Page 20 of I Summon the Sea

The punters lay their poles inside the hold of the barge and take their seats on the benches, pushing out the oars. A drum starts at the back of the barge, setting the rhythm, and the lurch of the boat now depends on the rowers. They push the boat fast over the sea—a good choice, since, at this time of the year, the winds turning with the Pillar could rip our sails and sink us.

Seabirds fly low over the sea, rock gulls and peretrels, terns and bladebills. Among them, I catch a bigger shape.

A darakin, I realize, its colorings white and gray, blending in with the seabirds.

I watch the little dragon fight with the flock, probably over a fish, my mouth twitching a little. Darakins are rarely seen flying so low, and to find one as we journey toward the palace feels like a sign.

Okay, so a darakin fighting with squawking gulls and terns over fish may not be the best of signs, but I’ll take what I can.

Patting the dagger and pouch at my side, I gather my knees in and loop my arms around them. My feet burn, and I rub the soles over the deck, seeking relief. I need to learn to ignore the sensation. It’s part of the spell that’s hiding my magic and my true nature.

The guards are talking, some of them pointing at the distance where the spires of the Sea Palace rise, white and iridescent like mother-of-pearl. The bridge connecting it to the second island arches high, and now I realize there are more islands, if they can be called that, not much more than bare rock teeth rising from the sea.

They form a semi-circle in front of the palace, the maw of a monster waiting to swallow it. Small white structures gleam on them like old bones.

“The arena,” the guards are saying, pointing. “That’s the arena.”

“Where?” The female guard—Varna—shades her eyes with her hand. “Where’s the arena?”

“In the water in front of theanaktor,” Arkin says. “Didn’t you know?”

“Not all of us come from the capital and know things,” she grumbles.

The games take place in the infested water. Here is what I know:

Every year, various boats and floating platforms are placed inside the semi-circle of tiny islands, and various feats are devised for the human victims to attempt, giving them the illusion they might make it.

But the water is why the humans thrown inside the arena have never made it out. Not to the end of the third game, at any rate. Luck and skill may get you through rounds one and two, but eventually monsters and exhaustion always win out.

“I’m not from the capital,” Arkin scoffs, “and everyone knows how the games work.”

“Not me,” she replies, “and if you—shit.”

A hush falls, and I know without turning my head who has boarded the barge and is walking across the deck.

Athdara strides past me to stand on the prow, the wind toying with his black hair. He bows his head and plants his feet apart on the deck, gauntleted hands curling into fists at his sides. He’s all in black as usual, the absence of color lending him an austere elegance, and the shadows curl around his boots like eager, hungry snakes, entwining around his calves and muscular thighs.

Our barge rushes forward, slicing through the sea, the fae aristocrats’ tall boats keeping pace, so that we seem to be moving inside a tunnel, the spray of water coating my lips with salt.

He lifts one hand as if in greeting at some point, and I see the white and gray darakin somersault overhead as if greeting him back.

Impossible, right? The dragonkin and other races have never been friends, even the fae drak riders don’t actually communicate with them, apart from giving certain commands.

Then again, he speaks to dragons, right? Why is it so hard to believe the dragons… don’t hate him? Maybe they see him as kin. How does one become a dragon summoner? How did he gain such a power?

The darakin flies away as the sea starts to heave, the boats rocking on the sudden waves. The movement isn’t natural. Some big creature moving under the sea is causing it.

Another sea drak?

Athdara doesn’t move, though, so I suppose it’s nothing worrisome? He lowers his hand, and I frown when I see dark liquid dripping from his fingers.

Wait… is that blood?

It’s seeping through his black gauntlet and splashing from his fingertips onto the deck.

When did he get injured?

Tru joins him, though he keeps a few feet away from him. “Is it contained, Athdara?”

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