Page 115 of I Summon the Sea

The crowd susurrates.

“I greet you,” he says, voice rising, “my bold and gallant people who followed us through the gates, who had the courage to leave a dying land behind and brave a new world.Three hundred years.We made this world our own, suppressed any resistance, secured our future. Now we celebrate on this, the longest night of the year, the Pillar’s fastest rotation, here in the Central Sea, defying the treacherous, malevolent ocean and its creatures. We are the victors in this battle. We are the survivors, and we are here to stay.”

Or not, according to what he told me. Is he keeping his true intentions a secret from his people? And why does he want to lead them to another world if they are so happy here?

The fae break out into cheers.

Two of them climb onto the dais to stand on either side of him. One of them is a woman, her gown black and gold in the colors of the fae empire, her crown black against her pale hair. The other is a man, broader at the shoulders than the king, his head bare.

“His aunt Semaj,” Jai says softly. “And his uncle Karr.”

The fae nobles lift their hands over their heads and clap, their hollow hats amplifying the sound.

Wait.There had been a reason for the ridiculous design? I’m bizarrely impressed.

It’s all fascinating, but Jai’s hand around mine distracts me. He holds most of my attention. Who is he?Whatis he? After watching him and interacting with him for days, after asking his best friend about him and hearing what he had to say, I’m still unsure.

The king’s right hand, whoring himself to the enemy, or a savior of his people, risking his life to pull them out of the sea, protecting me from bulling fae, climbing into my bed every night to keep my sleep nightmare-free?

Why can’t he be both? The most dangerous snakes are those hiding in plain sight.

The most dangerous snakes are the prettiest, most colorful ones.

Though that would exclude Jai, I think wryly. The only color on him right now is the light flush on his pale cheeks, making the black designs on his cheekbones stand out starkly. Otherwise, he’s a study in black and white, cut from shadows and light, austere and solemn, the lines harsh and yet fitting perfectly together, from the long lashes shielding his dark eyes to the lush bow of his upper lip and the long column of his neck.

Until he catches my gaze and smiles, instantly softening those lines, the smile turning him from austere to sexy andbeautiful.Why does my heart ache so?

“Rae,” he whispers.

Bright heat washes over my face to be caught staring. If that’s a spell, if he’s influencing my mind… Then again, I’ve never heard of fire magic or shadow power doing anything of the sort.

This is all me. I’m so easily swayed. Amphitrite never thought to train me against male beauty before sending me here. I’ll file an official complaint from the afterlife.

Who knew the fae king’s most lethal weapon would be his second in command’s good looks?

Yeah, because the rest, the kindness he’s shown, the gentleness, I won’t even think anymore about those.

Right.

Guards surround the dais, their tall spears glinting, as drummers take place on either side of it, starting a pounding rhythm.

Masked fae are gathering, clapping their hands over their heads, their amplifying hats making a booming sound. They form a line as they approach the dais and parade past it, heads turned to the Pillar, a multicolored ribbon of people winding past the glittering king and his family, the stone-faced guards and the drummers.

More and more fae pass us by, securing their masks on the sides of their hats so they hang over their faces—masks representing birds and dragons and other, unrecognizable animals—before they lift their hands and start to clap.

The noise is dizzying. Maddening.

Neere marches past me, thankfully unaware of me, her gaze seemingly fixed on the dais. The mask she lets fall over her face is that of a white falcon to match the bird fluttering on her shoulder.

Music unfolds from somewhere to our right and turning, I find fires being lit around another dais.

On it stands a skeleton.

No, I realize, it’s a man in a skull mask, and even from here I recognize the wild gray beard and hair streaming over bulwark shoulders.

It’s the telchin. He’s standing there like a storm god, directing the winds and the heavens.

“We call on the Eosphors to watch and protect us!” he calls out as the drums start to beat faster. “We call on the gods andrevered heroes of our past. We see you. We see you in the crowd, mingling with us. Don’t forget us. Look over us.”

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