Yesterday, after another eclectic breakfast at the floating market, Soren took me out sailing in the Bay of Blood aboard a trim skiff. I had never been sailing before, and found myself undeniably nervous as we passed beyond the towering sea gate. But with Deke at the helm, steering us capably into open waters, I did not panic. Not until Soren positioned me at the bow and ordered me to fill our square-rigged mainsail with currents of wind, commanding changes in our speed and direction every few moments like the most incorrigible of admirals.
This was unquestionably the most challenging training exercise I have yet attempted. Several times, I miscalculated my own strength, nearly tearing our sails and sending our shallow-keeled vessel careening into the rocks, boom swinging precariously, water spilling in over the gunwales. I swallowed down bouts of nausea each time we pitched riotously amid the swells, trying to keep a handle on my errant tendrils of power despite the distractions.
Not an easy task.
Even Deke, seasoned seaman that he is, grew a bit green around the gills after we nearly capsized the second time, thanksto my use of a bit too much force when we tacked rapidly around a sandy shoal halfway between Hylios and the mainland where dozens of sea lions were basking in the midday heat.
Of the three of us, only Soren appeared to truly be enjoying himself. He’d lain back against the cushions along the starboard rail, arms folded across his chest, face angled up to the sky, eyes closed. Soaking in the sunshine like another lazing sea creature.
I could hardly fault him for it. Fair weather has been something of a rarity in Hylios of late. In recent days, though, it does seem to be creeping more boldly between the clouds. Today, in fact, the sun is only partially obscured by hazy mist. Visibility across the water is clearer than I’ve witnessed since my arrival in the city.
From Vintners’ Cove, I can make out a good stretch of the mainland in the distance. A pitted strip of coast leads from Daggerpoint in the south up to Titan’s Way, the heavily traversed channel that runs along the northern length of the kingdom between Llyr and Prydain Isle. Connecting the North Sea to the Bay of Blood, it is one of the most important passages in all the Northlands, for without it one would have to sail all the way around the large island the Titans call home.
No sailor would risk such a journey if it could be avoided. The Titans’ hostility toward strangers is almost as notorious as their immense size.
Eyes narrowed in a squint, I watch several ships chart a course toward the high walls of the capital. Their progress is slow in the light wind, barely enough to push their heavy cargo across the turquoise waters of the bay. They are the latest in a long string of arrivals, with berths full of guests for the wedding and holds laden with foodstuffs and decorations. Not to mention the gifts from Llyrians who cannot attend in person. There has not been a royal wedding for several decades. Excitement ishigh, and the generous tithes reflect it, with folks from all across the kingdom lavishing their warrior princess with tribute.
Each evening, I watch more ships appear on the horizon as I walk the ramparts, tiny from that vantage, their masts like matchsticks, their crews ants scurrying about as they douse sails and drop anchor outside the sea gate, where a temporary mooring field has popped up seemingly overnight. There is no room for them in the harbor. Every slip and tie-up is occupied, along with every inn and canal-side café.
The city feels near to bursting already, and the wedding is not quite a fortnight away. I can only imagine what it will be like when the groom’s party arrives from Daggerpoint. They are due in later this afternoon, according to Soren.
I catch myself wondering when the Dyvedi contingent will put in their own appearance. Probably not until the very last opportunity, given Penn’s reluctance to leave Caeldera unprotected.
I cannot say whether the thought of several more weeks of separation from him inspires trepidation or impatience within me. Somehow, both in tandem. My heart, like the rest of my world, feels ever so slightly out of sync. As though time is moving simultaneously too fast and too slow for my liking.
I tell myself that when Pendefyre finally does arrive, so will clarity of thought. And yet, the mere prospect of him in Hylios makes my breath shorten and my mind spin.
It seems incongruous.
I cannot properly picture it.
Penn, here.
A spark amid the sea.
A sputtering flame against endless blue.
A crab scuttles over my foot, startling my focus back to the cove. I nudge it away with the tip of my boot, avoiding itsclacking claws. It is a beautiful spot, secluded from the frenetic energy of the canals. The waters are calm today, the waves a gentle lull in lieu of their typical violent crash against the walls. Schools of colorful minnows dart around in the shallows. Mossy orange algae cling to the rocks where exposed beds of black mussels await harvesting before the tide sweeps back in.
It’s quite warm in the sunshine. Sweat slicks down the back of my neck, drips into the collar of my close-fitted cotton shirt, beads beneath the supple gray leather of my pants. I’m hit with a fierce urge to strip off my clothes and jump into the shimmering sea. I have not been swimming since I fled Seahaven last autumn.
Gods, was that only last autumn?
I feel I have lived several lifetimes since then.
Above the quiet slosh of waves, my ears pick up the strains of music nearby. It sounds almost like wind chimes, but deeper in pitch and not perfectly rhythmic.
An organ?
“Soren, what is that sou—”
A huge water ball slams into me without warning, knocking me backward into the shallows. My whole body is submerged for several seconds before I splutter back to the surface. Utterly drenched and gasping for air, I claw my way to my feet, my fingernails full of sand and pebbles. I am slicked to the skin, water pouring off me in rivulets.
“Infernal hells! What was that for?”
My shriek draws the attention of the vintners offshore, but I am too angry to care about causing a scene. I stomp out of the shallows with my glaring eyes fixed on Soren. He is still standing precisely where he was before, arms crossed over his chest, booted feet planted on the beach, enigmatic smile on his face.
“Instincts.”