Princess of Souls, page 18
Garrick is too incredulous to laugh fully, and so what comes out of his mouth is a large breathy sound that flares his nostrils.
“And who’s this?” he asks, looking at me. His stare lingers. “Your partner in chaos?”
Despite my eyes, surely he can’t suspect that I’m a witch. Not with so many women in Armonía sharing the color of my hair. Perhaps they even mimic the glow of my eyes too. With my hair cut to no longer resemble my mother or our ancestors, Garrick must think I’m one of them.
It’s freeing to have someone look straight at me and have no expectations or preconceptions.
He doesn’t know who I am and so I can be whoever I want for once.
“A partner in chaos,” Nox muses. “That’s fairly accurate, don’t you agree?”
I nod as casually as I can muster. “I like the sound of it.”
Garrick sneers. “Whatever you two are up to, do it somewhere else. I don’t want to have to hurt you, Regiment Leader.”
He practically spits those last two words, mocking Nox’s position in the Last Army and, it seems, his apparent allegiance to the king. Nox doesn’t look the slightest bit ruffled.
“You and your three deckhands are going to take us on?” Nox asks, looking around at the men dotted sparsely across the ship. “I’m insulted.”
A smile cracks across Garrick’s face, like a splinter. “You’re just like your father,” he says. “He was an arrogant git too.”
As quickly as the smile appeared on Garrick’s face, it disappears from Nox’s. I see the flicker in his eyes and the way his hands clench quickly at his sides, as if on reflex.
Not bracing himself for an attack, but absorbing one.
The mention of Asden clearly sends him reeling, as it does me.
Who is this man to dare to speak of him that way?
“How do you two know each other?” I ask, breaking the silence and with it the fragile look in Nox’s eyes.
“I told you,” Nox says. “We’re enemies.”
“The Last Army is enemies to everyone,” Garrick says. “Especially Nox and his little Thánatos Regiment.”
“You’re not still angry we confiscated those jewels, are you?” Nox asks, recovering quickly. “You couldn’t really think you’d get away with pilfering from the old Thavma royal family. You know the king likes to keep all the islands’ riches for himself.”
“Finders keepers,” Garrick says.
“Well, in that case.”
Nox holds out his sword, pointing it directly at Garrick’s throat.
“We found your ship, so I guess that means we get to keep that and everything on it. Including what we came for.”
The deckhands stand up.
Nox’s eyes move to them. “Careful,” he says. He gestures quickly to me. “She’s just as deadly as I am.”
I feel that thrum in my heart again with his words.
That buzzing of adventure.
“Over my dead body is this happening,” Garrick spits. He draws his own sword. “You’re a fool, Nox. That cargo belongs to the king,” he says. “He’s set a bounty on such transport. More than you could ever imagine. Apparently it was used to kidnap his heir. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
His eyes twist over to mine and my heartbeat thumps.
He can’t know. He couldn’t possibly.
“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about,” Nox says.
And then his sword clashes against Garrick’s.
“Fetch the harbor guards!” Garrick yells, just as Nox pushes him into the side of the boat. “Tell them I’ve found the heir!”
One of the deckhands makes for Nox, who swivels out of the way and slashes his blade across their arm.
“Selestra, don’t let anyone get by!” he yells.
I widen my eyes as one of the deckhands charges toward me.
He’s large, at least a foot taller than me and a great deal wider too. But I remember Asden’s training and I know that power is no match for speed.
I won’t let him reveal our location to the guards and to the king.
I crouch low and sweep my leg out, tripping the man to the floor. His head hits the deck just as the third deckhand grabs me from behind.
His arms crush around my waist.
I don’t try to pry them off.
I know I’m not strong enough.
But strength is no match for quick thinking, I tell myself.
I fling my head back, cracking it into the man’s nose. His hold loosens and I turn, kicking him square in the stomach.
He falls to his knees, bleeding on the deck with a groan.
“Thanks for the practice,” I say, bringing my arm into the air. “I’ve been worried I’d get rusty.”
I punch him, hard enough that I hear a loud crack before he falls to the floor.
Asden would be proud.
I turn to check on Nox, just as he slams the butt of his sword into Garrick’s mouth, knocking one of his teeth clean out.
Garrick stumbles, back pressed against the edge of the ship.
“You won’t get away with this!” he yells as Nox approaches. “The king will kill you and your entire family!”
He raises his sword to slice across Nox’s chest, but Nox blocks it easily. Effortlessly. He knocks the sword from Garrick’s hands and grabs ahold of his collar.
“The king already did that,” Nox says darkly.
My breath catches.
Then he pushes Garrick from the ship and into the harbor waters below.
“What did you just do?” I ask, shocked.
“Relax,” Nox says. “He can swim.”
I look around the ship. “Where’s the third deckhand?”
“Down there too somewhere.”
Nox gestures to where Garrick curses below.
I don’t feel any sympathy for him or his men: Murderer, Nox had called him. And pilferer of dead kings and queens, including those of the witches my family descended from.
Better he be thrown overboard than us.
I laugh in relief before I can help myself and Nox looks just as surprised as I am. It’s the laugh of a girl, not caged by a centuries-old blood oath, or trapped by a king of souls.
And Nox is the reason for it.
This soldier, who took me from the castle, saving me from my own mother. He flew me to a land where I don’t have to hide.
The ship sways against the harbor waters.
I take in a breath.
He’s dangerous, I remind myself. He’s marked by death.
The king’s crest burns against my hand, reminding me of what could happen if I let my guard down for even a moment. It’s because of Nox and that odd curse of fate tangled between us that I’ve nearly died so many times.
So why is it that I feel safest when I’m with him?
“Nox!”
I whirl to see Micah and Irenya running breathlessly onto the boat.
“Let’s go!” Micah says hurriedly.
He notices the two deckhands unconscious on the floor and begins dragging them from the boat.
“They’re coming for us,” Irenya says, running to my side.
In the distance a flurry of guards run toward Garrick’s ship, their pounding boots like thunder.
“I told you to take care of them,” Nox says. He climbs the rickety ladder up to another deck, which houses the ship’s wheel.
“You told me to take care of two sleeping guards,” Micah argues, dragging the last deckhand away. “Not the Last Army!”
“The king knows we’re here,” I say in a gasp.
Which means my mother is here.
Above, thunder rumbles behind the clouds as the sun finally finishes setting. I watch in horror as the sky turns black.
“Damn,” Nox curses, as realization sets in.
My eyes widen and I turn back to look at the guards again.
They’re not guards at all. They’re soldiers.
The uniform coats their broad shoulders, the king’s insignia clear on their chests as they approach, swords drawn, screaming at us to stop right there.
“We don’t have time to inflate the balloon before they get to us!” Nox yells. “We’ll have to take the ship and launch it later once we’re clear from attack.”
“Irenya, untie the docking line!” he commands. “Micah, lift the anchor! Selestra, take the wheel so I can ready the sails!”
I don’t hesitate to run toward the ladder and climb up to the wheel, readying the boat just as we begin to drift away from the harbor.
I keep the ship steady and straight as I can, while Nox yells orders and Micah and Irenya run from one end of the ship to another.
I’m shocked that Irenya doesn’t question it, or stop to ask Nox what he means when he talks about mainsails and port side. Then I remember that she grew up right by the docks of Vasiliádes. Her father was a sailor before he met her mother, and he must have taught her a thing or two.
But before we’re a safe enough distance away from the harbor, two Last Army soldiers manage to jump onto the ship.
“Get the heir!” one yells.
“Don’t let them take her!”
They claw their way up onto the deck, and both Nox and Micah grab their swords to fight them off.
Then I see a third. A fourth. Then two more.
As we sail away from Armonía, we take half a dozen of the Last Army with us. The clang of their swords rattles the ship.
“We’re outnumbered!” Micah yells.
“Thanks for the update,” Nox says, driving his sword through one soldier’s stomach.
The blood splatters onto the dragon-scale deck.
“The king will kill you for stealing his witch!” one of the soldiers sneers. “Your father would be disgraced by this.”
“Actually, I think he’d be proud,” Nox says, not realizing just how true that is.
He cuts the man down in a heartbeat.
He turns to take on another, but he and Micah are still outnumbered and the Last Army are just as brutal.
A sudden gloom settles over me and I’m drawn to look back toward the dock.
To my horror, I see my mother standing, staring back at me.
Her green hair sways in the breeze and her wild eyes lock onto mine in a promise of death.
I see her lips move and I hear the call of my name on the wind.
Selestra.
I gasp and Nox must hear it because he turns from battle to look up at me.
“I won’t let them take you!” he calls to me in a promise.
My eyes meet his and that relief—that feeling of safety—returns in an instant.
I watch him fight off the soldiers, acting as a barrier between them and the ladder that leads to me. I realize then that he’s not just fighting for his life, but for mine too.
He’s protecting me.
“What should we do?” Irenya asks, climbing up the ladder and to my side.
“Take the wheel,” I tell her.
Too many people have died while I just stood there and watched.
If Nox is going to try to save me, the least I can do is save him right back.
Without thinking, I slide down the pole, racing into the fight.
I might not be Last Army, but Asden taught me enough fencing to hold my own.
I grab Garrick’s sword from where Nox had knocked it to the floor and slash it across the air, meeting the blade of a soldier. Then I twist and elbow him straight in the cheek. Before he has time to recover, I slam my foot into his knee and bring my blade across his back.
It’s not a mortal wound, but it’s enough to stop him from getting back up for a while.
I turn to see Micah just about to kill another of our attackers, but my eyes search the ship for Nox, who has disappeared from beside the ladder.
I spot him quickly by the ship’s edge, nearly hidden behind a wing of sails. He struggles as one of the soldiers pins him to the side of the ship.
Nox’s blade is the only thing between the sword of the Last Army and his throat.
He heaves the soldier off just in time and slashes his sword across his neck. Then Nox collapses to the floor, a little breathless.
Another soldier comes from behind, but I know Nox doesn’t see him.
This is the moment I foresaw.
He’s about to be thrown overboard, and if I run to him, I’ll follow.
Once we’re in those waters, my mother will seize the opportunity to drown us both. She’ll siphon all the power she has into keeping us under, so the king can be satisfied that his immortality will never be challenged.
I only have moments, seconds, to do something.
I feel the wind on my cheeks and the breeze brushing my hair from my face as I reach inside myself, looking for the power I’ve always pushed down out of fear it might turn me into my mother.
I call for it to come to the surface and feel the spark of it abiding.
Just small, just for a moment. But it’s enough.
I thrust my arm out and the magic breaks into the world.
It’s as though a gasp of wind bursts from my heart and rams into the soldier who’s about to attack Nox.
It hits him with enough force to knock him clear over the edge of the ship and into the crystal waters below.
Then it dissipates.
There and gone in an instant.
My heart pounds ferociously.
I channeled the wind, just like my mother. I siphoned power from it.
I bring a hand quickly to my nose, but just like in the tavern, there’s no blood. No pain.
The king always said I wouldn’t come into my true powers until my mother died. That they weren’t mine to have.
You’re just an heir, Selestra, he always told me. You have no real power yet.
But I felt it. I still do.
I run to Nox’s side.
He looks up at me. “I thought I told you to steer,” he says, panting a little for breath.
I hold out a gloved hand to him.
“That’s three times I’ve saved your life now.”
I pull Nox to his feet, but he keeps ahold of my hand. Not letting go as he rises.
“Looks like I owe you one again,” he says.
His fingers stay interlaced tightly with mine. The mark of the king like a magnet between us, stitching our palms together.
Nox’s eyes flare with something bright and new, as our hands hold steady. It’s a look that makes my body hum.
Some people have adventure in their bones. Nox is one of those people, and when I’m with him, it feels like I might too.
He makes me want to seek out challenges and be curious, when life has only ever taught me to be indifferent and obedient to the world.
Nox squeezes my hand, just a little, and my stomach shifts. His touch ignites me. I wish, harder and more desperately than any wish before, that I could feel him without the barrier of my gloves.
“Come on, princess,” Nox says. “We have a sword to find.”
27
SELESTRA
Dray Garrick is a painter.
Or at least, he’s stolen from a fair few of them.
As Nox loads supplies into the basket, waiting for the balloon to inflate, I slip belowdecks and see an array of blank canvases and brushes. Some nearly as intricate as the ones back in my tower.
I’m supposed to be checking if Garrick has anything of use we could bring with us on the last leg of our journey to Polemistés, but I’m too distracted to search through his pilfered goods properly.
All I can think about is how I somehow managed to siphon power from the wind during the attack.
I stare at the largest of Garrick’s paintbrushes, sprawled across a small, chipped table, and will it to move. Just like the Last Army soldier flew from the deck of this ship and like we flew from the Floating Mountain.
I call to my power.
The warmth of it simmers within me and the brush starts to tremble.
I narrow my eyes, focusing harder. I’ve never known I can move things before. So much of what’s inside me is hidden and I’ve rarely been given the chance to seek it out.
I didn’t even know about my healing until I was ten and fell over in the salad gardens, scraping my knee across the rough dirt. I nearly fainted at the sight of the blood, having never seen my own before.
It can be undone, my mother’s soft voice cooed. She’d bent down, stroking my hair from my face. You can undo it, Selestra. You can fix it all.
She told me to focus, to look at the small scrape on my knee and imagine the skin stitching together. The blood fading to nothing.
Imagine it gone, she’d said. Like it was never there in the first place.
And so I did it and when I was done imagining, I saw it was true.
I healed myself and my mother smiled and patted my head and told me I was powerful and I should never forget it.
I shouldn’t cry when I had the power to change things.
I look down at the paintbrush now and it lifts from the table and flicks across the canvas.
My heart pounds.
“What are you doing?” Nox asks.
I jump a little and the brush smudges across the paper and then drops quickly to the floor.
Nox is always so quiet when he approaches, with featherlight footsteps and whispered breaths. Only unlike his father, he’s not at all quiet after that.
“Acrobatics,” I say teasingly. “What does it look like?”
Nox picks up an unused paintbrush and fans the bristles. “Like you’re stealing.”
“Paint supplies from a thief,” I say. “Hardly the worst crime.”
“Not as bad as stealing a ship, I suppose.”
“I thought you said it was commandeering.”
Nox tilts his head, offering me a smile.
Sometimes I think that smile is the most dangerous thing about him. The sight of it presses strangely against my heart.
Irenya always told me stories about the men and women who caught her fancy back in the castle. The people she thought were beautiful and admired from afar, and the people who thought she was beautiful right back. She told me what it felt like to hold their hand, which was especially torturous since I knew it wasn’t something I ever thought I could do.
Until Nox.
I’ve held his hand and felt his touch, warm against mine.
