In the Wake of the Ruined (The Siren Mage, #2)(11)
He held up a hand. “No, I commend you for looking out for Theo now. But what about when you wanted to escape Seraf and you convinced him to marry you? Or how about when you said you’d take the severing draught but chose to indulge in your blood bond far longer than you should have?”
The sea air fed my anger until it became a blaze, until I felt that too-familiar plucking in my chest. My panic ratcheted. It was one too many sensations for my body to bear. I reached out to lean against the stack of crates beside me, forcing calming breaths. “You don’t understand the danger—”
“Do you understand what danger I am bringing upon myself? Escaping a proscribed criminal from the palace, bringing you with me as I try to board and commandeer a ship I am not supposed to be on… I’m committing treason. A killable offense. For Agatha. Perhaps you could try to keep a hold on your instincts in the meantime.”
“I nearly killed you and—”
“And you didn’t.” He scraped an agitated hand through his short hair. “Gods, Ligea didn’t walk around accidentally killing people!”
I bit into my tongue, stopping myself from screaming that I was not and never would be anything like my mother. And now, things were worse. Now, if I lost a hold on myself and sent out a silent lure, Eusia would seize it.
Lachlan stared out at Theodore’s ship for a long, tense moment, and then he untied Nemea’s battered crown from his belt. “What’s this?”
I glared at that scratched and dented circlet of gold and considered telling him then and there that my power was corrupted, just to shut him up. Just to see the fury in his eyes shift to fear so that I might feel less afraid, but I swallowed back the impulse. “It’s Nemea’s crown.”
He tossed it into the air and caught it again. “Nemea’s crown. Your father’s crown.” He’d regained plenty of his bravado, but I didn’t miss the strain of concern ringing his eyes as he watched me, hunched and breathing heavily. “You claim you are a queen, clinging to this shitty thing as proof, but you’re doing nothing to act like one. Seraf is without a ruler, and they don’t know it yet. Gods, I didn’t even know Nemea had died until you told me. They’ll be looking for him soon, and they’ll assume Varya captured or executed him and then we will all pay, yet again, for your actions.” He looked at Nemea’s crown with a scowl. “It’s time you did your duty. For better or worse, you’re the only one who can help any of us.”
I gave an ironic huff. “Time I did my duty…”
I might have laughed at the idea of being back here, debating the muddled space between duty and desire, had I not felt so hollow. Revolt tightened my body at the prospect of losing the hope of a life of my own, but I realized now it was already gone. Lachlan was right. It was time. I could not bear the pain of losing Agatha too, of watching whole kingdoms crumble, of watching all of Leucosia slowly slip under Eusia’s control.
A shot of hot pain fell through me as I turned my head to look out toward Theodore’s ship. Now its sails were bloated by the wind, and a new resolve began to grow in me. I could do this. I could get us onto that ship and not harm Theodore. I would close myself up like one would a damaged hull. With joiners. With pitch. I would become impermeable, inviolable, just like my mother. Just as Theodore had been when I’d met him.
And he—and all of Leucosia—would remain safe for it.
I gave a sharp nod. “I’ll get us to the ship. But I’ll need a quill and parchment first.”
Approval narrowed Lachlan’s gaze. He scanned the ships before us as if he searched for one in specific. When he finally found it, far down the line of the adjacent docking, he started toward it in a hurry. “Keep up,” he called over his shoulder.
When I stood, I let out a garbled growl. My head swayed as the aching heat in my stomach turned blistering, but I managed step after labored step, until I was at the modest ship’s narrow gangplank.
It wasn’t a polished naval vessel but a small merchant ship. Clearly it had once been fine, with its intricate carvings and gilded nameplate. Now it was old, if not well-kept. Fluttering at the top of the center mast was a gray flag, emblazoned with a black flower and a scrolling M. Lachlan stood at the rail, talking to a ship captain who looked both willing and annoyed to oblige him.
The captain glared down at me, revealing her face from below her wide-brimmed hat, and I started. With those glinting, assessing eyes, straight but strong nose, and mischievously tilted mouth, she looked just like Lachlan. She gave me a long stare, a curt nod, and then she turned away and disappeared onto her deck. A moment later, Lachlan hurried down the gangplank, carrying a small writing box.
“Is that your sister?” I asked, as he set the box atop a small crate and began pulling out parchment, a bottle of ink, a blotter, and wax.
“Yes. Older.” He held up the black quill. “We’re too alike to be close. But she liked Agatha. So she’s agreed to deliver your letter and give us a dinghy.”
I nodded and began to scratch across the parchment. The letters looked as frail as I felt.
To the Isle of Seraf’s royal council,
In the battle that the Isle of Seraf waged upon Varya, your king, Nemea Miros, fell. He lay upon his back as I, Imogen Nel, daughter of Nemea Miros and the Great Goddess Ligea, ran his own sword through his neck. As his executioner and child, I claim his throne by force and by right. I commit to ushering in a new and prosperous age for the isle and its people.