Page 145 of Hijack the Seas: Tsunami

I hadn’t known what to say, and fortunately, I didn’t try.Because there he came: climbing rapidly up the cliff face, looking cleaner than before thanks to all the water on the course, but no less beaten up, and finally surmounting the top and staring around frantically.For the only person in this whole crowd he gave a damn about.

And that was when I had what little remained of my mind blown.When he finally spotted Enid, he didn’t even hesitate.He pushed his way through the masses, picked her up, spun her around, and right in front of a crowd of thousands, kissed her full on the lips.

And then held up one of the shocked girl’s arms.

“My queen!” he yelled, loud enough for there to be no doubt in anybody’s mind what he’d said.And I’d found myself grinning like an idiot, because damn.I hadn’t thought he’d had it in him.

I found myself still grinning foolishly now, as I lay in bed, staring up at a dome painted with a school of jellyfish so realistic that they seemed to move.Or maybe that was me, as the bed also seemed to be rotating slightly.Not from any physical cause—for once, I’d returned from a mission without needing intensive care—but from the immense changes that had taken place in such a short time that my brain was still trying to catch up.

I’d been too tired to concentrate on much yesterday, barely managing to stay on my feet long enough to make it here before I face-planted.And the whole way, I’d stared at my mud-covered boots or the back of the obsequious flunky who had guided us here rather than the gorgeous scenery.It looked like pictures I’d seen of Greece, with sparse vegetation studding chalk white cliffs and with azure blue water visible from pretty much every vantage point.But I couldn’t enjoy it, because whenever I tried, I felt dizzy again, which was a problem for a palace built on a mountainside!

Falling asleep, I’d assumed I’d be better by today, but it still felt so surreal.As if I was trying to wake up from a very disorienting dream and not quite managing it.Or from one of the illusions the Alorestri crafted so well and so convincingly that, when I closed my eyes, I didn’t know what I’d see when I opened them: this, or that other time.

Because they both couldn’t be real, right?

It didn’t seem possible, even when I rolled over, reached out, and felt the suede of my filthy boots, stained with sweat and blood and soot from my ruined library.And still damp from the water that a senior god had used to try to flay me alive.I jerked my hand back, only to encounter the cool, pristine marble of the floor, and had a shudder tear through me.

For a moment, I genuinely wasn’t sure where I was or who I was, even with my eyes open.

“Cassie,” Pritkin mumbled, probably missing my warmth as I tried to breathe through an incipient panic attack.

“Go back to sleep,” I told him.“Just… getting a bath.”

It worked because he was still mostly asleep, and I managed to keep my tone neutral.And then decided to make a truth out of the lie because I was filthy.I found clothes in a chest that was bigger than me, and had another moment of crisis kneeling there, staring at gossamer stuff that I didn’t dare touch because the rough skin of my fingertips would catch on the fine material.

Finally, I found another tunic, mostly devoid of ornamentation, as I think it was supposed to be an undergarment.But it still had delicate pink coral embroidered along the bottom and was made of a pale, silvery stuff like shot silk, only finer.But it was literally the plainest thing there, so I took it and wandered around the extensive pavilion until I found an outdoor shower.

It was built of piled gray stones that looked like river rocks, worn smooth by long submersion in rushing water.And tastefully weathered wood that formed a stall allowing me privacy, not that anyone else was there.I cleaned myself up using toiletries that smelled like a seaside garden, faintly floral and bracingly fresh, then just stood there for a long time, staring out at the sea.

I didn’t like it here.It was too perfect, too fresh-smelling, tooclean.I remembered the smells of that other place: rain and gunpowder from Stratford and the strange, spicy heat of the imps; dust and heat and adobe baking in the sun, along with the scent of frying tortillas and roasting corn from the incubus town; the biting taste of Gray Curl’s homemade hooch as we sat in the desert watching Pritkin sing it a song; Pigville smelling like a latrine, but better than elsewhere in Vegas, which had been highlighted by blood and spent magic and spilled intestines—

Excellent, you’re finally up, Bodil’s voice said.

I jumped, and almost screamed, just barely managing to hold it in, but not the litany of curses worthy of Alphonse that followed.

Oh, then you don’t want breakfast?I could almost see the raised eyebrow.

“We had better go,” Pritkin said sleepily from behind me, a towel thrown over his shoulder.“She doesn’t hear the word ‘no’ often.”

“Maybe she should get used to it!”I snapped, my heart still pounding.But then she sent an image, including smells, of the feast that waited somewhere nearby, and my neglected stomach rumbled plaintively.

“We have to eat sometime,” he told me, and hugged me close.

It helped a little.

Breakfast was waiting in another pavilion, built slightly lower on the side of the hill with a peaceful morning view of the sea.More columns supported more diaphanous, cloud-like curtains, and a gorgeous mosaic floor glimmered underfoot in greens, blues, grays, and golds, with a group of frolicking porpoises that were almost as realistic as the jellyfish.And the promised feast was every bit as lavish as everything else around here.I didn’t even mind that said tables were built so low that we had to sit cross-legged on some pillows to eat at them, or recline like an ancient Roman as Bodil was doing.

And she wasn’t alone.

The witchy contingent had cleaned up as well and looked good, if rather wide-eyed.Zara wore a multi-layered dress of cascading blue petals that fluttered in the slightest breeze.It suited her far better than the black thing she’d had on when I first saw her, or the blood-soaked tunic she’d been wearing yesterday.Her olive skin still looked a bit pale, and her voice was breathy when she spoke from blood loss, but someone had tamed the mass of grizzled hair into a sleek chignon that reminded me of Rhea’s—

“Don’t,” she said, seeing my face.“Your heir is on Earth, your Earth, with no knowledge of all those years of pain and suffering.I think that was one reason she stepped back in the library.She didn’twantto remember.”

“She won’t,” I said thickly.

“And neither will our counterparts,” she added, ripping into what looked like a chicken leg with a tad more viciousness than technically required.

“Counterparts?”I repeated before the reality hit me.

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