Beneath the Starlit Sea, page 1
beneath the starlit sea
NICOLE BEA
Copyright © 2021 by Nicole Be a
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Sword and Silk Books
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First Edition: June 2022
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Ebook: 979–8-9853273–4-2
contents
Prologue
I. Autumn
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
II. Winter
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
III. Spring
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Nicole Bea
Coming Soon from Sword and Silk
To you, the reader.
May you always believe in love.
prologue
The distance from the market to my cottage is short enough to comfortably walk with my two satchels, but long enough to suspect I’m being followed. A pesky, tingling feeling in the back of my neck started shortly after I traded a handful of figs—the last of my supplies for the day—for three lemons and a small bag of sap candies in Strandkant. I pushed a strand of my long, red hair from my face, sticky from sweat and the warm weather, peering over at a guard on a stout black horse. He was also outside the apothecary when I entered and left. Admittedly, I was a bit distracted by the conversation the shopkeeper was having with one of the other guards; something about a suspected murder by the Kincajd Sea. Two men, allegedly found dead, with the life sucked out of them.
As I picked my way through a row of hanging herbs, the guard relayed information. There was a slight quiver in his voice, like he was trying to hide his worry. “Pulled into the depths and then spat back out.”
“And what does the king make of it?”
The air was thick with gossip and humidity, and I hung on to every word, every breath, in a curiosity that I couldn’t piece together because I’m not able to be killed all that easily—especially not by an element like water. Perhaps it was because living out in my cottage alone gave me little interaction with others, or perhaps it was something more. However, all I know now is that I ran my fingers through a bundle of mint for much too long and the guard and the shopkeeper realized I was listening.
“King Whys assures that he has his best men on it.”
“What am I supposed to tell my family?”
The guard, the taller of the two men, shrugged. “Whatever you need to. I would recommend staying indoors after dark.”
The scent of the mint swirled around me and itched my nose, causing me to sneeze and the two men to turn. I suppose I could have asked how much for the bundle of herbs I’d been touching, but instead I made my way to my final merchant to trade my figs. Sorceresses, though reasonably accepted in Strandkant, are rare enough beings that we make locals uncomfortable. And it’s not like they don’t know who we are, me in particular. The bright crimson of my hair gives me away, even when I try to tuck it under a cloak.
Once I had traded my figs and walked back toward the path to my cottage, that troublesome feeling began. And now, as I step along the dry dirt road, the sound of horses and distant, muttered conversation follows. I don’t dare look back in case it is the guards and walk a little faster toward my home near the banks and hills. The gap between us closes the nearer we draw to my destination, the voices louder and complete with almost-discernible discussions.
Turning in to the gate in front of the cottage, I pull a key from the pocket of my cloak. Before I get it in the lock, I hear the men and their horses pull up behind me.
“Witch!”
I ignore them, thinking of what I should do. Pretending they don’t exist and that I haven’t heard them use the outdated word for sorceress seems like the best course of action, because I find it questionable that they’ve followed me from the market with the best of intentions.
“Witch!” the second guard’s voice shouts out. This time, even though I feel wary, I turn to look and ask what it is I can help them with. When I do, the guard who was previously on the black horse is now directly behind me, and shoves me against the cottage door with his forearm across my chest. My satchels fall to the ground, lemons rolling from the bag. The guard kicks them away into the brush. The second dismounts his horse, whistles, and a caravan of guardsmen appear through the trees, the sunlight reflecting off their horses’ flanks and the banners they’re flying straight into my eyes.
Temporarily blinded, I squint, and before I know it, the second guard has snapped a pair of iron shackles around my wrists. It’s only once they’re tight that the first guard removes his arm from pressing against me, and I nearly lose my balance and fall onto the grass-lined cobbles. I have little chance to regain my balance because the two of them pull me toward the black horse, surrounded by other members of the king’s guard.
“What is this?” The words come out of my mouth in a pleading tone, my heart in my throat as I try to catch my breath. The attempt is in vain; I am unceremoniously tossed onto the animal’s back, and then he climbs on behind me. “What’s going on?”
“The king will explain.”
I try to turn toward him, but my position makes it impossible. “I think you will exp—"
There’s no opportunity for me to finish my sentence because the guard nudges the horse into a canter, and I have to hold on for dear life to not be tossed from the animal. I do, however, manage to flit a glance back to the cottage as we turn onto the trail by my home, and I see my three foxes in a palette of earthy colors sitting by the front gate, waiting for me to return.
Early into the evening, I’m shielding my face behind a green hooded cloak that once belonged to my dead mother. I might also be dead soon if the guards who captured me have their way.
I’ve already had as many thoughts of escape as a sorceress could have while bound in wrist cuffs; my magic won’t work here. The guards have made sure the iron chains are so tight that I’m barely able to remain on the black mare I was thrown on outside of my cottage in Strandkant. I’m being brought by King Whys’ guardsmen to Castle Rose. They’re dressed in rough livery, more guards standing watch as we approach the bridge, the black insignia of the Kingdom of Sjökanten in yellow on the flags blowing in the cool summer breeze off the Kincajd Sea.
The gates are opened for us as the horses slow to a trot, the sound of their hooves echoing on the cobbles. This might be the last time I get to see the pennants flying along the railings, but I stay hidden inside my hood. I’m not sure why I bother; the people don’t know my face around here. I’ve been in Strandkant for the better part of several years, but the red of my hair might be enough to remind the elder residents of Moningrad that I’m an Aske sorceress. Only sorceresses have bright crimson hair, and only sorceresses have coven marks on their arms that show even when wearing a cloak—brands from when we accepted what some considered fate, and others named a calling.
Slowing to a halt as we reach the inside of Castle Rose, a guard stretches up and hauls me from the back of the still prancing horse. The rough motion causes my hood to fall back, revealing my face, and for the first time in a long time, I fear for my life. It has nothing to do with the damp gray of the castle walls or the witches’ brew lichen growing on the felled trees. But rather, it is the way my magic has been depleted by the iron cuffs, so I can’t fight back.
People stare and holler as the humid breeze blows the pungent smell of seawater and fish into my face—the children call me ‘witch’ from behind their mothers’ skirts, while the more brazen men throw pebbles and broken cobblestones from either side of the path. Thankfully, even though they’re aiming for my face, they never hit their intended target. However, one man, who is holding a long wooden rod, manages to gash me on the side of the head with a particularly sharp rock, and I feel blood dripping through my hair and down my neck.
The head guard approaches, shoving me forward toward the inside of the castle walls. As I am pushed over the uneven stones with guards at my back, the large doors of Castle Rose slowly close behind us, encasing me in the overwhelming scent of lemon trees and roses. I’ve smelled the perfume before, back when Aske and the castle were on better terms, and remembering this reminds me I’m not the only one to come to an untimely end here at Castle Rose. I’m certainly not the last Aske sorceress to potentially be sentenced to an eternity in ore for failing to follow the laws of the kingdom, or for disobeying direct orders from the current ruler. It’s all up to King Whys now, and I already know that if the king is anything like his guards, he will not be all that fond of me.<
The guards shove me again, around a corner, and toward an open doorway. We enter a room with a blazing fire, and I can tell the flames are made in the traditional way and not with magic. It’s not as hot at the base as magic fire, the type of fire I could set to this entire room if my hands were free of the iron bindings. But the guards and the king already know that. That’s why they’ve cuffed and dragged me here.
The man in front of the fire turns as the guards announce themselves, and I am elbowed across the room and onto my knees. I hardly get a look at King Whys, but his imposing stature, round stomach, and tight frown advise me it’s best to keep my eyes on the base of the fireplace.
“King Whys, I present to you Aske sorceress Illyse.” The head guard gives me a smirk as he says the words.
King Whys’ frown softens as he leans over and touches my cloak’s sleeve to expose the Aske mark on my inner forearm. The look he gives me is almost one of regret—like he’s remembering his own affiliations with Aske from years prior. There were murmurings, rumors, that before the laws dictated that sorceresses and humans were never to join together romantically, that King Whys had fallen for one of us, much to his father’s dismay. They were never confirmed—the ruler at the time would never have let on or let anyone know of the indiscretion. But the stories passed down from his youth supported all the gossip. “As a member of Aske, you’ll recall that you are complicit in their collective crimes against Sjökanten. Even if you stayed in Strandkant, we would watch your every move.”
“The guards told me you would explain what’s going on.” The words come out as a bit of a growl, turning the issue back on his own men who have brought me here, in my opinion, just for the sake of it. I don’t mean to sound angry; it’s a defense. With the way my heart is threatening to explode out of my chest, I’m more terrified than anything else.
But King Whys ignores my statement and my tone. “I could have you killed. But I have a use for you, Illyse—to be a sorceress over whom I have real control.”
“Control of what sort?”
He smiles, waving the guards out of the room before he approaches me to speak in a low voice. The grin isn’t an ordinary one, but one filled with satisfaction. Perhaps a satisfaction that comes from knowing he doesn’t have to put on airs in front of his guards any longer. “There have been some deaths, Illyse. Men, and only men, have been found soaked and stripped bare with their throats slit on the ocean shores, next to the walls of the kingdom, like they've been dropped off the drawbridge after they’ve been murdered. There have been seven so far, five from Moningrad and two drunks from Morrows we found the last evening. We’re going to have a riot if we don’t come up with answers soon. People are losing their husbands, sons, fathers, brothers…”
King Whys trails off, and I suddenly realize there’s still another person in the room. Deep in the shadows sits a hulk of a figure, broad-shouldered and with long hair. He hasn’t spoken or moved since I arrived. Perhaps he’s here to torture me into choosing the option that’s really my only option if I want to live. Maybe that’s why King Whys is being so merciful.
“And what is my benefit here? What kind of help can I be expected to offer?” My voice wavers a touch, uncertain what assistance I can provide when I’m not attuned to water. There are other sorceresses, ones in Brignes and neighboring realms, I’m sure. Ones who are in harmony with the seas. Is this all because I left Aske behind and lived alone amid the trees so I wouldn’t become part of the uprising that happened all those years ago? “I’m giving you a choice. Wear the iron band of my allies and pledge to resolve the issue in exchange for your freedom, or be sentenced to an eternity encased in jewelry like so many of the women we’ve been forced to capture. What do you choose?”
I stew in the silence of the room, the crackle of the flames in the hearth casting shadows on the stone walls. I can be trapped in a piece of ore forever, or I can wear an iron band that will limit my abilities, likely for the remainder of my life. There’s no preferable option, as a sorceress without her magic is left with not much else but a long life with a missing piece of herself.
But it’s better than death.
“I accept the former,” I find myself saying, and King Whys turns back to the fire before the words are barely out of my mouth.
“Good. Alhrik! Take her to the smithy. Garit, you go as well.”
This Garit, the man in the shadows, rises from his seat at the same moment a guard hauls me up from my knees and drags me from the room. His long, red-blond hair is loosely tied in a leather lash behind his face, and his large hands are clasped in fists at his sides. Panic rises in my throat, my heart beating faster as my feet scrape against the rough floor. I could try to throw my weight around to make it harder for the guard, Alhrik, to take me to the smithy, but even once I consider it, I know it’s of no use. I’m at least a head smaller than the guard, and while his actions may be coarse, at least he’s predictable in his jabs. This Garit, however, I can’t calculate—unnerving me more. What’s at the smithy? Does King Whys require some kind of custom-made band to fit my small wrist? I would have thought they’d have manufactured a more permanent shackle of sorts, but…
The questions sit in my throat, silent. I dare not ask them because Alhrik and Garit might hear the waver that will undoubtedly be in my voice.
The guards collect again at my back, and the silent Garit walks beside me as we head back out of doors and down a small decline where I trip over my own feet in distraction. Alhrik nearly yanks my arm out of the socket, hoisting me toward the sounds of hammering metal, only slowing his march when Garit coughs. The noise shifts the pace, slowing minutely, though Alhrik’s hand still grasps my arm, tight enough to lessen the blood flow and cause my fingers to tingle. I know the purpose of the guards, but I wonder how this Garit figures into King Whys’ plans. There’s nothing in his stance or dress that suggests his position here at Castle Rose, or any indication to determine if he’s likely to help me out of this situation or not.
I don’t have much time to consider, because somehow the smithy is already prepared for my arrival when I am delivered by the guards, who unshackle one of my hands.
Garit finds another shadow to hide in as the castle blacksmith finishes hammering a red-hot ring of iron—the beginnings of a horseshoe, maybe—the banging of the hammer against the thin circle echoing in my ears with a sharp clang. Alhrik holds tight to my elbow as if I’m going to run away after I just had my life spared. I may not agree with human laws, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to test them.
“You’re the witch, I suppose.”
I hate the way the smithy says the word ‘witch,’ like it’s a curse that whistles through the crooked gap in his front teeth. Though I suppose today it is.
“Stick out your arm.”
I do as he says, and before I’m even aware of what’s happening, the blacksmith is sealing the brightly burning crimson iron around my wrist.
The metal scorches and sears my skin with so much heat I can’t help but scream, tears immediately welling up in my eyes and pouring down my cheeks. The guards, the smithy, Alhrik, and Garit don’t even shift their stance, apparently unaffected by the sounds that come from my mouth. Maybe they’ve watched this type of torture before. Either way, the sensation of my skin boiling doesn’t go away, not even when the smithy yanks me over to a pail of water and dunks my arm inside to cool and set the sealed metal band.
As I stare down at the steaming water, a thought strikes me I never would have considered when I awoke in my cottage in Strandkant. I’m an Aske sorceress who belongs to Sjökanten now. Even if I earn my freedom, I’ll always have my coven mark, a scar, and a band of iron around my wrist to prove it.
