Page 27 of I Summon the Sea

But as I soon realize, the entire isle is surrounded by wharves that jut out from all sides like the spines of an urchin, and one of those wharves is reserved for us. The black banner of the sacrificial victims flies on a pole stuck at its end, the crest of the royal fae house glinting gold on it: the pillar with a serpentine dragon winding around it, the reptile wearing a tall crown.

I’ve seen the royal fae crest many times in the past, always flying proudly on any convoy or caravan, stitched on any herald’s or highborn’s clothes—only normally, the hues are inverted: a black design on a golden background.

The cries of the oarsmen and the captains ring out as the convoy slows to a crawl, and we, the first barge, slide alongside the wharf until we bump against the rocks.

I take in the isle. Its entire surface is built like a town, with narrow streets and white two-story houses, but it’s unlike any town I’ve seen in my life. The houses are circular, spires sprouting from their roofs, their white walls woven with golden strands, creating symbols and shapes. The doors are black, all of them carrying the king’s crest in gold.

At the center of the island—which isn’t much bigger than a small village, from what I can see—rises a white watchtowerwith a golden spire on top and a spiral staircase twining around it, recalling once more the royal crest and the dragon wrapped around the pillar.

I wonder who lives here and where they will host us if so many boats?—

“We’re staying on the barges,” Tru says. “Until the games begin.”

Of course.

I point at the palace. Point at the darkening firmament and the wandering Eosphors glowing in changing constellations.When?

His jaw is tight when he says, “Tomorrow.”

CHAPTER NINE

The barge creaks, rocking gently by the wharf as the darkness deepens. Lights appear in the windows of the houses, and at the top of the tower, a fire is lit, illuminating the island.

But the brightest light is the Pillar in the distance, casting everything in shades of blue and gray, throwing out shadows and humming like a melody in the marrow of my bones.

The barges thump gently against the rocks of the wharf, the planks groan and moan, people talk and laugh as they prepare for sleep in the holds and on the decks. The cages jammed full of humans gleam on the barges behind us. The light of the Pillar and the beacon show bodies and faces pressed against the dark, nightgold bars.

Tomorrow.

The Sea Palace Island and its twin are also illuminated, the arching bridge faintly glowing. Music wafts over the waves to us. It sounds like a ball is in progress on the big terrace and inside the rich halls. Fires have been lit on the islets forming the arena, its circular shape clearer than ever, burning against the dark sea.

That’s where we’re going tomorrow.

This is it.

Try or fail.

Everything up to now has been in preparation for this.

The deck creaks with steps. The guards are still moving back and forth, settling in for the night. Some of them patrol along the barge with their spears ready, keeping watch, while others have already curled up near the center of the boat to catch some winks, and yet some others are playing Dice and Dragons. It’s a favorite game among the fae, a game of numbers and colors relying on luck, memory, and skill born of experience.

Like many things in life, I suppose.

I’m chewing on a piece of jerky a guard threw at me as if I were a dog, my stomach already hollow with hunger, when a few softly spoken words catch my attention, and I forget all about my hunger.

“The prophecy says he will not fall by a human hand,” the guard is saying, “nor a living hand.”

“Prophecies are a load of crap.” This one is another female guard. She shakes her head as she tosses the dice. “Good throw!”

Not so many women in the fae army, it seems, which makes sense, seeing how few their females are and how few new fae are born. You can’t risk such valuable assets, can you?

I’ve heard stories of how badly they treat their women. The fae are such bastards. Are those stories true, or is my prejudice against them showing much? They are beautiful, and so much stronger and magical than humans, but also so much crueler, as history has shown us.

“The prophecy is a lot more complex than that,” the other guard, a man, argues. “The part about him not being felled by a living hand has to be allegorical. Prophecies aren’t meant to be taken literally.”

“There is a part about a fallen god?—”

“Eosphor.” The man’s voice finally registers, and I realize it’s Arkin. “An Eosphor, Neere.”

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