Page 14 of I Summon the Sea

And Tru is still yelling at me to save myself.

Obediently, I stick my forefingers into my ears as it dawns on me that I might be susceptible to the music now, with the spell muting my magic.

Behind us, the humans rattle the bars of their cages, moaning, shouting, and screaming. I can hear them through the stoppage in my ears, as well as faint wisps of mermaid song.

The barges sway in the water.

Draks circle overhead together with birds of prey, probably waiting for the chance to grab one of us for breakfast. I can’t make out any of the Great Dara.

The guards move around on the deck, shoving with their spears at the mermaids who are trying to climb the boats. I can make out claws digging into the wood, bare breasts, long gleaming hair, beautiful faces, and sharp teeth.

Some guards hesitate to push them off, startled by their beauty, to their detriment. One of the fae men screams as a mermaid pulls him off the barge and into the sea. There’s barely a splash as she carries him down into his watery grave.

The shove and pull rocks the barge even more, and I press my back to the side of a bench where punters sit to rest, curling intomyself. Pain flares low in my back, roughly where my birthmark is, though I can’t remember getting hurt.

It’s nothing. A bruise, most likely. I hadn’t expected so many attacks, if we’re being honest.

Then again, having the humans in those cages is probably evoking all sorts of feelings in the finnfolk—ranging from raw hunger to indignation and anger. Some finnfolk are allied with the humans, while others don’t give a damn and just want a fresh meal. Who’s to tell?

By the way, where is Athdara? Does he only help if he feels like it, on a whim? Is he sitting a few barges back, eating peeled grapes and drinking wine, resting his eyes while everyone else is running about in pure, unadulterated panic?

He’s an aristocrat, the king’s favorite, a stuck-up fae lord and a butcher, kidnapping and killing humans for the king’s pleasure. I mean, what else is the King’s Sword but that?

“Oh, come on, you know he’s crazy. Everyone knows.”

Tru had reacted to that declaration like a mad cat, hissing and spitting. Truth be told, it doesn’t make any sense. A famed warrior, the King’s Sword, a man sent to gather prisoners and protect the sacred convoy back to the Sea Palace, can’t be mad.

Which means he’s simply arrogant and vain, as expected.

We finally leave the mermaids behind, the convoy rocking back and forth as the last barges make it through the straits and around the river bend. The river widens again, straightening, flowing toward the sea. Swamplands surround us, the banks dripping leafy branches into the water that trail bright green in the murk.

It’s a slow-moving river, but we’re finally making good headway toward the blue expanse of the sea… and our destination.

From here, I can see gleaming spires. Is that the Sea Palace? Letting my hands drop to my sides, I stare at the distant white needles piercing the dawn’s colors.

As the day rolls on and we move downriver, the spires become clearer. The palace is on an island in the sea, connected to a second island with a bridge, and now it’s visible, too, a gleaming pale arch. I stand up so that I can see better, shading my eyes against the glare of the glowing sky.

Another shape, this one much closer and on the riverbank, comes into sight. A few low buildings, a squat tower.

A fae outpost.

It’s obvious we’re heading there. It may be the last outpost before the sea and the palace, so I’m not surprised when the punters start shouting instructions at one another in that unintelligible tongue of theirs, full of clicks and whistles, said to have been created to carry over the wind and distance, directing one another to the docks.

I’m lightheaded again. Famished and bone-tired. The tattered hem of my once-white dress flaps around my shins as I step closer to the prow. The outpost stretches over the riverbank, composed of barracks and the watchtower.

The squat design of the buildings makes me think they were also human once, nothing like the spires and arches the fae seem to favor, the delicate design brought over from their own world.

A world that was, apparently, green and full of trees, until the water of the last Reversal filtered into it, creating the need to build high, or so the story goes. It’s probably all excuses to justify the fae invasion of our world, and?—

The barge lurches sideways, bumping into the dock, and I stumble with a gasp, reaching for something to hold onto and finding nothing. The guards are busy checking around the boat for any sprights or other river life, and I fall.

Over the prow.

Toward the water, a mirror showing me my face, my wide eyes, and the painted mark on my throat?—

Hard hands grab me, yanking me up and swinging me away from the water. “What in the hells were you thinking?” Athdara snaps, setting me on my feet, his hands like nightgold gripping my hips when my knees give away. “The water is dangerous.”

And what do you care if I fall?I think, staring back into eyes like the velvet dark of night, shadows under his brows and the hollows of his cheeks, those dark designs curling under his eyes like flowers and wings.

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