Page 39 of The Ever King

My mouth parted when beneath her hand a trickle of water spilled into the basin, as if the clay were shedding a wash of tears. Three times she sang her song, until the water reached the rim of the bowl.

The woman lifted her gaze and shook the droplets off her fingers. “Satisfied now?”

“That . . . you . . . can you all call upon water?”

“If you’re a Tidecaller.” She bowed at the waist. “That is what I am, Celine Tidecaller. Had a stronger voice once, for other things.” Unbidden, her fingertips touched the pink scar across her throat.

Bloodsinger, Tidecaller. “Your names, are they hints to your magic or something?”

“Again, you’ve proven you do have brains.” She lounged over the cot. “We don’t do family names in the Ever. We are named by the talents of our voices. Most sea folk blessed with a bit of magic have some gift of their voice, some ability it can do. I’ve honed mine to travel through water, so I earned the name Tidecaller.”

“So that vial you spoke to yesterday . . .”

“An announcement to the royal house that we were returning from the Chasm.” She gestured to the window. “A journey through the Chasm after so long will be made known across the kingdom. I’d expect a great crowd when we return.”

Cold danced down my spine. Not only did I face the vengeance of the Ever King, no mistake, I would be the interest of the whole of his kingdom.

“Water’s getting cold,” she said and pointed to the basin.

If sea fae were not horrid, I might think Celine caused the water to be a bit more comfortable on purpose.

The masquerade gown clung to my skin in crusty layers, and not that I cared if my scent offended the Ever Ship—frankly, a great many aboard reeked like rotted breath and dried sweat—but nerves left my underarms heady with mildew.

With Celine’s watch on the cliffs, I stripped from the gown, a moan slid free once the damp weight of the skirt was gone.

“Soap.” Celine crossed the room and rummaged through her pouch. She tossed a felt purse at me. Inside were pearls of fragrant soap—lavender, honey, and dewy moss.

I returned a clipped thanks. The part of me longing to find some light to cling to within this storm wanted to create Celine Tidecaller out to be kind. She wasn’t. She was acting on orders from a tyrant king. She’d probably killed some of my people.

Still, she might be the only one I’d met so far who spoke without a guard up. If anyone could give me information, or a glimpse of how I might find a way out of here, it was her. “Tidecaller, Bloodsinger. What other names sail this vessel?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“That’s why I asked.”

She snorted, then frowned as if she hadn’t meant to be amused. The woman had a slyness to her features. Like she might always be ready to share a salacious secret, but under the mistrust was something almost playful.

“The first mate, you already met. Tait is called Heartwalker. Larsson, the second mate, has no sea voice, but we call him Bonekeeper. You’ll want to get a glance at the chain around his neck. Don’t mistake a lack of magic as weakness. I assure you, he kills well enough.”

Acid churned in my stomach. “What does Tait’s voice do?”

“Ask him. Tait is the son of Lord Harald, brother of King Thorvald. Harald was killed in the great war.” She sneered. “If you think Erik Bloodsinger is the only one with a vengeance against your people, you’re wrong. Now quit speaking and dress. You’re clean enough.”

Seemed Celine’s patience had run its course. I stroked my hair with water to smooth the rogue pieces, then dressed in the clothes she’d offered. The top was thin and left little to the imagination on the shape of my breasts. The skirt was ruffled and hugged my waist too snugly. I let out a seam or two and used one of Bloodsinger’s scarves as a makeshift belt.

Celine inspected me from brow to foot and offered a curt nod. “Good enough. I suppose we ought to get you to your post.”

CHAPTER14

The Songbird

The crew watched me with a collision of curiosity and disdain as Celine led me toward the hatch. Conversation cut off, men smoking wooden pipes stopped to gawk; some hissed or studied me with a bit of disbelief.

“A lot of the men fought in the war,” Celine said, holding the hatch to the lower decks open. “Meaning they’ve faced that earth bender daj of yours, and you sort of look like him.”

I ought to be uneasy, but a second glance burned a new rush of pride in my veins. There was violence in their eyes, but when I saw it another way, there was fear. Sea fae feared my people, they feared my father.

I knew better than most the pain from the blood spilled during the war, but for the first time, memories of the gore didn’t send my heart racing or my head spinning. It curled my lip, it drew out a dark sense of pride that these people knew the brutality of my people.