Daughter of Fate - Chapter 13
Pela watched, horrified, as the flaming arrow struck the deck...
The Knights of Alana is an original fantasy novel, packed with gods, dragons and magic. When Knights attack the temple of Skystead, seventeen-year-old Pela is the only one to escape. Her mother and the other villagers are taken, accused of worshiping the False Gods. They will pay the ultimate price – unless Pela can rescue them. Pela has never left the safety of her town, let alone touched a sword. What chance does she have against the ruthless Knights of Alana? She’s not a hero. But she knows one…
But she knows one.
Her uncle Devon was a mighty warrior once, in times when magic filled the world. Age has withered his strength and he retired long ago, but maybe he will answer the call of family. Can Pela convince him to stand against the darkness one last time?
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Pela watched, horrified, as the flaming arrow struck the deck. She strained against her bonds, tearing the skin from her wrists, but nothing she did seemed to make a difference. The necklace Marianne had placed around her neck seemed to tighten and her flesh crawled, though she still knew nothing of its dark purpose.
“Be brave, my daughter,” Kryssa croaked behind her.
Watching the flames crawl across the ship towards them, a sob tore from Pela. Already the smoke was billowing around them, robbing her of breath. Choking, she clutched at her mother’s fingers, terror wrapping its icy hands around her chest.
“Please mum,” she gasped, “I don’t want to die!”
Her mother’s hand tightened around her own. “I love you so much, Pela.”
Hearing despair in her mother’s voice, Pela slumped against her bindings. How had it come to this? She thought back over the past few weeks, everything she had faced, the fears she had overcome. There was so much she wanted to tell her mother: about the fight with the Baronians, the rescue in the Castle, how she had learned to use her father’s sword.
The blade lay discarded on the deck now, tossed aside along with the rest of their belongings. If only she could reach it, they might free themselves.
“I love you too, mum,” she whispered.
The crackling of the fire crept closer, its heat washing over them. She coughed, the acrid fumes burning her throat, and her vision swum. Each breath was a struggle now.
Then movement came from the railings, and like a messenger from the Gods themselves, Genevieve appeared through the flames. She staggered across the deck, scooping up Pela’s sword as she went, and fell to her knees beside the mast. The blade sliced easily through the ropes, and Pela slumped to the deck as she found herself finally free
“Gen!” Kryssa cried, hugging the woman tightly. “What are you doing here?”
“No time,” Genevieve coughed. She grasped Pela by the collar and dragged her up, then pulled them towards the railing. “Into the boat, before the fire…”
She trailed off as they reached the railing and saw the rowboat had drifted from the ladder. The flames crackled behind them, spreading quickly across the ship now. Pela’s hackles rose as she looked at the aft deck, and saw the inferno had almost reached the store of black powder.
“Jump, now!” she screamed, and before either woman could react, she grabbed them by the collars and dragged them over the railing.
They cried out as the waves came rushing up to meet them. The icy water swallowed Pela up and she gasped, kicking back towards the light. She broke the surface and swung around, finding her mother and Genevieve bobbing close by.
“Get awa—”
An awful boom drowned out her words as the burning ship turned suddenly to a column of flame. Pela opened her mouth to scream, but a wave of water caught them up before the words could leave her mouth, and then the world had turned to madness…
Sometime later, Pela woke to her mother shaking her. She opened her eyes, and found herself dangling from the side of the makeshift dock. The wave must have deposited her there, for the water was a good four feet below them. She tried to move and groaned—her entire body ached as though she’d just finished training with Caledan. Gritting her teeth, Pela managed to drag herself to her knees.
“Stay here,” Kryssa was saying, her eyes on the amphitheatre.
Pela followed her gaze and saw the queen standing on the black sands, flanked by the massive Knight, Ikar. Devon lay nearby, dead or unconscious, while a third unknown man stood before the queen. As they watched, she darted forward, her slender rapier piercing his chest.
Kryssa started down the docks towards the theatre. There was no sign of Genevieve and Pela prayed she’d reached the shore safely. But just now, Kryssa was her greatest concern. She recognised the look in her mother’s eyes. Kryssa intended to honour the promise she’d made on the queen’s ship. Derryn’s blade glinted in her hand—she must have taken it after Genevieve freed them—but as far as Pela knew, she didn’t even know how to use it.
Fighting through the pain, Pela came to her feet and started after her mother. The roar of the crowd buffeted her as she approached, almost a physical force in itself, seeking to force her back. She kept on, unable to hear the words that passed between the queen and Kryssa, but determined to intervene.
Then Kryssa dropped into a fighting stance, squaring off against the giant of a man who had defeated Devon. Pela stumbled to a stop, horrified. The giant was twice her mother’s size—a single swing of his broadsword would cleave her in two. Pela’s eyes caught on a short sword lying discarded on the black sands; she swept it up and raced to join her mother.
Kryssa glanced back, her eyes widening. “Stay back!” she cried. “This is between me and Ikar.”
Pela lifted her blade. “Not a chance.”
Her mother flashed a look that had once sent terror shooting down Pela’s spine. She smiled back—and ignored her. She hadn’t come all this way just to run now.
Ikar lifted his broadsword and gestured them forward. “It doesn’t matter how many—”
Kryssa attacked before he could finish, her blade lancing for his unprotected head. Ikar’s blade barely rose in time to parry her attack; then he was retreating before the force of her fury. He had discarded his armour during the battle with Devon, and now Kryssa’s blade found his flesh again and again, opening cuts across his arms and chest.
For a moment, Pela stood frozen, shocked at her mother’s sudden violence—and skill. Apparently, she had kept more than just her father’s past from Pela. But such revelations would have to wait for later, and gathering herself, Pela edged sideways the way Caledan had taught her, seeking an opening. Kryssa had forced Ikar backwards across the stadium, and she had to rush to catch them.
Above, jeers rained down from the crowd, as though this was all some great show for them. A deep hatred rose in Pela’s throat as she saw the grins on their faces, their open mouths as they shouted for their deaths.
Ikar was slower now than during his fight with Devon. Pela watched him closely, and glimpsing an opening, she darted in, her sword spearing for the giant’s face. His eyes flickered in surprise, and a gauntleted arm lifted to deflect her attack. Sparks flashed as the power behind Pela’s blow tore open the only armour he still wore, shattering his wrist.
Crying out, Ikar went reeling back. Pela attacked again, but the giant recovered faster than she had expected, and his broadsword swept around in a wild arc aimed at her chest. Too slow, Pela threw up her arm, but there was no way she could deflect the sword…
A dark figure slammed into her before the blow could fall, dragging her from the path of the blade. Breath hissed between Pela’s lips as her rescuer’s weight slammed down on her back. She groaned, thinking it was the queen and trying to free her blade, before Genevieve’s voice hissed in her ear: “Stay down; your mum and I will handle this.”
The weight vanished as Genevieve launched herself back into the battle, hatchet in one hand, hunting knife in the other. With Kryssa at her side, they forced the Knight back. The crowd was silent now, and the crackling of flames out in the cove rose above the whisper of the wind. Kryssa ducked as a violent swing of Ikar’s blade swept for her head. Genevieve darted in, her hunting knife opening a cut on their foe’s face.
Still on the ground, Pela watched as the two battled the giant to a standstill. Her mother’s every movement, every swing of her sword, was smooth and practiced, her body telegraphing nothing of her attacks until the blade leapt to do her bidding. Ikar was struggling now, his blood dripping from a dozen wounds.
“Yield!” Kryssa screamed as they forced him back another step. “I have no wish to kill you, Ikar.”
Ikar grimaced. Retreating a step, he held up a hand. Pela’s heart beat faster, but the Knight was not surrendering. Even so, Kryssa and Genevieve paused, offering him respite.
“Where did you learn such skill?” he asked.
Kryssa smiled. “I was a member of the King’s Guard for many years, alongside my husband.”
Pela’s heart thundered in her ears. She stared at her mother, mouth hanging open. “What?”
“I’m sorry, my daughter,” Kryssa whispered, and Pela saw that her eyes were shining. “After I lost Derryn, I couldn’t...”
“Devon told me…” Pela croaked.
“I should never have kept this part of our lives from you,” Kryssa said, swallowing visibly. “But…after Derryn…I couldn’t have you following in our footsteps. So I forbade Devon and my mother from speaking of our past, and hung up my sword for good.”
“How could you keep this from me?”
“Do not hate me, daughter,” Kryssa replied, then turned back to Ikar.
Without warning, she hurled herself forward. Sparks flashed as the two came together again, and all Pela could do was stare, still struggling to comprehend this new revelation. Her father she had never known, but her mother…she had been there for all of Pela’s life, had prevented her from even touching a sword, and she had been lying the entire time…
In the centre of the amphitheatre, Genevieve and Kryssa fought on. Ikar had regained his breath and now fought like a man possessed, while beyond the queen stood watching in silence. Most of her guards lay dead on the sand, but Knights still stood in the shadows around the arena.
A roar came from the crowd as Ikar’s fist caught Genevieve in the chin, staggering her. The Knight advanced with sword raised, but Kryssa leapt to her defence, forcing him back. Twisting to avoid her blow, Ikar brought his sword around, seeking to cut her in two. Kryssa’s sword slammed down, catching his blade near the hilt and deflecting the attack into the ground. But the shock of the impact knocked the weapon from Kryssa’s fingers, hurling it across the sand.
Ikar roared and raised his sword, but Kryssa flung herself back and his next blow cut only air. Empty-handed, Kryssa retreated, Ikar chasing after her. Behind them, Genevieve snatched up a sword and tossed it at Kryssa, but the giant swept up his great sword, knocking it aside.
“Damn you!” Genevieve screamed, hurling herself at the Knight’s exposed back.
He spun to meet her and grinned, for though brave, Genevieve did not have Kryssa’s skill. Wielding the broadsword like it weighed nothing, he knocked aside Genevieve’s attack, then kicked out with his boot. The blow caught Genevieve square in the chest and she doubled over. Before she could recover, a second blow from Ikar’s fist knocked her out cold.
“No!” Pela screamed.
Scrambling for the hilt of her sword, Pela raced in. But her cry had given her away, and Ikar turned to meet her. He batted aside her attack as he had Genevieve’s, then lashed out with a meaty fist, sending Pela crashing to the sand alongside her friend.
Gasping, she tried to scramble away, but Ikar grabbed her by the scruff of the neck. Hauling her up, he spun and found Kryssa several feet away, sword in hand once more.
Her face twisted with fear as she saw Pela in Ikar’s grip. “Let her go.”
“I cannot,” Ikar said, his breath coming in great puffs. “The Saviour calls out for her death. The False Gods must be defeated.”
“They were never evil, Ikar,” Kryssa whispered, holding out a hand in entreaty. “Your ancestor fought alongside them to banish a great darkness from this world. Alan would never condone what you do here today.”
Ikar’s face twisted as though in pain. “He lived in a simpler time, but my people cannot return to the yolk of the False Gods. I must preserve our freedom. I cannot allow their evil back into this world.”
“And is my daughter evil?” Kryssa asked. “Am I?”
“I don’t know!” he cried, swinging away, then back. “But your very belief threatens my world!” His jaw tightened and he raised his broadsword.
“Wait!” Kryssa screamed, desperation showing in her eyes. Lines stretched her face as she lowered her blade. “Please, spare my daughter. She is no threat to you. She does not even believe.”
“But you do,” Ikar said.
“Yes.” She tossed aside her sword. “So kill me instead.”
“No!” Pela screamed, thrashing in Ikar’s grip, though it made no difference to the giant.
Ikar stared at Kryssa for a long moment, then with a jerk of his arm, he tossed Pela aside. She flew several feet and slammed into the sand, winding her for the second time in as many moments. Coughing and spluttering, she struggled to pull herself up, to go to her mother’s aid. But strength abandoned her, and she collapsed back to the black sand. In despair, she looked at the giant, expecting to see the sword poised above her mother’s head.
But Ikar still stood fixed in place, his hulking shoulders looming in the shadows. As she watched, the broadsword slid from his hands and struck the earth with a thud. Pela stared, seeing now that a blade protruded from the giant’s chest. Sand crunched as a silhouette strode forward, and with a violent yank, plucked the short sword free.
A whisper hissed from Ikar’s lips as he swayed, then toppled to the ground. His last, dying breath hissed across the sands, and then he was still.
Caledan strode past him, bloody sword in hand, and pulled Pela to her feet. “I think we’d be going,” he said, as a great roar came from the crowd.
Stunned, Pela could only nod her agreement. A second later, Kryssa engulfed them both in a hug. “Thank the Gods.”
Then she was gone, darting across the sand to where Genevieve lay. The huntswoman was just sitting up, a confused look on her face, but she smiled when she saw Kryssa.
“Gen!” Kryssa gasped, falling to her knees beside the huntress.
Pela smiled as they embraced, then her mouth dropped as Genevieve pulled her mother into a kiss. Kryssa did not pull away, only pulled the huntswoman closer, kissing her back. They broke apart quickly and looked around with sheepish grins on their lips, but only Pela seemed to have noticed. Kryssa met her eye and mouthed silently:
I’ll tell you later.
After everything else her mother had kept from her, this was nothing. Pela would have laughed had they not been surrounded by enemies. Instead, all she could do was smile as her mother helped Genevieve up. Devon was back on his feet and lifting his fallen comrade into his arms. Pela had started towards them, when a wild shriek brought them up short.
“Stop!”
Marianne’s voice rang with power, and to Pela’s shock, her legs suddenly became trapped, as though she were moored in quicksand. Unbalanced, she crashed to the sand. Her head whipped around, finding the others similarly frozen.
The queen herself was crouched beside the fallen Ikar, but now she rose and started towards them.
“Not quite the death I wanted.” Her words hissed across the sands. “But it’s a start.”
Devon ached as though he’d been in a brawl with death itself. The darkness swirled, pulling him back down, but he fought against it—though he no longer knew why. There was a desperate desire in him to lie down, to close his eyes and bid farewell to the world.
But Kryssa’s cries and Pela’s voice and Braidon’s dying groans called to him, and he fought back, if only for a short while longer. He could not fall, not now, not while his family was in danger. Stumbling to his feet, he lifted Braidon into his arms.
All around him, the followers of the Order were on their feet. Many were already streaming from the stands down the stairs towards the arena. The other Knights, silent spectators until now, were moving forward as well. They would be on them in moments, and there were only two ways out of the amphitheatre. He turned towards the tunnel, but several Knights had already reached it and he no longer had the strength to fight them.
The docks then. The queen had left her rowboat there, though it might not have survived the explosion. They would have to risk it. Devon started towards the wooden structure, only for the queen’s voice to draw him up short.
“Stop.”
His legs shook, drawing him to a stop. He looked back and found himself trapped in the burning rage of the queen’s sapphire eyes. A groan tore from his battered body as her will pounded him, commanding him to stay, and despite himself he could not look away. Braidon groaned in his arms, but the king was too weak to stand or even speak by now.
The queen rose from beside Ikar’s body. “Not quite the death I wanted, but it’s a start.”
Blood stained her hands and Devon shuddered, looking at his fallen relative. She had had her sacrifice after all. Power shone from her eyes, commanding them, and somehow Devon knew she had stolen it from Ikar, that the Knight’s death had empowered her with something they could not understand.
“Devon,” Braidon croaked, his eyes flickering open. “Leave me. It’s my life she wants.”
“Not happening,” he whispered.
Devon looked at the queen again. She walked slowly towards them, rapier in hand, and Devon knew if he did not act now, they would all be lost. Defeated, broken, he looked around, saw the fear in Pela’s eyes, saw Kryssa in Genevieve’s embrace, and Caledan standing tall, yet unable to move.
Drawing in a breath, he centred himself, and reached deep within for an extra ounce of strength, for something to fight back with. The passage of years had eaten away at him, corroding his strength, but within he was still the same Devon that had stood against the Tsar, who had fought demons and monsters and Magickers and won. Now, at the end, his will did not fail him. It rose slowly, but unrelenting, an iron core to his soul.
“Caledan!” he boomed, his voice ringing out across the stadium.
The sellsword’s head whipped around, dragged away from the queen’s call by the steel in Devon’s voice. “Guard him with your life,” Devon said, and passed the king to the sellsword.
A hint of a grin touched Caledan’s cheeks as he accepted the burden.
“Stop!”
The queen’s will washed over them again, staggering the others, but Devon had lived sixty years and faced far worse than the likes of Marianne. He staggered, weathering the storm, and found Kryssa next. He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she looked around, her eyes shining with tears.
“Devon,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”
“No,” he said, embracing her. “I am sorry, my…daughter. I wish I could do it all again, could do it right, but I cannot. I can only say that you are my daughter, now and always, and that I love you.”
“No…” Kryssa gasped, her eyes widening as she realised this was farewell.
“Look after the girl,” Devon rumbled, before turning to Genevieve. A smile split his bearded cheeks. “And you look after my daughter, huntress.”
Genevieve replied with a sad smile and a slight nod of her head, and Devon moved on, drawing Pela to her feet. “I should have never sent you away,” he whispered. “Thank you for saving my daughter.”
“Devon…” she whispered as he pushed her towards the others. “Thank you.”
“Go,” he replied, offering one last farewell, then turned to the queen. “Run!”
Her face a mask of rage, Marianne screamed after them. Reclaiming his hammer, Devon stood guard against her, withering the force of her will. The last of his strength was fading now, consumed by the effort of facing the queen as surely as if he had fought the woman herself. He staggered and dropped to one knee, but he only had to hold her a few seconds longer…
A snarl hissed from Marianne’s lips, and pointing the rapier, she stalked towards him. “Out of my way, fool!” she spat, the blade trembling in her hand.
The sword slashed out and Devon came to his feet. But his reactions were slowed, his strength spent, and the sword plunged through his thigh. He cried out and fell back. The queen tore her rapier loose and attacked again. Devon brought his hammer up, but the queen’s rapier flashed red, and its blade sliced through the head of his weapon, just as Merak’s had all that time ago in Skystead.
Devon staggered away, but he knew it was hopeless now, and her next blow took him in the shoulder. Pain lanced down his arm and the broken hammer slipped from his fingers. Still he backed away, still he blocked her path. Clutching his arm, he glanced back and saw the others were at the end of the dock, where to his relief the rowboat still bobbed. Across the floor of the arena, the crowd had now gathered behind their queen. They stood waiting for the final blow to be struck.
“Let’s see how a legend dies,” Marianne snarled.
“Go ahead,” Devon whispered, a smile on his lips. “I’m ready.”
“So be it,” the queen replied, and rammed her rapier into Devon’s chest so hard it sank to the hilt.
Pela had just jumped into the rowboat when a roar came from the crowd behind her. She turned back in time to see the queen lunge forward. Devon made no attempt to defend himself as her blade plunged home. Only then did he stagger. He collapsed to the black sands as the queen tore the blade loose.
“No!” Pela screamed, scrambling for the docks, but the others grasped her and held her back.
Still on the wharf, Caledan cast off the mooring rope and leapt aboard, just as the queen’s voice carried to them: “Stop!”
But whatever power she’d had over them had vanished now, and they turned away. Caledan took up one oar, Genevieve the other, and together they struck out across the cove. Remembering the necklace at her throat, Pela tore it lose and hurled it into the ocean. Her mother did the same and they exchanged a look. Finally they understood their purpose—however the Queen had taken power from Ikar’s death…they had been meant to share that same fate. Burning rubble still lay scattered across the waters, and Pela shuddered at the thought of what might have been.
“Pela, jump in the front and watch for reefs,” Caledan gasped. His face was wan and Pela wondered what he’d been through to get there, but she obeyed.
Flames still lit the waters, allowing her to spot the corals and redirect their course, and they passed slowly through the surging waves. The light of the amphitheatre fell further behind, but as Pela glanced back she saw rowboats pushing off the beach in pursuit.
And ahead, the fleet of warships anchored beyond the breakers still awaited. Already torches were being lit on those barring the mouth of the cove, as signals passed from the amphitheatre. Her heart sank. Devon had only bought them a few more moments of life. There was no way they could escape so many. Soon they would follow him on the dark path.
Caledan cursed; he’d seen them as well. “So much for the damn dragons,” he muttered.
On the floor of the rowboat, Braidon’s eyes flickered open and a word slipped from his lips: “Ingytus!”
His eyes closed again before Pela could ask what it meant, but a second later, a voice sounded in all of their heads:
Fool of a King, the voice rumbled, and Pela saw an image in her mind of a great beast lifting off. If you die, my kin will wage such war against your people, the Gods themselves will tremble in their graves.
Pela shook her head and the image vanished. A frown touched her forehead as she looked at the others. Her mother looked just as confused, but Caledan and Genevieve had both grown pale.
An almighty roar sounded through the night, and movement flickered across the stars. Pela glimpsed red scales glittering in the firelight. A hushed silence fell suddenly over the cove; even the watchers in the arena did not so much as whisper. All eyes were lifted to the sky, waiting to see what would come next.
A light appeared, a candle before the half-moon in the sky, but in seconds it grew—becoming an inferno that went rushing down to crash upon the waters of the cove. The rowboats giving chase were caught in its light, and then swallowed up by the awful flames. Screamed rent the air as men leapt, burning, into the dark waters.
The shadow passed overhead, rushing out towards the warships in the mouth of the cove. The sailors aboard began to shout at one another, racing about in the torchlight, dragging weapons from their foxholes. Several leapt overboard, in their panic, and a clanking noise rattled through the darkness.
The rain of fire fell again, engulfing the first of the warships in its orange glow. In seconds the entire vessel was aflame, its crew incinerated or hurled overboard into the saving waters. An explosion rocked the night as another store of black powder caught light, tearing the ship asunder.
Pela’s heart soared as she saw their chance. With the dragon, they might just escape. She clutched a hand to her mouth as the waters around them burned, its light revealing the great beast in the sky.
But the flames had also revealed the beast to the soldiers aboard the other warships, and the twang of crossbows followed. An awful scream came from the creature as bolts flashed in the darkness, piercing its great hide.
It twisted again, dark wings beating the air, and another warship was consumed. The shrieks of burning men joined the chorus of terror ringing from the shore.
“There’s a gap!” Pela shrieked, pointing to the space left by the sinking ships.
Teeth bared, Caledan and Genevieve rowed on. The light of the flames grew and Pela held her breath, praying the other warships did not see them. But the men aboard were preoccupied with their own survival, their weapons trained on the dragon as it swept down for a third time.
Crack.
Pela saw the catapult on the rear of the warship a second before it fired. She shrieked a warning. The dragon was far too close, almost upon them. The burning barrel rose to meet it, but at the last moment it banked, and Pela breathed a sigh as she realised it would miss.
Boom.
A flash of light burst across the night sky as the barrel exploded, banishing the stars and moon and blinding them but for the dark shadow of the dragon.
Crying out, Pela tripped and fell to the floor of the rowboat. Shadows and light danced across her vision, but through it she saw the fire raining down around them, flickering out as it disappeared beneath the waves. She stared at the sky, straining to see through the chaos, seeking out the dragon.
Then she saw it.
Wings folded in two, it tumbled through the sky towards them. The explosion had torn a great hole in the beast’s chest, but still it lived, its screams echoing from the cliffs around them. Pela watched it fall, her hope turning to sudden despair. They had only seconds…
With a great crash, it struck the water alongside the boat. A wave rose from the ocean and rushed towards them, catching their tiny rowboat and hurling it sideways. Pela screamed, clutching desperately to the side of the boat.
But the wave was too great, and suddenly the boat was overturning. Pela’s hands were torn free by the violence of the ocean, and then they were all falling, toppling forward into the darkness.
And the waters of Malevolent Cove rose up to greet them all.
Pela groaned as she licked her lips, trying desperately to dampen her parched skin. The noonday sun beat down, unrelenting in the cloudless sky, while gentle waves lapped at her heels. She could hardly recall how long they had floated on the scorched piece of the ship’s hull, only that her whole body ached, that her skull felt as though it was about to crack open.
Genevieve lay draped across the other side of the flotsam, eyes closed and head resting on the wooden boards. She hadn’t spoken for hours. The only sign of life was her iron grip on their life preserver.
Pela swallowed – even that simple action agony now – and squinted against the brilliance of the sun. The ocean rose and fell beneath them, the great swells unbroken but still a threat. Already Pela had lost her grip once, when the tip of one wave had washed over them, dragging her from the makeshift raft. Fortunately, she’d still had the strength to regain the wooden boards.
She didn’t now.
There was no sign of the shore. Pela lowered her head back down, feeling the gentle rocking of the ocean beneath her, a gentle lullaby that called her to sleep. She resisted, though she could hardly recall why now. Surely it would be better, to finally give herself to the darkness, to release the fragile piece of wood, allow the depths to claim her?
After all, what was the point of going on? The queen had won. Despite their victory over Ikar, despite her uncle’s sacrifice, it had all been for nothing. Her mother was gone, Caledan and the king as well. Her uncle was dead, and she and Genevieve would not be long in following him.
As though bidden by the thought, Genevieve’s hand slipped from the hull and she began to slide into the water. Pela’s hand snapped out and caught the woman by the wrist. Genevieve groaned, but her eyes did not open. Gasping, Pela clung to her. With the last of her strength, she delivered a hard slap to Genevieve’s face.
“Wake up!” Pela screamed, though it came out more as a croak.
Genevieve groaned, her head lifting half an inch. Emerald eyes stained red with exhaustion stared out from beneath a mop of tangled black hair.
“What?” Genevieve groaned.
Pela swallowed, fighting the fear that clogged her throat. “Don’t leave me.”
Genevieve stared at her a moment longer, then nodded her acceptance. Laying her head back down, her eyes slid closed. “I’m sorry. I wish…” she trailed off.
Greif stung Pela’s eyes, though there was no moisture left for tears. “I know,” she replied. “Do you think…?”
“If they survived, the queen has them,” Genevieve replied, her voice thick with despair.
Pela looked away. “Maybe the dragons saved them.”
“There was only one, and its dead.”
“You said Braidon made a bargain with the whole clan.”
“I suppose,” Genevieve murmured, “though you saw the weapons the Knights had. They killed the beast easily.”
“But not without cost,” Pela said with a shudder.
The sight of burning men had been seared into her mind. Before the beast’s death, dragon fire had consumed most of the rowboats in the cove, as well as several of the Order’s warships. But Genevieve was right. In the end, it had mattered little. The Knights were too powerful, their inventions deadly to dragon and human alike.
After their rowboat had capsized, Pela had been lost in the chaotic water. With darkness and dragon fire all around, she had thrashed amidst the debris, screaming her mother’s name. At one point she’d thought a response had come from amidst the ruin, but the currents in the mouth of the Cove were too strong, and she’d been swept out into the ocean beyond.
Only then had she discovered Genevieve, clinging to a piece of debris. Together they had kicked out for the direction they hoped was the shore, but the surging waters off the west coast were too strong, and they’d made no progress. Eventually their strength, worn down by the battles of the day, had been depleted, and they’d surrendered to the might of the ocean.
So they had lain there all night, resting as best they could, the currents taking them where they would. When the sun had finally appeared on the distant horizon, there had been no land in sight, not even another ship.
Now Pela no longer knew how many hours they had drifted – only that her body screamed out for water, that her skin was cracked and flacking, her strength close to an end. Soon…
She shook herself, looking to Genevieve. The huntress was fading again, her breath little more than a dull wheeze between her nostrils. Pela had to do something to keep her friend awake, or Genevieve would slip beneath the waves. The thought of being all alone in the giant ocean, alone with the depths, the infinite darkness waiting below…
“Gen!” Pela gasped, then: “That’s what my mother called you, right?”
The huntress groaned. Salt coated her eyelashes, dusting her face as they cracked open. “What?”
Pela sighed. “I’m trying to say…to ask…you’re dating my mother!”
“Am I?” Genevieve whispered. Her voice was so faint she might have already been a ghost.
Pela raised an eyebrow. “It certainly looked that way, back in the cove,” she said, trying to lift the woman from her despair.
“Sorry.” A rasping noise that might have been laughter came from the huntress. “Probably wasn’t the best way for you to find out your mother…” she trailed off.
“Likes women?” Pela laughed despite herself. “I can’t say it was the biggest surprise of the day, with everything else that happened.”
“Your mother is quite remarkable,” Genevieve said, seeming to perk up somewhat. “I don’t think I quite understood how much I cared for her, until the Knights took her from us.”
Pela swallowed. That day still haunted her, the terror of their invasion, the bloodshed that had stained the temple floor. She had seen worse in the past few weeks, but that had been the day her innocence had been lost, when she’d first seen the darkness in their world.
“I don’t remember ever seeing you at the old temple?”
A smile touched Genevieve’s face, but her lips cracked at the movement. She wiped away a drip of blood before she spoke: “Whatever happened to the Gods, I’ve never felt the need to visit some old ruins to remember them.”
“Oh?”
Genevieve’s head lifted a fraction more. “Whatever remains of the Olds Gods is all around us, even now. In the mountains and oceans and forests of the Three Nations, in its people, in every good deed, and every man and woman who stands against the darkness.”
The breath went from Genevieve in a rush as she finished, and laying back down, she smiled at Pela. Pela stared back, surprised by her words. It was the longest sentence she’d ever heard from Genevieve.
Finally she smiled. “I don’t suppose that means Jurrien has a ship winging its way towards us, even now?” she teased. Jurrien had been the Storm God of Lonia, who’s powers had once guided sailors safely through these waters.
Rasping laughter came from Genevieve’s throat, but it died as the huntress suddenly lifted her head. The raft rocked beneath them as she pushed herself up, eyes on a spot over Pela’s shoulder.
“What is it?” Pela asked.
The piece of hull turned slowly in the water, and finally Pela saw what Genevieve had glimpsed. A ship surged towards them through the waters, its high decks packed with men and women who ran scurrying about their business. A boom carried across the dark waters as it rose on a swell and then dropped down the other side. It looked as though it would miss them, then a voice called down from the crows nest, and with a creaking of ropes and clothe, the ship began to turn.
Only then did Pela notice the black sails hanging from its masts, the pitch-black armour worn by the crew, the flag fapping from the stern. Her heart dropped as she realised who the ship belonged too.
“Baronians,” Genevieve whispered.
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