Page 16

T o lessen the temptation, I step between them in the shadowed forest.

“What do we call you?” I ask.

“Are we close enough for names?”

Something darts out from behind the trees, and Megaera swiftly conjures a transparent dome around us. The wolf is knocked back, snarling, as more of its pack emerge from the undergrowth.

We move cautiously, the dome shielding us from each rushed attack until the wolves, with pitiful whines, retreat into the darkness.

The crusader scowls at the dome, and a laugh escapes me—hollow, sharp.

Two pairs of eyes narrow at me. I thump the crusader’s back. “You despise magic, yet now you must rely on it.” I nudge Megaera. “You... you have to perform with a killer at your back.” I shake my head, the irony bitter on my tongue. “And I...” I trail off, the words too heavy, too raw. I have to hold hands with both of you . The one whose father I killed, and the one who killed a part of me.

My laughter doubles, but it’s empty, pained. I steer the crusader until he faces me, and point. “Cael. Megaera.” I gesture to him, my brow raised expectantly.

His mouth presses into a grim line. “Lykos. Like the river. The boy’s name is Zenon.”

“A right trio we are, Lykos.”

Megaera grabs a handful of our cloaks and yanks us down. “Stay low.”

Crouched in dense foliage, we inhale the salty air, peering through the bushes toward the rugged coastline. The view is a wash of navy and black, the silhouettes of ships barely visible under the clouded sky. Sails unfurl as vessels glide toward a row of anchored ships in the bay.

Officially, the water is neutral territory—a trader’s path between kingdoms. But not everyone stepping onto Lumin soil is here for business.

Danger lurks in every shadow.

One misstep . . .

I recall the escaped slaves I’ve treated—backs crisscrossed with scars, their movements impaired by wounds left untreated for so long that only unaffordable spells could heal them. Even for the few who received those spells, they never forgot the agonising pain of years under barbed whips. Years later, they still flinched at any sudden movement.

I swallow hard, focusing on the image of River in my mind. His head on my shoulder in the cold cell. Are we going to die?

Faint footsteps clomp over wood, followed by a flurry of shadowy movement on the decks. Torches flare to life as golden-haired Skeldars march toward the hills, axes and shields strapped to their backs.

“That’s the boat,” Lykos says, his voice taut. “This is our chance.”

I’m on my feet before he finishes.

You won’t die this time .

Under the cover of the moonless night, we slip through shadows and sneak aboard after a leather-armoured patrol completes a round on the starboard side. The subtle sway of the boat mirrors the anxious churn in my stomach. I flank Lykos, who knows the ship’s layout and leads the way.

A gull squawks in the distance, and we curl behind a rowboat, waiting out the patrol as it slouches by again. Megaera, to my right, curls a ball of magic in her hand, ready to strike. But if we’re caught here, getting into the ship’s guts to save Zenon will become exponentially harder. We don’t know how many more Skeldars are on board.

I grip her arm and quietly shake my head. Her magic dims, and we hold our breath as the patrol nears... and pauses.

“Frostir’s breath! What are you doing?”

For a heart-stopping moment, I think he’s spotted us. But just as my stomach drops, he clicks his heels and moves on.

We exhale as one, then push against the briny deck, stepping over coiled rope as we sneak toward the main hatch. A set of steep, narrow stairs leads into the ship’s belly. As we descend, my hand slips against the worn wooden wall, and a sudden lurch of the ship sends me toppling forward—

I’m caught by Lykos’s broad back; he holds both our weights, preventing a noisy tumble down the stairs. Below, a faint lantern flickers. I peel myself off Lykos, and we wait for the light to fade before slipping into the narrow halls.

Lykos motions us down a skinny corridor, and when he rams himself against the wall, Megaera and I do too. “Three guards,” he whispers.

“No harming,” I say.

“One each.”

We melt into the brig, lined with nearly empty cells. The three guards are huddled around a central table. Megaera is a burst of light as she knocks one of them out. Lykos whacks another with his spear. I target the third, jabbing his acupoints to paralyse him.

“Three for one prisoner?” I murmur.

“They’re not really guarding,” Megaera says, glancing at the pile of coins on the table.

“Found him,” Lykos calls. “Grab the key.”

The paralysed guard glares at me as I remove the key from his belt and toss it to Megaera, who strides to the cell.

Lykos drops his spear and hurries inside. “He’s unconscious! Megaera, grab his feet.” He starts pulling the boy out.

“Stop. Moving him might make it worse.” I sidle into the cell and kneel. Lykos holds Zenon upright under the arms.

Megaera removes her hands from the boy’s ankles—

Zenon snaps his head up, rears back, and kicks Megaera square in the chest. She slams into the wall, and I lunge to grab her cloak, but my fingers only graze the fabric. Her head smacks against the wood, knocking her out.

I gather her in my arms. No blood.

I whirl to Lykos, who slams the cell shut, the lock clicking. Behind him, the young man drops his head, avoiding my gaze. River’s face flashes through my mind—caught up with the wrong crowd, back then...

“We risked our lives.”

“In return for your help, I won’t destroy her meridians. Today.” He grabs his spear.

“W-why not let them escape, uncle?”

Lykos pauses by the guards. “A cheated Skeldar vows vengeance. But a Skeldar who receives a double gift in exchange...” He claps the guard’s shoulder. “Good luck in the south.”

Megaera stirs, consciousness returning. She takes in the situation, her eyes narrowing. “He’ll be back.”

“What—”

She whispers in my ear, and I nod, understanding. Always thinking a few steps ahead. This is her strength. Perhaps—

I whisper back.

“For what?” she asks.

“Please do it,” I mouth, exposing my forearm to her.

I’m pulling down my sleeve when Lykos returns to the brig, Zenon in tow, both scratching uncontrollably at their necks. “What’ve you done to us?”

I spy the bright, patchy rash creeping up their throats and fold my arms. “She poisoned you.”

Megaera smiles slickly. “Why would I step into a cell at your request without taking precautions?”

“You—” Lykos stares at Megaera, his brow twitching. He’s suppressing his frustration, struggling not to be impressed.

The cell opens, and Megaera teases a fingernail up his throat with a sly gaze, relieving him of the itching torture. She helps the boy next, and I rummage in my bag for coins, dropping them on the table. Lykos had a point about leaving a gift. “In return for the boy’s freedom.”

We slink through narrow passages, up the steep stairs, and peer out the cracked hatch. When Lykos is certain the coast is clear, he opens it fully. We climb onto the shadowy deck, and—

The patrol rounds the ship’s stern and spots us—a thundering yell stirs movement below deck.

An axe flies.

Lykos curses, pulling Zenon into a protective hold.

I toss my belongings, deflecting the axe away from them.

Megaera’s shield rises around us.

Skeldars swarm up the hatch onto the deck. Rushing footsteps approach from behind.

They glance past us, their focus shifting, and straighten. We turn slowly to gauge the new threat.

My stomach churns. A neat circle of armed Skeldars is forming around us.

Lykos spits out a curse. “Any way to poison them all?”

“Only some. I’d have to drop the shield to do it.”

“Don’t!”

“Now you like my magic.”

He huffs. “What about you, healer?”

I grimace toward my sack, now lying behind armed men.

“Well, aren’t you caught in Sylgja’s tides,” comes a thickly accented voice.

In front of us, the blonde, leather-clad men part, making way. The captain. He gestures to two of his crew, who scurry off at his command.

Torchlight flickers against his stoic, broad-shouldered profile and his golden mane. Like most Skeldars, his beardless cheeks give him a deceptively youthful appearance. Along with their renowned attractiveness and tall, large frames, Skeldars are difficult to calculate. They look strong, but too beautiful to be truly dangerous.

That’s how they trap their enemies.

Even Megaera sighs. But not me. I grip her arm tightly. “Don’t be fooled.”

She stiffens.

Behind us, Lykos mutters.

The captain laughs, his brilliant blue eyes locking onto me. “Ah. You’re part Skeldar.”

Megaera snorts lightly beside me. “Finally explains what everyone sees in you.”

I elbow her.

The captain removes his weapons, passing them to his men, and whisks off his fur-lined cloak, revealing a reinforced leather breastplate adorned with intricate patterns, imagery of Skjaldur, their God of war, and runes for bravery, victory, and protection.

“You were too eager. If you’d waited longer, we might’ve been too far into the hills to see you scurrying over our deck.”

I grit my teeth against the urge to deflate. We can’t give up now; we have to find a way...

Gravity shifts as the boat rises and falls more deeply than before. I glance sideways—

We’re already drifting away from the dock. The briny tang of the stirred sea grows stronger.

My heart pounds wildly. This ship will sail over the channel to Iskaldir. I want to get there, but as a free person. Not as a slave. Megaera notices the movement too; her shield quivers before she regains her composure.

The captain smiles, leaning toward our dome, lowering his voice. “Nice shield.”

His unspoken challenge: You’ll be drained of spiritual energy soon enough. Then what?

Megaera speaks first, her tone light, unaffected. “We acted out of familial duty. This prisoner is young, a child to us. Let us go, and in our retellings of this adventure, you’ll emerge as merciful, honourable.”

Lykos seizes his moment. “Let me and my boy go, and you can have these two. Along with valuable information about our king.”

I stiffen. What does he know? What would he dare tell these enemies? I can’t let that happen.

“Drop the shield.”

Megaera hisses at me.

“Drop the shield or let the captain in.”

“I could kill you in one sweep,” the captain says.

“You won’t.”

A curious laugh.

“The gods are watching.”

His gaze sharpens.

I roll up my sleeve. On the inside of my forearm, there’s a dark mark.

The surrounding Skeldars gasp, weapons lowering as they whisper to one another.

The captain stares hard at the mark, the pulse at his neck ticking faster. Suspicion and caution glimmer in his eyes. “Lindrhalda’s touch.”

I bow my head slightly, the knot in my stomach tightening. It’s shameless. If Quin were watching, he might laugh, but—

If it saves your life, do it. I command you to.

The mark is roughly flower-like in shape, the shape of one flower in particular. Lifebloom—the sacred plant of Lindrhalda, Iskaldir’s goddess of healing.

“Drop the shield,” I say softly.

Megaera hesitates, but I catch the flicker of understanding in her gaze as she sweeps over the birthmark she helped me create.

The captain steps forward, pinching my chin upward.

His lips curve into a thoughtful smirk as his gaze bores into mine. Without looking away, he calls out to one of his men, who comes forward with my belongings.

A man—Nordr—lies on a low cot, clutching his lower back and moaning in pain. Half a dozen others, including the guard I paralysed, crowd into the room, murmuring urgently. The captain passes by in the hallway, his sceptical gaze lingering on me.

I take Nordr’s pulse, analysing his pained movements and noting the sporadic twitch of his right leg.

I unroll my set of fine silver needles, a parting gift from Quin, and select one.

A wave of curious murmurs.

I must keep up the act. “Lindrhalda gave me the gift of understanding how best to heal my patients. I choose this needle with her guidance.”

I carefully insert four sharp needles into the acupoints around Nordr’s tailbone. “Wait fifteen minutes. He’ll walk to his cabin on his own.”

And fifteen minutes later, to a chorus of amazed gasps, he does.

“Lindrhalda has truly blessed you,” the Skeldar I paralysed says gruffly as he escorts me to a small cabin.

The door closes behind him, and I lean against it, banging my flushed forehead against the wood before turning to my companions.

Lykos is sitting on the floor, resting against a wooden chest with one leg extended and a forearm casually hooked over his bent knee. His scowl keenly follows Megaera, who is hanging her wet cloak on a wall hook. His fingers twitch, as if itching to attack. I step into his view, tutting. “We’re in this together.”

He glances at Zenon, asleep on a narrow bunk under a pile of furs. “Did you pass the test?”

I drop my belongings at the end of another bunk. “This one, at least.”

Luckily, Nordr only had a pinched nerve. The needles quickly relieved his pain. If they test me with something more serious, though...

Megaera perches on the edge of the bunk, her face pale and greenish under the swaying lantern above. She clutches a beam. “Will the rocking ever cease?”

I rummage through my things. Where’s the ginger? It should help.

I find a minuscule crumb and offer it to her, then rise. “I’ll find more.”

“I’m fine.”

I leave the cabin—with a warning look to Lykos, who smirks back at me—and after pocketing some ginger from the galley, I head onto the deck. I’m not feeling all that great myself, but the last thing I can do, having Lindrhalda’s touch, is throw up.

I walk around the ship, breathing in the salty air. The captain is at the helm, staring grimly out over the channel. I follow his line of sight.

In the distance, a great bloom of light dances over the water’s surface. My heart lurches as I hurry to the ship’s side. Is that fire? Is something burning on Iskaldir’s coast? No, it’s not onshore.

A ship is ablaze.

Flames leap into the sky, and breezes carry the first traces of burning wood to our ship. A distant boom and crackle follow a violent explosion. A burning ship in the channel would not be empty.

I turn to the captain, who bows his head at the distant sight. “Are we the closest ship? There could be survivors in the water.”

“Such sincerity. I might almost believe you have Lindrhalda’s touch.”

I rear back a step.

He faces me, his gaze settling on my arm. “I don’t believe gods and goddesses choose our fates.”

“Then why did you let us go?”

“My men believe.”

“They must be important to you.”

“We’re family. Indulging you satisfies their superstitions.” He steps closer, his golden hair falling over his shoulders like curtains. “I’m sure they’ll be disillusioned soon enough.”

“And if they aren’t?”

“Are you bargaining with me?”

“I want a promise that we won’t be sold into slavery.”

He pulls back, his gaze returning to the distant flames. “Lindrhalda’s touch is far too precious to keep to myself. If you prove yourself, I’ll present you to Prins Lief of Ragn. You could say he... adopts healers.”

Ragn? I’m not sure what kind of prince this Lief is, but if this bluff gets me to Ragn, I’ll be that much closer to reaching my mother’s systra. I gesture across the night-heavy waters to the flames.

The captain snarls. “I’ll never risk my men for that .”

“Risk?”

His laugh is heavy, hollow.

I wait, dread tightening my chest.

“All ships to Iskaldir pass through that checkpoint. It used to be called Skogar. Now we call it Cinderbay.”

“Cinder . . .”

“It started a month ago. This is the fifth ship to be set ablaze.”

I stare across the dark, to the brilliant flames. Set ablaze? “This is deliberate?”

He grunts in affirmation.

I grip the dewy railing. “But the people—the crew, passengers...”

“It’s not the ship our stormblades are ordered to burn.”

It’s those on board.

“Are they... spies?” My stomach sinks. “Lumins? Is this warfare?”

“They’ve all been Skeldars.”

“They’re burning their own?”

“Only those ships with no signs of sickness are allowed through.”

The flames dim as the ship sinks into the water. “Signs...” I snap my head to the captain, sucking in a sharp breath.

“Poxies. A single man with rashy cheeks or sores, and all on board go down with him.”

“They don’t distinguish between the healthy and the sick?”

“They won’t risk it coming ashore.”

It spreads too easily. My stomach clenches as the boat dips suddenly. Nausea races up my throat.

“In the name of Vaesen, god of balance and harmony and the natural order. Their lives are a sacrifice for our beloved land.”

I laugh dryly, then wretch. “Not all of them would die.”

“Do you think the command of our king is cruel?” He pounds my back. “I don’t. A few burning ships are nothing compared to towns full of pus-pocked victims, piles of decaying bodies on street corners, and the neverending wails of families losing their loved ones.” He pauses. “The squawk of a crow in an empty town square. A fox curled atop a dirt mound, under it your sister, your brother.”

I push myself upright, my arms trembling.

“I won’t let it aboard this ship,” he murmurs. “No matter how many tricks you have, you won’t beat this.”

I shudder. He’s right.

My grandfather died trying to create wards against it—his most important work, for the most dangerous disease. But Lumin wouldn’t allow it, too afraid of what it might do. Too afraid of worsening the spread.

Iskaldir is also afraid.

The plague is the most devastating sickness to have ever ravaged the kingdoms. It terrifies me most as a healer. That it will come at all. That if it does, I won’t be able to cure it.

For an ugly second, I understand why the redcloaks imprisoned Kastoria during its outbreak.

For an uglier second, I accept the flames.