Chapter 9
I’m careful to keep to the shadows underneath the shiels. Guards have been patrolling strict rotating shifts, issuing warnings to anyone not obeying the curfew. They’ve caught a couple of adolescents sneaking around, but they
were spared from the brigs.
Lucky them.
I stop on the first story, next to the southern watchtower, keeping close to the structure to remain out of sight of the guards above. It’s been raining on and off for days, but there are thankfully no white caps on the water. I double-check my surroundings before making sure the blade on my hip is secure.
Then I step off the ledge and plunge into the ocean, keeping my arms and legs together to minimize water disturbance.
I swim to the ladder hanging from underneath the Main. It’s slick and covered in barnacles and algae, but I manage to get onto the structure of support beams that make up the underside of the bridge. The beams aren’t in any better shape. I slip with every step, the darkness swallowing up the space within a couple feet in front of me. I consider turning back. The bridge spans the entire width of the grove, and going at this pace, I might not make it there before daylight.
Still, the endless worry in my stomach pushes me to take another step, to get answers, but also to help. If I can.
I spend the next couple of hours shuffling along the crisscrossed beams.
One side of the bridge to the other, praying that every additional step isn’t going to be the one to plunge me into the ocean below. It’s not a far swim to
the fishing docks, but it’s one of the grove’s most patrolled areas due to teenagers sneaking out to the fishing boats at night.
It’s not until I’m within arm’s length of the brig that I realize I’ve made it. By the grace of the gods, I’ve made it.
Bracing my hands against the mangi stones, I allow my muscles a moment of reprieve. I don’t, however, remind myself that I still have to make the trek back and am already on borrowed time. The sun can’t be but an hour away from peeking over the horizon, which means I’m three hours away from having to report to training.
I peek through the cracks in the stacked stones. Light from a lantern hanging on the other side of the wooden door comes through the bars of the window, outlining one of the guards standing nearby. My eyes land on the figure leaning against the opposite wall, facing me.
His knee is bent, chained arms hanging over the top of it. He appears to be sleeping with the back of his head braced against the wall. The light flickers along one side of his body, casting the other in darkness. He looks devastatingly handsome, even in his roughened exhaustion.
His eyes open.
There shouldn’t be any way he can see me, but his gaze seems to land on my exact position. Holding my breath, I sink onto my haunches, mere inches of wood to balance on between the stones and thin air that would drop me into the water a couple of feet below.
His eyes follow my movement. “Look who it is,” he croons, though it takes effort to understand with the gravel in his voice. “The little thief herself.”
“I’m not a thief. I never took anything from the vendor at the Market.”
“But you did take something.”
“That was an accident.”
The brig is nothing more than a box. If he were to lie down widthwise, he wouldn’t fit. The chains around his wrists and ankles clang together as he leans closer, his face gaining clarity in the shadows despite moving away from the light.
His eyes are alert; surprising considering the state he’s in. Clothes and skin covered in smut from the stones and moisture, blood dried across his
skin, the bruises somehow nastier than they were a day ago.
A lascivious smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, his eyes holding mine through the gaps in the stone. “Was detaching the back of my foot from my
leg also an accident?”
I match his smile. “No.”
There’s a flash of teeth when he says, “You seem to be prone to
defiance.”
“Based on acting in self-defense?”
“Based on you being here right now.” He’s not wrong.
“You wanted my attention,” I say. “Now you’ve got it.”
“Let me guess,” he says. “The boy told you.”
My hackles rise. “The boy,” I spit, “is the future leader of Alaha, and you can at least feign respect when speaking of him.”
“Is that how you always refer to him? The future leader of Alaha…”
He’s mocking me.
“Why did you come here?”
He’s really smiling now. “For you, of course.”
A shiver runs down my spine. Although I’m mostly concealed on the other side of the cell wall, I feel as if he’s able to see every inch of me. His words cause a visceral reaction. One of fear or disgust, I don’t know.
“What do you want with me?”
His smile remains, but somehow loses the bitterness underneath, shedding the condescending edge. He cocks his head to the side then returns to his original position, relaxing against the wall.
“I can’t tell you.”
“What?” It comes out too loud, and my eyes flit to the bars in the door, checking the guard’s position. Thankfully, the sound of crashing waves helps muffle our voices. The shadow remains unmoving in the flickering light. “You wanted to speak to me,” I seethe, quieter. “So speak.”
He shakes his head once. “I don’t trust you yet.”
“Trust me?” I repeat, incredulous. “What does trusting me have to do with anything?”
He eyes me for a long moment. “Brynn.” My name comes out like more of a question than a statement, as if he’s playing with the sensation of it in
his mouth. “Doesn’t feel like it suits you.”
I’m positive he is irritating me on purpose. “What’s your name?”
“Acker,” he declares.
“Do you have a family name?”
He ignores my question. “I hope you didn’t receive a tongue-lashing because of me.”
He may be in the cell, but it’s obvious I’m stuck abiding by his terms for this conversation. “Kai doesn’t speak to me like he does to you.”
“That’s good to know.” He shifts his weight when a wave breaks around us, sending water into his cell and spraying the stones. “Considering what he is willing to do to you.”
“If you’re referring to my time in this cell, rest assured I deserved my punishment.”
And there it is—that smile he uses like a weapon. “Oh, I’m sure you did.” He shuffles toward my side of the cell, chains clinking as he moves.
“But that’s still not what I’m referring to.” I swallow, half afraid to ask.
He’s as close to the gap in the stones as he can get. “Tell me, what do you remember of your childhood?”
It’s not uncommon amongst the Alaha for children to follow the same career path as their parents. Fishermen take their children out to sea early, sometimes within days of being born. From what I’ve been told, my parents often liked to take me out with them on fishing expeditions.
When I was seven, a search party found me in the boat—alone, not a single hint as to where my parents went or what happened to them. The mystery helped perpetuate the folklore of the giant squid, but the most likely reason for their disappearance would be that they were spearfishing and forgot to tie off to the boat. Then, by the time they came to realize their grave mistake, the boat had drifted too far out of reach.
I remember the days following, the way the pretty lady held me close as I cried and cried and cried—Kai’s mother, Faline. That is my earliest memory, her and the gray-eyed boy who had a hard time reeling in his curiosity as he looked up at me in his mother’s arms.
A gradual feeling builds inside me, a yawning cavern door I haven’t opened in a long, long time.
“Why are you so sad?” the boy whispered to me as his mother dozed
with me in her arms.
I whispered, “I don’t know.”
I recall how frustrating it was that the tears suddenly stopped despite the gnawing pain in my heart. I recall the strangeness of the woman who attempted to soothe me and my desire to go home.
But I can’t recall a single thing about my parents, nor the home I longed for.
“Kai’s parents took me in after mine died, but … I don’t remember anything prior to age seven,” I tell him.
He wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t already know. He doesn’t have to voice it for me to see the confirmation in his eyes.
“The only way they agreed to bring you in to speak with me was if I made certain…” He tilts his head as he sorts out his words. “Gave assurances that I wouldn’t reveal too much, so you’re going to have to ask
the right questions.”
“What do you mean?”
He holds my gaze. “I think you know.”
Gave assurances? Was he speaking of a blood oath? The blood oath was said to magically bind a person to their word. A promise with deadly
consequences if broken.
More folklore.
“The oaths you speak of aren’t real.” He lifts one brow in response.
“They’re folly,” I say. “Kai and I would pretend as children. We’d prick our fingers and swear on our lives, and we never keeled over and died if we broke them.”
He shakes his head. “You were missing a vital piece, the glue that makes the promise hold.”
I think back on the old wives’ tale and the rhyme that went with it: Blood to blood, trust to trust, we plant this soil …
“Soil.” He nods.
“But Alaha doesn’t have any.”
By the way he remains silent, I’m going to assume that’s not true.
I release a breath, understanding dawning. “The captain has Kenta soil in his possession.”
We’re inches away, separated by a barrier of rock, and our eyes meet through the crevice.
“The soil was old. Centuries old, if I had to guess, so the oath will wear thin over time. I can already feel the binds loosening. The more you’re able to piece together, the flimsier it becomes.”
“Let’s say I believe you,” I say, dubious. “If magic and blood oaths and gods know what is true, why make a pact that could kill you if it’s broken?
Assuming you made a blood oath with Wren?”
“I knew they wouldn’t let you speak to me alone and they’d likely send someone to accompany you for protection.” He tilts his head to the side in contemplation. “I needed to see it while it was happening.”
“See what?”
He’s quiet for a moment, which tells me the oath is stopping him from revealing too much.
He lets out a frustrated breath. “Do you love him?”
I’m confused and kind of irked by his invasive question. “That’s a little
personal, don’t you think?”
He remains silent.
“Yes, I love him,” I tell him. “He’s my closest friend.”
He shakes his head, chuckling quietly. “That has to be the worst proclamation of love I’ve ever heard.”
“I didn’t realize you were wanting me to recite poetry about his eyes.”
“Closest friend,” he repeats, as if he’s got all the time in the world to ponder my statement. “I’d be mortified if those were the words my Match used to describe me.”
“Fine,” I say through clenched teeth. “Tell me about your Match. What do you love about her?” That’s assuming he has a wife. Considering his looks—the kind of handsome that’s hard to stare at—I’d say yes, but his personality is very off-putting.
His smile fades into something sadder. “She has beautiful eyes,” he says softly, like he’s lost to memory. “They’re brown and green and amber, like
every color of every season. I’ve looked everywhere for eyes like hers, and nothing has ever been able to compare.”
I actually hate how genuine he sounds. “Touching,” I say, letting the annoyance seep into my tone. “She must be worried about you.”
He shakes his head. “I worry more about her, I assure you.”
“Lucky her.”
“Careful,” he draws. “You sound a little bitter. Is it because you realize you have zero romantic interest in the man you plan to marry?”
“The reason I was in this cell,” I say, embarrassment and spite running away with my tongue, “is because we broke the Rule of Boundaries. Do you know what that is?”
He’s no longer smiling. “I’ve heard of the Alaha’s covenants. They’re a mockery of Kenta traditions, enforced to maintain control over their people.”
Any remaining impulse I had to be nice evaporates into thin air. “The captain isn’t a dictator. He’s kind. He took me in when I had no one.”
The fire in my eyes ignites in his, each feeding off the other. “And what about your real parents? Where are they?”
“Dead.”
“You’ve seen their bodies?”
“It doesn’t matter what happened to them. They’re gone.”
He clicks his tongue, a look of disgust on his face. “I can’t help you if you want to keep your head buried in the sand.”
“Help me with what?”
He shakes his head. “That’s not the right question.” If I could reach through the wall, I’d strangle him.
“When you accused me of stealing in the Market, were you trying to…”
I trail off, hesitant to speak my suspicions if I’m wrong. “Were you trying to help me?”
“Yes.” There’s a touch of eagerness in his voice.
“Because you think I’m in danger?”
He allows his silence to answer for him.
“From who?”
Waves are coming in faster now, the tide rising with the moon. It feels like an omen for what’s to come. My parents, my past, my lack of memories … he’s insinuating something big. I swallow past the lump in my throat. It’s
almost like he’s saying I’m not … I’m not Alaha.
I didn’t need him to tell me. I’ve known for a very long time, the feeling of other I’ve held in a hidden place inside of me. But it’s something else to face it from an outside source, for my fears to be reflected back at me by a stranger.
Panic engulfs my lungs and chest, sending me teetering on the small ledge. “We’re done here.”
He smiles without teeth but doesn’t attempt to change my mind or bait me. Draping one arm over a bent knee, he dips his head in a nod. “Rest assured, Brynn, all will be revealed in due time.”
There’s an implied message somewhere in his words, a hidden riddle he wants me to solve. It feels like a game.
One I’m not interested in playing.
“Enjoy your time in Alaha.” I push to stand. “It looks like you’re going to be here for a while.”
It’s a long trek back to the south tower with the conversation replaying in my mind. I thought speaking to him without the hindrance of witnesses would alleviate my curiosity, but it seems to have done the opposite.
I remind myself of Messer’s advice when I get to the end of the bridge.
Pulling the dagger from my waist, I run my fingers over the dark blade and worn handle, committing it to memory. With my heart in my throat, I hold it out over the water and drop it.
It disappears almost instantly into the dark abyss.
