he’d had his fill.

She wound up with her feet off the stone, her legs over his shoulders, riding his mouth. Her hair and her filmy gown caught on the rough stone behind her, but she didn’t care. Because the storm was building again, and this time—

This time—

Another bolt of lightning lit the sky. Naia came with a hoarse cry that was swallowed by the blinding crash of thunder. The sheer, melting pleasure of it arched her back off the pillar and curled her toes in her slippers. Einar held her as she shook, but he did not stop. Not until she was pleading, gasping words that barely sounded like words at all, even to her own ears.

Naia was floating when her feet touched the stone once more, and Einar stood before her. He cupped her cheek with one hand and rubbed his thumb over her parted lips, catching every rough gasp that escaped her.

“Are you with me, sweet goddess?”

“I think so.” Naia laughed at her own wobbly voice, then drew him close and kissed him.

He returned the caress, hot and hungry, and she could taste herself on his tongue. Too soon, he gently pulled away. “While I would love nothing more than to continue this, we should return to the castle before this storm grows any worse. We are on very high ground here.”

“Right.” Naia blinked tiny flakes of snow from her lashes. As reluctant as she was to leave his arms for even a moment, a warm fire and an even warmer bed seemed like a much better idea than a lightning strike. “We can go to my chamber.”

He stared down at her, the heat in his gaze joined by regret. “It has been a long day, and tomorrow is likely to be more of the same. You should return to your bed, and hopefully to sweet dreams.”

There was enough reluctance in his voice to temper the sting of rejection, but Naia caught his hand in hers anyway. “Another time. Promise me.”

“Count on it.” Einar raised her hand to his lips for a lingering kiss. “In a nice, soft bed, with all the time in the world to enjoy it.”

Joy suffused Naia, bubbling through her veins like the fizzy, intoxicating wine she’d had at the Witchwood Ball. She didn’t know what this meant—if it meant anything at all—but it didn’t matter anymore.

She’d been thoroughly swept away by this riptide, and wherever she washed ashore, it would be worth it. Even if all she had left of Einar was a sweet memory.