In the Wake of the Ruined (The Siren Mage, #2)(48)
“What was it, then?” Markis asked, dubious.
Aleka shook her head. “He refused to say. But he declared the blighted island to be truly dead, truly impassable, and said its only inhabitants were dangerous, inexplicable, and not to be disturbed.”
Halla shook her head, looking terrorized and awed.
Markis ran a tense hand over his beard and gave me a scathing look before he downed the remainder of his wine. “Lovely.”
I finally took a swill from my own glass, but it did nothing to help the churning of my stomach. “That’s a thrilling story,” I said, forcing a smile.
Aleka shrugged a shoulder, her air placid. “Perhaps, Your Majesty, you will discover just what lurks in Anthemoessa’s waters and slake our curiosity once and for all.”
Wonder had joined the trepidation in Halla’s rounded eyes. She looked to me. “You must have your own stories of the island, don’t you? It being your mother’s queendom and all?”
Halla had no idea that I likely knew as much about my mother as she did. I was in no mood to tell her. “I’ve never been,” I said glibly, scooting back my chair. “If you’ll excuse me.”
She reached out and grabbed my hand. “Please.”
Whatever look she saw in my eye made her straighten and pull her hand from mine.
When she spoke again, it was with a lilting, unassuming softness. “I have thought about why you came for me,” she said. “About what my mother has done, and what you said when we were in your cabin. How you need my help. Your spell was rather…” Her blue eyes searched mine, as if even the memory of the spell was remarkable. “It was impressive. Only Eusia has proven such power. I was taught there was no other like it in the entire realm. I know now that was a lie.” She looked wounded and her shoulders sank with regret. “I will help you when we reach Anthemoessa. I do not wish to see Eusia, or my mother, continue to cause harm. But I find myself fearful of the magic. How it differs from the power of your Gods and Goddesses. I thought learning some before we arrive might help.”
Incredulity rushed through me as I realized how unguarded and sincere her gaze had become. She meant to help me perform the spell, and though it sent relief rushing through me, I kept it hidden. It wouldn’t be wise to reveal the depth of my desperation.
My gaze darted from Halla, to Markis, to Aleka, and all of them watched me with sharp gazes, waiting to see what I would do. “Very well—”
“There you are.” Lachlan appeared through the mist, seething. “I’ve circled the bloody deck five times searching for you.”
Markis rolled his eyes at Lachlan’s appearance, but Aleka extended a hand toward the chair beside her. “Sit, Commander. Queen Imogen was about to regale us with a history lesson.”
Lachlan glanced about the table like he’d entered an alternate world. He lowered himself very slowly to the chair. “All right.”
I shook my head, abashed. I felt certain that I knew less about the Great Gods than everyone at the table, but I wanted to breach the barbed divide that sat between Halla and me. If a story about the Gods would do it, then I would tell one.
“Do you not learn of the Great Gods in Obelia?” I asked Halla.
The tiara on her brow glinted as she nodded. “I learned of them in my schooling, of course,” Halla said, “but only the names of your Gods. Their powers. I would like to know how they came to be.”
“Very well.” She was earnest, and still, I did not understand her aim. I gave Lachlan a quick sidelong glance. He was quiet, tense with suspicion, but he gave me a nod to go on. I reached for my goblet again, simply to give my anxious fingers something to do. “I’ll tell it to you the way I was told it as a girl, directly from the Great God Jesop’s histories.” I could see Jesop’s lacelike script in my mind. “‘Back before time and history were shaped by my hand’—I’ve read enough of his books now to gather that Jesop thought himself a great deal more important than the rest of the Gods—‘there was the vast and ancient world.’”
I glanced at Halla to find her already enrapt. “There was the rock and soil, the sprouting, life-giving flora, the depthless and violent sea and its winds, the roaming, prolific fauna. All of these pieces of the world were—are—vital. Alive. They possessed an essence that moved and breathed and lived in these different bodies, existing in harmony with one another, helping the others to thrive. But as time drew on, these spirits grew restless. As so many ancient things do.”
“Ancient,” Halla whispered, abruptly. She looked staggered and guileless. “Do you feel ancient?”
I met her wide eyes, surprised by the question. “Do I… No,” I said. “I feel… I feel very new.”
She made a thoughtful sound, then gestured an apology. “Go on.”
“These spirits still live on in their first homes,” I said. “In the earth and sea, plants and animals, but a piece of them was able to escape their old bodies and imbue something new. The histories say that the immortal shred of the spirits found a way to inhabit the flesh of a mortal. Jesop, who was one of those new-bodied Gods, wrote, ‘How strange it is to have a boundless consciousness, and a body that knows nothing.’
“The Great Gods ruled for centuries, and while their souls were suffused of these immortal spirits and their bodies long-lived, they could not escape the desire for power that comes from being suddenly limited by flesh and bone. They wanted more. So they decided to build kingdoms. When they were only Gods—pure spirits—their power had been equal, albeit different. They’d lived in harmony. But crowns set them apart. They converted their power into wealth by claiming land and subjects who worshipped them. They could leverage their influence to grow their might beyond that of their Gods’ power, which had been untainted by such things. Jesop was the one God who loathed his crown. He gave his small island, Gos, to the Great God Milton to rule. And it was said that the Great Goddess Diantan became a queen very reluctantly.”