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It is undeniable that the island of Akeisa is home to a stunning variety of life seen nowhere else in the Empire, including a species of fish whose oil burns green, a distant cousin to Kasther’s popular gooseberry known as the tealberry, and even a hardy strain of tundra cotton with natural aquamarine fibers. One suspects the overabundance of this particular hue has some still unknown scientific basis, but if you ask a local they will all agree—teal was their goddess’s favorite color.
Akeisa: A Study of Flora and Fauna
by Guildmaster Klement
Einar was twelve hundred years old the first time he heard the shanty about how he had cut out his own heart and buried it deep in Dead Man Shoals, causing the islands to freeze as solid as the lover he’d lost to the North Sea’s icy depths.
The supposed identity of that first lover had been lost to time, but over the next thousand years he’d heard a dozen variations of the song, with every generation bringing it back and adding to the legend. Where, why, and how he’d carved that vital organ away changed, but the refrain never did.
No lad, no lass, no lover fair,
can hold him past the dawn.
There’s nothing in this world he loves,
for the Kraken’s heart is gone.
It was true enough that Einar had never found a dalliance so compelling that he couldn’t walk away come morning. But the songs and the legends had always misunderstood why.
This was what he loved. The weathered wood of the deck beneath his boots. The taste of brine on the wind. The night sky stretched out above him, each endless star a cherished friend who had guided him across distant seas and safely back to port.
He loved the feel of the ocean when he gripped the wheel, the way the waves caressed the hull of his ship, playful and adoring. He might not have the Siren’s gift for air and water, but when he stood at the helm of the Kraken, there was always wind enough in his sails and welcoming seas to speed his journey.
“Brynjar said you sent him to his bunk and took his watch,” said a chiding voice behind him. His second mate stepped up next to him, her boots thumping on the deck. “You know we need you fresh tomorrow.”
True enough, but Einar still found himself reluctant to relinquish the wheel. Sleep had been an elusive lover of late, and the thoughts that kept him awake were hardly pleasant company. “What, am I suddenly so old that I can’t handle a single night on watch?”
“Age has nothing to do with it,” Jinevra replied with a knowing grin. “But you did take us down this morning, and you may have to do it again if things go wrong in the Empire. You’ve earned a good night’s sleep.”
Another truth. Einar’s most precious gift was his ability to travel vast distances in a matter of moments, carrying his ship and all its passengers with him. But it was no small feat of power to traverse the Heart of the Ocean, and Jinevra was right—he had to be ready to do it again at the first sign of peril. That was why Dianthe had entrusted him with Aleksi’s and Naia’s safety, after all. The icy island nation of Akeisa might be half a week’s journey away under favorable winds, but if its frigid ruler turned on them, Einar could return them all to the Siren’s doorstep in the time it took to pour a cup of tea.
Reluctantly, he released the wheel and let Jinevra take his place. “You’ll call me if anything happens.”
“I’ll ring the bell at the first sign of trouble.” She offered him a jaunty salute. “You might ask Lady Naia if she’ll put in a good word for us.”
The words were casual, teasing. Most of the crew had seen how easily the young water god seemed to get under his skin, how effortlessly she coaxed him into conversation, and how cheerfully she argued with him.
None of them knew the way the touch of her power in the sea stirred a longing in him so deep even the ocean couldn’t contain it. That was a secret he still held close. “Just keep an eye on the horizon. You know how fast the weather can turn out here.”
“Yes, Captain.”
There was nothing but earnest agreement in her voice, but even the most superstitious of his crew would admit that trouble seemed unlikely tonight. This stretch of the North Sea saw its share of dangerous swells and deadly storms, but there was no whisper of warning in the water tonight. In fact, as he descended from the quarterdeck and drew in a deep breath of the night air, the only things he tasted were salt and a too-familiar sweetness that haunted him.
The crew couldn’t sense that power as it hummed around them, caressing the ship like teasing fingertips grazing over skin, but they sensed the difference as the Kraken skimmed the water.
Einar might be able to feel the pulse of a storm and ride its towering waves, bringing both ship and crew safely to port, but the ocean had never gentled itself for him. Not like this, with a mirror calm that reflected the stars in an unbroken expanse despite the strong wind that filled their sails. They would reach the eastern edge of Dead Man Shoals by dawn, far ahead of schedule.
The reason for it all was perched at the bow of the ship, adorable and ethereal. Naia’s white gown and dark hair floated in the same breeze that sped their way, as if it was flirting playfully with her.
Einar couldn’t blame it. He wanted to run his fingers through those silken strands, too. The compulsion was nearly overwhelming, and he wished it ended with the urge to wrap those glorious locks around his fist as their bodies rocked together with the rhythms of the sea.
Lust was simple. He’d been sating it for years with those who wanted nothing more than the thrill of bedding a pirate god. Some few had yearned for more, but he’d always meticulously avoided those, knowing that no good could come from false hope and empty promises.
Now he was the one pining for something beyond his reach. Naia was the Siren’s golden child, the heir to the throne that ruled the sea. Even if he knew the first thing about courting her, she stood as far above him as the untouchable stars.
And she’d been maddening him from the first moment of her existence.
He’d known the instant she came into being. After twenty-two centuries of life, he could always taste a new Dreamer’s influence in the sea. Unlike the other members of the High Court, who might have one or two protégées at a time, Dianthe’s court at Seahold fairly teemed with power. Those who sought their fortunes at sea knew the power of the ocean and those who controlled it. Their belief fed back into the Everlasting Dream, strengthening the Dreamers. But most of the young gods who followed Dianthe were quiet eddies in the waves, whispers of sound like a song heard from another room.
Not Naia. She had exploded into being, a bright and giddy melody that wove playfully around the Siren’s powerful song. And the taste of her in the water ...
Sweet. So, so sweet.
“Are you going to stand there and stare at me, or say something?”
Her voice was as sweet as the rest of her, haunting and musical. Einar imagined plenty of sailors would follow that teasing melody into the teeth of a gale or straight into rocky shoals, and slide down into the depths without regret. He liked to think he had a little more self-control. “Why would I say anything when the view is so pretty?”
Naia turned her head and smiled at him over her shoulder. “Because it’s polite?”
He choked back a laugh as he stepped up next to her to rest his elbows on the wooden railing. “I’ve been accused of being many things in my life, Lady Naia. Polite isn’t often one of them. Nothing polite about war.”
“Is this war?” she asked lightly. “I thought you were flirting with me.”
“Oh, I am,” he agreed readily. They were so close that he needed only to nudge his elbow to the side, and their arms brushed. The glancing contact prickled over his skin, and he savored her tiny shiver. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I’ve spent most of my life at war. It’s who I am.”
“Fair enough. Though, by that token, I suppose I could say the same,” she added somberly. “I have also spent most of my life at war.”
Truth, and the contradiction of it had only deepened his fascination. He’d watched her in the final battle against the Betrayer, channeling her gifts with a deft confidence that usually came only with centuries of practice. How could the ethereal creature who stared up at him now with guileless eyes be the same woman who’d faced the bloodiest battlefield he’d ever seen without flinching? Even when they’d been surrounded, doomed by impossible odds, she had not faltered.
He had seen soldiers with twenty years of fighting beneath their belts crumple where she’d stood strong. Where had that steel come from?
Her gaze turned dreamy as she stared out over the water. “But I’ve known other things, too. I’ve seen the full moons glinting off a thrashing fish on a longline. Weathered gales of legend, felt my joints ache with the cold. Told outrageous tall tales, and come home to the eager arms of faithful wives. I wasn’t just born of the sea. I carry its Dreams in my heart.”
It was his turn to shiver, a wonder twisting through him that he hadn’t felt since the first time he’d knelt before the Siren and felt her power wash over him. He’d been a mortal man on that day, one who’d spent almost every day of his thirty years on one ship or another. Respect for the ocean and its dangers had been bred into his bones, and Dianthe represented the pinnacle of that power.
But even she had been mortal, once. Naia had simply ... become . Newly born and yet achingly ancient. A manifestation of the Everlasting Dream, a god born of the hopes and wishes and sweetest imaginings of thousands of hearts. Apparently, she’d brought with her bits and pieces of them, the precious scraps of memory that made up a life.
Did she carry some part of him inside that pretty head? He hoped not. After twenty-two centuries of waging a very personal war against the Betrayer, he had far more grim memories than soft ones. Surely her eyes wouldn’t sparkle with that innocent wonder if she saw the brutality and death of the Empire’s worst excesses every time she closed them.
He was staring at her. But she simply stared back, her assessing gaze roaming his face. No self-consciousness, no fear, just an open curiosity that taunted him. Tempted him. How easily he could answer the questions she barely seemed to realize she was asking with those big eyes. She was ravenous to experience a life she’d only known through other people’s memories.
He was ravenous for her .
The wind teased a lock of hair across her face. He reached out before he could stop himself, catching the wayward strands with his finger. His knuckle grazed her cheek, the softness of her skin making his own calloused finger feel too rough. It didn’t stop him from savoring the slide of her hair over his hand as he leaned closer. “What’s your favorite memory, then?”
“I don’t know.” Her long lashes fluttered as she tilted her face to his touch. “There are so many, and they’re all special in their own ways.”
He could do it. Seduce her, sate this impossible hunger, and hopefully carve the weakness it represented from his chest. As long as he was distracted with wanting and wondering, he couldn’t keep his mind on the task ahead—the Empire and its scattered armies, broken but not yet defeated. Once he’d satisfied his curiosity, he’d be able to walk away.
And surely she knew what she was getting into. If she carried the Dreams of the ocean in her heart, she understood exactly what Einar was.
No lad, no lass, no lover fair
can hold him past the dawn ...
He ignored the mocking refrain as he traced his thumb over her cheek and let it ghost across the full curve of her lower lip. “What do you remember about me?”
“I have no memories of you,” she whispered. “But I’m not naive, Einar. I know what you’re about. It’s all anyone at Seahold can seem to talk about.”
There’s nothing in this world he loves,
for the Kraken’s heart is gone.
Every word she spoke caressed the pad of his thumb like a teasing kiss. So easy to imagine those lips elsewhere—parting beneath his as he tasted her mouth. Open in a gasp against his throat as he slid his hands under her clothing and over her skin. Glistening in the candlelight as she sank to her knees and—
He didn’t know if the growl that rattled his chest was hunger or frustration, only that the answer to satisfying both stood before him. “Then come to my cabin with me. I’ll make it good for you, sweet Naia. So very, very good.”
An answering heat flared in her eyes, only to be quickly replaced by wistful longing. “And then what? It’s over? And you spend weeks pretending not to see me when our paths cross so that you don’t have to have any awkward conversations?”
“It doesn’t have to be awkward,” he rumbled. “One night of pleasure, freely shared. Once we arrive at our destination, you’ll have your duties and I’ll have mine.”
“That’s what you want.” Naia shook her head, finally breaking the contact between them. “I’m looking for something else. Something that’s just mine.”
The loss of her warmth beneath his fingertips nearly snapped the leash on his sanity. He curled his fingers toward his palm and jerked his hand away before he could reach for her again. But he couldn’t stop the words that spilled free, the arrogant Kraken at his best—or worst. “Your loss, sweet goddess. When the ache of wondering what you missed grows too deep, come and find me. I promise to soothe it.”
The longing in her eyes slowly faded, and gentle reproach took its place. She opened her mouth, then shook her head again and dropped into a curtsy. “Have a good night, Captain.”
All the warmth was gone, leaving a politeness so chill it burned in a different way. And then she was gone, quick, certain steps carrying her down the deck. Einar stubbornly turned his back on her, but the part of him that grasped hungrily for any trace of her listened for the whisper of those footsteps even after they’d faded.
Soon enough, a familiar, confident tread replaced them. “I should slap you silly and toss you overboard to cool off.”
He didn’t want a lecture right now. Especially not from Petya. “Do you honestly think you could?”
A hand thwacked the back of his head, more of a warning than anything else. “Don’t try that high-and-mighty Kraken bullshit with me, boy. It does not impress.”
No, it wouldn’t. Petya had known him far too long.
He growled rather than dignify her with an answer, hoping she’d go away. She didn’t. Instead, she leaned against the railing in Naia’s place and stared out over the placid water with its glittering starshine. The sight brought him back to his childhood, watching her stand at the bow of their fishing schooner, her gaze fixed on the horizon, her expression intense as she listened to some inner prompting that always seemed to guide them to safe waters and plentiful fishing.
No one who crewed the Kraken truly aged, so long as they didn’t stray far from its decks, but time had all but passed Petya by, even before he’d manifested his power and extended it to his crew. Her reddish-brown hair had already been mostly silver in his earliest memories, and her freckled skin had always been lightly tanned by the sun and weathered by the sea. And in all the intervening centuries, she’d never lost a warrior’s sleek muscle and captivating grace.
No, Petya was every bit as dangerous as she had been the day she’d fled an invading army with a sword strapped to her back and an infant Einar bound to her chest. She might not be his mother by blood, but she was the one who had raised him. That bond earned her the right to chide him over any damn thing she pleased, even when he was being an asshole.
Especially when he was being an asshole.
But that didn’t mean he had to like it. “You should be asleep.”
“So should you. Instead, you’re out prowling.” There was a long silence, filled only by the gentle creaking of the ship and the water lapping against wood. Then she lowered her voice to a whisper so soft that a breeze could have stolen it away. “I heard that we’re headed to ... the island. Are you worried?”
He noticed she didn’t name the kingdom. Akeisa. A name bitter with learned hatred, but for Einar the tales that inspired the emotion had been only that—stories. For Petya, Akeisa would never be a place. No, Akeisa was a person —the brutal general who had stolen everything from her. She’d sooner cut her own tongue from her mouth than let that cursed sound cross her lips.
And she wouldn’t insult Rahvekya, the island she had once loved, by calling it by the name of an enemy.
Einar lowered his voice, as well. “I should be asking you . You’re the one with the memories.”
Her sudden bark of laughter held more pain than humor. “They burned all of the places I knew to the ground over two thousand years ago. There’s nothing left of the land I protected but dreams.”
That was what Einar was counting on. Perhaps he should have warned Dianthe and Aleksi of his connection to the island, but what connection was there, really? He’d told the truth. He’d never set foot on it, unless you counted the first weeks of his life. And he didn’t. He had no memories of Rahvekya, and chances were good that Rahvekya had no memories of him.
But Petya was different. For her, this mission would hurt . “If it becomes a problem—”
“It won’t,” she cut in firmly. “Because I won’t be leaving the ship. Someone needs to guard against treachery. Your task is to befriend the snake. Mine is to hold our escape route open for when she inevitably tries to bite you.”
Einar hid a wince. If that was how she thought of Gwynira, it was probably best if she stayed on board. He’d have enough of a struggle managing his own temper without having to worry that Petya would upset diplomatic relations by finding her way into the Grand Duchess’s chambers to murder her in the middle of the night. “The Siren thinks we can make peace,” he reminded her—and himself. “So does Lady Sachielle.”
Petya only snorted. Then she turned to him, her gaze unexpectedly serious. “Be respectful toward Lady Naia. And don’t underestimate her. Memories can fade, but faith dies more slowly. When I look at her ...”
She trailed off, letting the gentleness of the waves give voice to what words could not encompass. Even with Naia gone, the Kraken still glided smoothly forward, as if carried by loving hands. She wasn’t even actively using her magic now, not like when she’d sped them out of Siren’s Bay on joyful swells, but it didn’t matter. The water hummed for her, and power caressed the planks of his ship. Tonight, he’d dream of her fingertips ghosting over him, stroking him everywhere as he drowned in the taste of her.
“Do you still believe?” he rasped. “In the old religion?”
In response, Petya tugged at the leather cord around her neck, freeing a small bronze medallion that bore faint ridges lightly raised in an elegant spiral. Her thumb brushed its worn surface, as it must have thousands upon thousands of times. What had once been a charm cast in the shape of a seashell had been worn smooth over the centuries, but she had resisted all offers to replace it.
“Like I said,” she murmured. “Faith dies slowly.”
He’d have to take her word for it. Einar might love the sea and his ship, but as much as Petya had tried to instill in him a fervent belief in the old ways, Einar’s only religion was war. His temple was this ship and his crew. His only sacred rite was fighting the Empire until its citizens knew freedom and safety.
He was a monster in every way that mattered, but if centuries of watching the Dragon had taught him anything, it was that being a monster made him perfect for the job at hand.
Naia and Aleksi could try to make peace. Let one single Imperial noble so much as breathe too strongly in their directions, and Einar would make war.