Until the Cull.
“Is Carvage not the rumored location of the Earth Court?”I ask.“Or what remains of it?”
“Yes. I have searched for the ruins several times, without much success. Even before the mortals sacked it, the House of Amaethon was supposedly difficult to find. The most isolated ofthe four strongholds and the least accessible, tucked at the heart of Anwyvn’s oldest forest. The few tomes I have found on the subject describe a sprawling network of treehouses built into the upper canopy, connected by rope bridges and ladders.”
“It sounds enchanting.”
“I’m certain it was. Just as I’m certain they thought they were safe there, in their wild jungle. It had sheltered them for millennia. But mortal axes made stunningly quick work of their sacred groves. Catapults spread fires quicker than they could be put out.”A low chord of discontent thrums down the bond.“After they killed every fae they could get their hands on, the invading armies ripped out the jungle by the roots, then salted the earth to prevent anything from ever growing there again. It is now naught but a patch of scarred dirt, barren and lifeless.”
I cannot fathom the amount of hatred it would take to justify such a measure.“They sought to erase us. Every trace.”
“Some still do,”he warns.“This simmering war will come to a head. And soon. Can you not feel it?”
I can.
It is palpable in the air as our bows cut through the increasingly chaotic seas that churn off the northern coast of Dymmeria. It is visible in the dark clouds that block out the sun overhead, crackling with distant lightning. For once, I cannot be blamed for the foul weather.
We keep far offshore, though the passage would undoubtedly be smoother closer to the coast. We don’t want to be spotted by Dymmerian soldiers stationed inside the many ebony lighthouses that spike up from the black sands at the edge of the desert. Each time we pass within their sight lines, I do what I can to cloak us with mist and fog, borrowing Soren’s strength to alter the air’s density. It is more difficult than I anticipated, and results in a splitting pain through my temples that threatens toknock me unconscious. I cannot hold it for long, even with his considerable strength shoring me up through the bond.
“Can’t say I like sailing in a fogbank,” Deke informs me, his peppery hair catching the wind. “But I’m sure I’d like it better than our odds in a sea battle without any cannons aboard.”
I laugh to cover my anxiety.
Vaughn was right. We should’ve brought a cannon or two, speed be damned.
The closer we get to the Iron Isle, the more precarious the seas. Now the fins that slice beside our bows are not the curved dorsals of friendly dolphins but the deadly triangles of sharp-toothed sharks. The delight I’d felt in the wide-open expanse of the Endless Ocean dims to a faint flicker, then disappears entirely.
We are all tense, no longer laughing as we take watch, our eyes peeled to the rough surface for any sign of the shoals that stretch offshore, swept there by the unending sandstorms that rage through the Husk Desert. They are nearly impossible to see, especially at night. We err on the side of caution, for we cannot afford to run aground.
Our speed slows to an infuriating crawl.
“How much longer, do you think?” I ask Deke as dawn breaks on our fourth morning. My eyes flicker west, where Dymmeria bends in on itself like a misshapen horseshoe. The Iron Isle sits somewhere at the center of that curve, but I cannot yet make it out amid the shadowy waters. The sea here is so dark it is very nearly black, the surface only broken by the occasional whitecap of a cresting swell.
“Should be there by dusk, just in time for the late tide.” Deke’s weathered eyes narrow on the horizon. “Assuming we don’t get tripped up by—”
The words are halfway out of his mouth when the quake hits.
The boom sounds from deep within Dymmeria. I do not understand what is happening at first. Not until I see the distant dunes collapsing in on themselves like a pile of sugar heaped too high. Whole mountains of sand shake violently as the earth below trembles with astonishing force. They fall into the sea all at once, an avalanche that causes a splash so high, my heart stumbles inside my chest. It stops entirely when I watch that splash solidify into a solid swell.
A tsunami.
“Infernal hells!” I hear Jac yell from the foredeck where he and Mabon are sparring.“BRACE!”
My eyes swing around the ship, taking account of everyone. There is Penn, racing up from the crew quarters, strapping his bandolier across his chest as he moves. There, by the starboard rail, Cadogan is running toward Melité. There, in the ratlines, Chari and Xio are scrambling quickly toward the deck.
Where is Farley?
“Fuck!” His oath is distant. “Oh, fuck me!”
Skies.
He’s in the crow’s nest, of all places.
“Farley!” I scream. “Get down from there!”
But there is no time. The wall of water barrels straight at us with incalculable speed, roaring like a wild beast. There is no stopping it, though I can feel Soren’s maegic surging as he tries his best to stave off its advance from the other ship.
It is too strong, and far too close.