Page 9 of I Summon the Sea

To be fair, they did fight the merfolk to the best of their abilities. It was a decent battle.

But all my attention is on that black-clad back, and when Athdara turns around, he doesn’t look jubilant or proud.

Gods, his beauty is raw and dangerous like a fine, naked blade. A perfect face, achingly handsome. A hard jaw, soft mouth, dark eyes under straight black brows, and black hair tumbling on his brow… and dark designs under his eyes, staining his cheekbones like black tears smudged on his pale skin.

His clothes consist of dark armor, a black breastplate with the symbol of the world tree embossed in silver, epaulets, and vambraces, then leather pants, boots, and greaves covering his knees and shins.

He’s still holding his twin nightgold swords.

The guards’ shouts become whispers, but he says nothing, still as a statue, his gaze roaming over the barge… and stopping on me.

His stillness is otherworldly, though his dark brows inch closer together, shadowing his gaze. “You…” His mouth forms the word even if I can’t hear it. “Hells, no.”

Whatever that means.

Without another word, he sheathes his swords over his shoulders, crossing them at his back, and strides past me, heading down the length of the barge.

Oh, nice.I scowl at his vanishing back.Nice to meet you, too.

My heart is still pounding, though, as if I’ve barely escaped a grave danger—and I’m not talking about the sea drak.

CHAPTER THREE

Doing my best not to attract unwanted attention, I shrink down to the deck and keep my gaze low. I’m invisible. Nothing to see here.

It doesn’t work so well. A stranger with white hair who managed to somehow annoy the King’s Sword right after a fight with a sea drak?Yeah.The most exciting thing to have happened in days, I’ll bet.

No wonder, then, that I’m cast lots of curious looks, but the good news is, everyone is busy steering the barges around a steep bend of the slow-moving river, and night is about to fall. Eyes on the task, and everyone is focused on avoiding a crash against the rocks.

Once the bend is behind us, the riverbank evens out. We splash softly sideways as the long poles are pushed into the muddy bottom, until we thump against land.

It looks like an often-used docking spot, the bank shored up with wooden stakes. Just another stop on the journey from the human towns to the Sea Palace.

I think about the sea drak as the long line of barges drifts to a stop by the bank. Merfolk is thought to be native to thisworld, although it’s possible the sea draks fell with the water still trickling down the World Pillar with the last Reversal.

Some say they aren’t sea draks at all but a kind of dara, the Great Dara of the Seas, but I, for one, don’t believe it. I know for a fact that sea draks are born in two different ways: either from sea drak eggs or drowned souls. I wonder if the airborne dragons have such a split, too.

Meanwhile, landing is in process. Torches are placed on their barge prows and along the riverside, as well as around the landing site. Shouts echo back and forth between us and the shore.

Being forgotten in the frenzy of work feels nice. I’d prefer not to be noticed right now, to just drift with the convoy to the Sea Palace. The World Pillar glows in the distance. I wonder how long it will take us to reach our destination.

I try to imagine the palace and how I’ll reach the fae king, but the truth is, the shadow warrior remains fixed at the center of my mind like a dark star. Who is he? I’d heard that the King’s Sword had died in a drak attack many years back, but I hadn’t known he’d appointed a new one.

To be fair, I lost track of time at some point, only resurfacing to life now.

Athdara, though… The memory of that handsome face and broad shoulders sends an arrow of heat through me.

Then I recall his stillness. That bitten-off“Hells, no,”he’d uttered, which had felt… dismissive.

Insulting.

So why does the heat linger?

Shaking my head, I step off the barge, following the guards. The cages with the humans on the barges behind ours glitter like ghosts, made of white argent and black nightgold. Not that it’s needed to keep the humans inside, but this is a sacred procession, every part of it a ritual.

And here I am, after all this time. Stepping onto solid ground.

My bare feet sink in the mud a little. I wiggle my toes, ignoring the pain in my soles. A smile teases at my mouth. It’s like a long-forgotten and once-cherished feeling, though I don’t quite recall loving mud.

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