Dance of a Burning Sea (Mousai, #2)

Even now, Niya’s body flowed in a smooth rhythm to her orders, not a step tripped or movement wasted. She had proved to be a quick study in her duties. But this did not surprise Alōs, for he had understood early that she was a clever and adaptable creature. Like him.

“The anchor’s up, Captain,” Emanté, his boatswain, said as he approached. His white skin was always in a different state of sunburn, yet never once did he complain. The young man seemed to enjoy any time spent under the sun, as his currently bare chest proved.

“Then prepare all to hold on,” instructed Alōs.

“I’ve got a good grip on her, Cap’n.” Boman nodded to his sturdy grasp on the wheel.

His pirates knew what to do when told they were going to Esrom.

Kintra ascended the stairs from the main deck to come to Alōs’s side. Holding a bowl, she extended him a clean knife. Alōs picked up the blade and rolled up his sleeve, displaying a few old cuts on his forearm. He sliced a new one open.

Kintra held the bowl beneath his arm and caught every crimson drop before handing him gauze and a bandage.

Wrapping his forearm, Alōs met Niya’s curious gaze from where she stood below. Her attention fell to his bandage.

A flicker of displeasure settled over Alōs. What he was about to show her not many had seen. But it could not be avoided.

Placing his back to her, he rolled down his sleeve as Kintra carried the bowl to each corner of the ship, using a rag to mark sections of the banisters with his blood.

Only those from Esrom could locate the hidden realm and open the passageway that led to the underwater city. Alōs’s blood acted as the tether that could always return him to his place of birth. It was said to have been a gift from the lost gods to Aerélōs and Danōt, the first people of his homeland, before the city had sunk to the seafloor. A way for their children to always find their way home. Alōs’s mother used to retell the story to him and his brother as she tucked them in at night.

His mother.

His mother was dead.

Walking to the stern, Alōs grasped the banister and stared out at the calm sea. Barter Bay had now shrunk to a mere smudge on the horizon behind them.

Ixō had left immediately after his visit, jumping into the waters, his ancient surb magic creating an air pocket around himself as he descended into the depths, finding his way back.

Alōs could do the same, but getting his ship and crew there safely was an entirely different matter. And he could not leave them topside. He didn’t know how long this trip would take. Plus, there were advantages in sailing to Esrom, one being that when you left, you could get to farther parts of Aadilor quicker than if you sailed above.

Anything to get him closer to the Valley of Giants, he’d take.

Inhaling a deep breath, Alōs began to push his magic into the wood. His muscles strained as he pushed out his gifts, the icy magic crawling through his veins and out of his skin. Like sparks and crackles of light, his gifts swam through the banister’s density, stretching the entire length. Mine, his magic hissed, all of this is mine, until it hit the markings of his blood at each corner of his ship, connecting like a click of a lock. Any with the Sight could see the ship now ringing and pulsing with his magic, glowing brighter as he forced out as much of the lost gods’ gifts as he could, until the air grew cold, frosted. His breaths came out in icy puffs.

He held his beloved, his Crying Queen, in a hug.

And then, when he felt all was secure, Alōs spoke the words that would get them to Esrom.

“Dōs estudé.” My home.

The waves below his ship roared as they crashed away, a tear ripping open across the sea, sending the Queen swaying. Fish flopped to the surface, chunks of foam flew, and salt water sprayed across Alōs’s face. His body felt torn in two as he fought for control, his magic wanting to sever him as it stretched from his skin, pulled at his bones, but he held steady.

It wasn’t until he felt as though he might topple overboard, until his nerve endings sizzled their exhaustion, that a wide chasm opened beneath them and the Crying Queen fell through.





CHAPTER NINETEEN

A cool mist peppered Alōs’s skin, wind whipping back his hair, as they traveled through a hollowed-out waterway. It was called the Stream, the passage beneath the waves that could be created to sail to Esrom.

Sea life did not penetrate inside the tunnel of air but could be seen swimming outside its current. The Stream took them down, deeper into the waters, and as the sunlight dimmed, glowing jellyfish and other illuminating marine life lined its liquid sides, urging them forward. The Crying Queen skimmed along the bottom of the Stream’s floor as it soared at a dizzying speed.

No matter where you sailed from in Aadilor, the journey to Esrom through this passage always took exactly a full sand fall. Which made this path one of the easier to travel, despite being underwater and requiring magic and blood.

But Alōs was not scared of blood.

Their journey had barely begun when Alōs saw the blue glow at the end, heard the roar of the waterfall that was the final entrance to the hidden city. It cataloged all who entered and exited, and as the Crying Queen passed through, the ship was awash with shimmering dust, a punctured layer of magic, as they left the Stream and swam into new waters.

The true splendor of Aadilor took up Alōs’s vision.

A sparkling kingdom at night stretched out, the star-filled sky camouflaging any hint that they were indeed deep down at the bottom of the Obasi Sea. Warm, fragrant air filled Alōs’s lungs on a deep inhale. Home, his magic purred.

Alōs’s nerves danced with a fighting mix of relief and dread.

In the midst of the calm waters, three large islands stood proudly in the distance, while smaller isles floated above in misty clouds. Woven bridges connected them like silk spiderwebs, and glowing waterfalls crested their shores, pooling into the sea below. Thin fishing boats slid by lazily, their lanterns spots of warmth in the dark. But what drew all visitors’ eyes was the palace that stretched up gracefully from the center island, soaring above the dense foliage that covered the land. The architecture was a spectacle of shimmering starlight that looked as though it were made up of diamonds, and thin silver turrets sprouted from every rooftop, allowing floral blue ivy to climb and wind over their expanses. It was a castle that inspired bedtime stories and the promise of better times. Here floated the islands of Esrom, a sanctuary for all of Aadilor.

Banished or not, Alōs could not help the twinge of pride he felt whenever he looked upon it.

Anchoring the Crying Queen in a hidden inlet along the southern side of the main island, Alōs steadied his resolve as he went to instruct his crew to stay aboard.

None had dared disobey the order since Tomas. Tomas, whose skull was now a bookend in Alōs’s chambers.

Striding along the main deck, he passed Niya, ignoring her penetrating gaze on him. She no doubt wondered why they were here. But as she must learn, like the rest of his pirates had, no one questioned the captain when it came to Esrom.

Alōs stopped beside Kintra where she waited for him by the portside banister. “I do not know how long this will take,” he admitted, a squeezing discomfort hugging his chest at what he was about to do. What he had been guilted into doing. “But I will be back as soon as I can.”

“We’ll be here, Captain,” said Kintra, her features filled with understanding. “Take whatever time you need.”

He had confided in her regarding Ixō’s visit, but still, he did not enjoy any grain of pity. He was Captain Alōs Ezra, the most merciless pirate in Aadilor. Pity was not for the likes of him and his cold heart.

“Make sure she behaves,” he said, not needing to explain who “she” was. “Tie her back up if need be.”

“I can hear you, you know?” said Niya from behind them.

They both ignored her.

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