“Are you all right?” Myron asked.
“I don’t know.” He looked down at the deck. “If Magnus died, then who am I?”
“Whoever you want to be,” the monk said. “It’s a pretty wonderful gift.”
“How far are we?” Arista asked Hadrian, sitting down on the wheel box beside him. The fighter was still grappling with the ship, still struggling to keep its sails balanced.
“Not sure, but judging from the last crossing, we should see land in the next hour, unless Royce and I messed up really bad on the course or I wreck us. Too far this way and the sails collapse and we lose headway, which means we can’t steer. Too far the other way and the wind will flip us. Wyatt made this look so easy.”
“Is it true what Magnus told me? Did you really find them?”
Hadrian nodded sadly. “He was a good man—they both were. I keep thinking of Allie. They were the only family she had. Now what’s going to happen to her?”
She nodded. So much death, so much sadness there were times she felt she might drown. Overhead the canvas fluttered, like the sheet of a maid making up a bed. The rings rattled against the poles and the waves crashed into the hull.
She watched Hadrian standing at the wheel, his chin up, his back straight, and his eyes watching the water. The breeze blew back his hair, showing a worn face, but not hard or broken. He had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the muscles of his forearms stood out. She noted several scars on his arms. Two looked new—red and raised. His hands were broad and large, and his skin so tanned that his fingernails stood out lighter. He was a handsome man, but this was the first time she had really noticed. His looks were not what attracted her. It was his warmth, his kindness, his humor, and how safe it felt to sit beside him on a cold, dark night. Still, she had to admit that he was a handsome man in his tattered, coarse cloth and raw leather. She wondered how many women had noticed, and how many he had known. She glanced back across the sea behind them; the crypt of emperors seemed very far away.
“You know, we really haven’t had a chance to talk since getting out.” She looked at the waves breaking at the bow. “I mean—you said some things in there that—well, maybe they were only meant for in there. We both thought we were dying and people can—”
“I meant every word,” he told her firmly. “How about you, do you regret it?”
She smiled and shook her head. “When I woke up, I thought it might have been a beautiful dream. I never really considered myself the kind of woman men wanted. I’m pushy, controlling, I butt into places I shouldn’t, and I have far too many opinions on far too many subjects—subjects women aren’t supposed to be interested in. I never even bothered to try to make myself more appealing. I avoided dances and never presented myself with my hair up and neckline down. I don’t have a clue about flirting.” She sighed and ran a hand over her matted hair. “I never cared how I looked before, but now… for the first time I’d like to be pretty… for you.”
“I think you’re beautiful.”
“It’s dark.”
“Oh, wait.” Hadrian reached over to his backpack. “Close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“Just do it and hold out your hands.”
She did as instructed, feeling a bit silly as she heard him rummaging through his pack, then silence. A moment later she felt something in her hands. Her fingers closed and she knew what it was before she opened her eyes. She began to cry.
“What’s wrong?” Hadrian asked in a sudden panic.
“Nothing,” she said, wiping the tears away and feeling foolish. She had to stop this. He was going to think she cried all the time.
“Then why are you crying?”
“It’s okay. I’m happy.”
“You are?” Hadrian asked skeptically.
She nodded, smiling at him as tears continued to run down her cheeks.
“It’s not worth getting all that excited over, you know. Everything else in that place was gold and encrusted in jewels. I’m not even sure this is real silver. I was actually so disappointed that I considered not giving it to you, but after what you said—”
“It’s the most wonderful gift you could have given me.”
Hadrian shrugged. “It’s just a hairbrush.”
“Yes, it is,” she said. “It really is.”
CHAPTER 25
THE ARRIVAL
Modina faced the Gilarabrywn. She waited for it to attack, to kill her and the rest of her family. But the beast did none of those things. The monster stared at her for a moment, then spread its wings and lifted off, flying away.
They all waited, staring out through the missing wall.
“Horses,” someone said, and soon Modina also heard the sound of trotting hooves.
Twelve elves rode on white mounts. They wore lion helms and long purple capes that draped over the back of their mounts. Drawing off their helms in unison, they revealed long white hair, sharp pointed ears, angled brows, and luminous eyes of green, as if a magical fire burned within.
The lead rider looked about the shattered ruins of the castle; the mere turning of his head revealed a startling, unworldly grace and it was easy to understand how they were once thought to be gods. His eyes settled on Modina, and Amilia wondered how she could manage to stand beneath his stare.
“Er un don Irawondona fey Asendwayr. Susyen vie eyurian Novron fey Instayria?” he said. His voice sounded like the ringing of fine crystal.
Modina continued to stare back at the elf.
Nimbus rose and, moving to Modina’s side, replied, “Er un don Modina vie eyurian Novron fey Instayria.”
The elf stared at Modina for a long moment, then dismounted, his movements as fluid as silk blowing in the wind. Amilia thought his expression was filled with contempt, but she knew nothing about elves.
“What did you two say?” Modina asked.
“He introduced himself as Lord Irawondona of the Asendwayr tribe. He said the Gilarabrywn heard your claim and came to ask if you were in fact the daughter of Novron. I told him yes.”
“Vie eyurian Novron un Persephone, cy mor guyernian fi hyliclor Gylindora dur Avempartha sen youri? Uli Vermar fie veriden ves uyeria! Ves Ferrol boryeten.”
“He asks, if you are the daughter of Novron and Persephone, why have you not presented the horn for challenge at Avempartha? He says that the Uli Vermar ended some time ago and by failing to present the horn you stand in violation before Ferrol.”
“Vie hillin jes lineia hes filhari fi ish tylor baliyan. Sein lori es runyor ahit eston.”
“He says that by not producing the horn, your violation releases them from all treaties, agreements, and requirements to abide your commands.”
“Tell him I’m in the process of retrieving the horn.”
Nimbus spoke in the musical language and the elven lord replied.
“He insists that you must present it at once.”