Page 11

Brynla

Two days later, land appears on the horizon. At first I just see the low bank of fog blanketing the water until it clears and mountainous shapes appear, piercing the sky from below like a row of serrated teeth.

“There she is!” yells Toombs from the helm. “Our fair Norland.”

I’m sitting on a crate of oranges, Lemi lying on the deck at my feet.

He was napping but now his head is up at the sound of Toombs’s bellow, sniffing the air.

To me, it smells like sea spray and the damp wood of the ship, which I’ve gotten used to over the last forty-eight hours, but I have no doubt that Lemi’s picking up the scent of distant lands.

He’s probably picking up on my energy as well. I’m sitting up straighter as my nerves prickle, looking down the length of the ship to the waves and the world behind in an anxious kind of wonder.

Norland.

I’ve heard about this place my whole life.

Of course, I’ve only heard bad things. The government of Esland always made every other realm seem worse than the one we were imprisoned in.

Norland was supposed to be a place where monsters lurked in the rivers and lakes, making the water poisonous and dangerous to drink.

Where the east part of the land had fractured into a separate territory called Altus Dugrell and the two lands were constantly warring with each other.

Legend said the entire north was covered in snow and ice so cold that nothing could grow there while bloodthirsty trolls lurked in the glacier caves, and the south was nothing but a blanket of constant rain and fog, enough that it drove people to slowly lose their minds.

We were taught that Norlanders themselves were duplicitous people who would stab you in the back the first chance they got—if they hadn’t already drowned themselves in the sea or under a barrel of pine alcohol.

Despite what I’ve been told, I’ve gotten to know the crew a little, and everyone seems fairly well-adjusted. For a bunch of thieves, anyway. Still, I have no idea what to expect from Norland or its citizens.

Toombs is by far the most jovial and easy to talk to, and he seems to have taken a shine to me, giving me candy from his seemingly bottomless pockets every chance he gets.

There’s calm and collected Kirney, who appears to be Andor’s confidant; Rolph, a diminutive but spirited boy of sixteen with bright orange hair who can scale a mast in mere seconds; and a rotund sailor with a bald head who doesn’t speak much and goes by the name of Feet (his feet seem ordinary, so I’m not sure what the name is all about).

Considering I’m their hostage, I’ve been treated quite well.

At least better than I had expected from House Kolbeck.

At first I was kept in the cabin with my wrists bound together.

Andor only untied me so that I could use the ship’s latrine and the small barrel they have onboard for bathing.

At least the water was warm and fresh. But today I’ve been given the freedom of the cabin.

It’s small but private. The porthole is too small to fit through (I tried, but my rear acted like a cork), and they’ve stationed guards outside my door.

Usually it’s Andor, joined by Kirney or Feet. I suppose they aren’t so worried that I’ll jump overboard again—I doubt any of them would rescue me a second time—more that I’ll try to kill one of them and force the boat back to Esland.

Honestly, it has crossed my mind. The blade that Andor used to slice through the ropes looked like it would put my ash glass to shame. If I could get my hands on that…

Now it’s too late. As the continent of Norland comes into full view beneath the towering clouds and beyond the fingers of fog, I know Lemi and I could jump off the ship and swim for it.

I feel much stronger now than I did when I made my first futile (and frankly embarrassing) attempt, thanks to the simple but protein-rich meals of fish I’d been served in my cabin, and I don’t doubt I’d make it to land.

But then what? The crew may have treated me with some modicum of respect, but that doesn’t mean the rest of the Norlanders will.

What if all I was taught about them is true?

What if I stand out like a sore thumb here?

Andor keeps remarking on my purple hair—is it possible that this is a color only found with Eslanders?

From the derisive way he said Soffer , I’m going to assume that they aren’t well tolerated.

Without any weapons I might not survive very long in Norland on my own.

I bristle at the idea of having to rely on someone else for protection.

“You’re looking a little green,” Andor says as he strides over to me, having come up from the lower deck.

I glance up at him, my features bending into a scowl. “I guess I’m thinking about stepping foot in Norland for the first time.”

He stares at me for a moment, those watchful golden eyes taking me in, the corner of his lips slightly curled. He always looks like he’s on the cusp of telling a joke, like he finds this whole kidnapping-and-blackmailing-me thing to be most amusing.

“You were thinking about swimming for shore,” he says, dropping down into a crouch to scratch behind Lemi’s ears, and I feel my scowl deepen. Aside from Tromson, Lemi seems to like everyone here, and it would be a lot easier if he didn’t like Andor.

Andor looks up at me. “I’d tell you it’s a bad idea except I know that would only make you do it.”

“You say that as if you know me,” I tell him, unable to keep the venom out of my voice.

He straightens up, towering over me. I thought that without his armor Andor would look less imposing, but that hasn’t been the case.

Now that he’s dressed in only charcoal-colored pants, a dark brown leather vest, and a black shirt with sleeves that go to his elbows, I realize the armor didn’t add much to his muscles—he’s just as strong and defined without it.

Well, he’s had suen , I remind myself, trying not to notice how his clothes cling to him. That’s what gives him the power and strength.

Although most people I’ve met who’ve taken the substance don’t look like him.

“Oh, I would never profess to know you,” Andor says, scratching at the stubble on his jaw. “Not yet.”

“Keep it that way,” I mutter under my breath, averting my eyes from the intensity of his gaze and looking back to the horizon. The fog bank in the distance starts to split down the middle, letting rays of sunlight through, reflecting off the sea like burning mirrors.

“It’s the goddesses,” he says, following my gaze. “They’re welcoming us home.”

“Goddesses?”

He stretches his arm out, pointing at the horizon. “See those tall curving shapes in the distance, in front of the mountains? Those are the Goddess Gates that protect the harbor of Menheimr, the jeweled city.”

I squint at the shimmering light and look past to where two points form close together.

At first I thought they were two mountain peaks but the closer we get, the more I can see the outline of two women with their faces pressed together.

It’s hard to tell from here but the statues have to be hundreds of feet high, putting our dragon statues outside the convent and around the capital of Esland to shame.

“Who are the goddesses?” I ask as I glance back at him.

“Technically they are the sorceresses, Vigdis and Valdis,” he explains. He cocks his head at me. “I assumed you knew about them, but I forgot the Saints of Fire have their own gods.”

“I don’t follow the Saints of Fire,” I remind him sharply. He continues watching me and I let out a pained sigh. “I don’t know much about the other realms and their gods.”

“Did it hurt to admit that?” he asks with a chuckle.

I eye his boots, hoping he has his dagger in there so I can whip it out and hold it to his throat.

His laugh deepens, as if he knows what I’m thinking.

“Vigdis and Valdis are the descendants of Magni, the First Sorcerer. Others consider them to be part of the Grand Sorcerers, but here in Norland they are also gods.”

“I thought there was one sorcerer for each realm?” I ask, vaguely remembering what my parents had told me.

“So you do know something,” he remarks, folding his arms. I look down at Lemi instead of the veiny muscles of his sun-warmed forearms. I don’t need that distraction.

“Well, Vigdis and Valdis are sometimes considered to be one. She’s a twin of herself.

So Norland gets two. Which is just as well since we share a border with Altus Dugrell—they can share our gods too.

Vesland gets the sorcerer Verdantus, Sorland gets Vandill.

Even though the Midlands contains only dragons, Voldansa is considered the goddess of that realm, though no one knows anything about her.

And Esland gets…” He eyes me expectantly.

“Vellus,” I answer. “But no one in Esland believes in Vellus; at least they don’t worship her like a god.

They know that Magni existed as the First Sorcerer, and his daughters that followed had the same magic as he did.

But it was a sin to worship anyone but the dragons themselves.

The dragons came first; they are the beings of the original creation.

They are the first and last gods to the Eslanders. ”

“So what do you believe?” he asks. He sounds genuinely curious, but I can’t tell if he’s trying to glean information off me to use against me later.

I shrug and raise my chin. “I have no god.”

His brows rise. “You don’t believe in anything?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” I say carefully. “I just don’t believe in what a government tells me to. And I’ll certainly never believe any sort of religion that uses its faith like a weapon.”