Blood of the Sea, Chapter Fourty-Four

Chapter 44: Accretion

Astrophel

Every leader has their opposition. Every decision, another opinion.

Building along the coast was always going to have repercussions, but Astrophel didn’t expect them to happen so soon.

It started small, as it always does.

Someone noticed some rations disappeared. Then supplies. Some of the people from the Montoro tribe - home to Vance and Nox - ducked out of contributing to the building project.

By the time it reached Astrophel, they had names, but it was too late; when the five went to confront the thieves, a cart had been stolen: the tracks leading in Seyune’s general direction.

“We can catch them,” Khalil said.

Astrophel simply shook his head, staring off after them. “They’re going to the Red Queen. These are Vance’s people.”

“Let them go,” Dionne sneered, “they’re no use to us anyway. Loyalty is never bought, only earned. They don’t care for us or our leadership.”

Nox stands with them, staring after the cart tracks with a stormy sort of silence.

That was the first time they truly studied the crack that Vance had formed in the tribes. For the most part, everyone was willing to give life here a chance. Their leaders thought it was a decent idea, and some had even clued in to the concept that it was ordained by a higher power. Life would be different, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t worth living.

On the other hand, there were those who had never agreed with the five who were chosen in the first place. Add on to that being removed from their homes, the islands, their families, and their way of life… it was only a matter of time before they followed their chosen leader; the same ‘leader’ who had defected to the mages in a bid for attention.

The only thing they could do was hope Vance didn’t let it all go to his head.

Veyda

While Vance showed his ‘friends’ the city, Iblis insisted Veyda spent her time resting. Even confined to her room as her body healed, her mental efforts still churned, putting energy into the plan slowly taking shape in her mind. The islanders found Kildangan as their first gateway into the greater continent. They must have developed friendships with the townsfolk. The same townsfolk who had grated at her rule and the superiority of mages. It was long past time for them to come to heel. They are a port city. She smiles to herself. What better use for my wave caller? He’d have all the water his magic should want. It felt perfect. Flawless. And even better, it should send the message to the Riders. She was still alive; still ruling.

She would, of course, send Enya along as well. Her sister was more loyal than Veyda gave her credit for, and she was bright. Yes, she would do nicely. The pair of them should compliment each other.

Several days had passed, and now the sunlight was casting long shadows through her chambers. The red saturates throughout the room, turning crimson and bleeding into the ever lengthening darkness; the room eclipsed at her back as she soaks up the last of the sun’s kiss along her skin; the tingle of warmth seeping into her bones, even as the chill of the night wind begins to blow, billowing through the balcony curtains.

More of Vance’s people had shown up, and it bolstered him; she could see that much. Here, he knew what it felt to be seen as a leader. She had given him that. He owed her.

She knew, too, the way his gaze followed her when she was in the same room. She wasn’t blind. Her magic always knew too; preening when his heart rate sped up, indicating he had spotted her. She allowed the secret smile to grace her features each time; the expression brightening each time she saw the desire burning in his eyes. Whether it was for her or the power she held, she didn’t care.

Ultimately, it didn’t matter.

The balustrade turns cool under her touch as the stone releases the warmth of the day. It reminds her, as she pulls her blackened hands away, of the cooling of blood once outside of a body. Even - now, after the events of days before - of the way her own blood cooled under all that ice.

The thought which at one time would make her smile, now twists the expression toward that of a grimace.

Turning away from the dying light, she crosses to the door to her room, pulling open the cherry red door and whispering to Aella who stands watch. “Get Iblis and… no, just him.”

“My Queen?” Aella’s wide eyes flash toward Veyda’s mouth and Veyda presses her lips tight over her sharpened teeth. I have rested long enough. It is time to heal. Time to flourish once again. The wind mage disappears down the hallway, a whirlwind in her own right, leaving the lights flickering and the corridor bare. Veyda turns from the door, leaving it open as she limps toward a rocking chair, wrapping herself in the blanket laid across its arms.

It doesn’t take quite long enough for her to fall asleep, but also long enough that her nerve endings are screaming in their own right by the time the shuffle-step of the healer approaches.

“Took you long enough,” Veyda grumbles.

“You always were an impatient child,” Iblis comments fondly, his voice warm in the dim light of the room. He pauses, “I fear I do not have what you need.”

Veyda pinches her nose between her fingers, “No, of course. I thought Aella would…”

“I filled her in where your instructions… went without saying.”

Veyda’s gaze is pulled from the night sky toward the hallway where Aella reenters the room, her feet whispering along the floor, the collar of her own night shift cut raggedly away from her neck and shoulders. Veyda tosses Iblis a questioning glance but the healer simply shrugs.

“You are still healing. You won’t pull from her beyond the bare necessity. Think of it as a jump start for your magic.”

“My Queen,” Aella whispers in the stillness of the room. A light quiver cascades over her.

Veyda shifts in her seat, holding a hand out to her messenger. The wind mage places her hand in Veyda’s, dropping to her knees. Iblis steps forward, a flash of steel in his hands before Aella hisses in pain and the metallic scent of blood floats toward Veyda, backed by the heat of life. Her mouth covers the wound at once, drinking in the life-liquid as though her own life still depended on it. As though she were still encased in ice.

Aella groans and Iblis places a hand on Veyda’s shoulder, but it is all fuzzy background noise until the jolt of heat worms its way into her skin and she recoils. Wiping at her mouth, Veyda shakes off the brain fog, taking in the scene of Iblis wrapping Aella’s wrist in white cloth, telling her, “... thanks you for your faithful service.”

Aella nods, slightly star struck, but Iblis guides her to her feet and then out of the room. The wooden door closes softly under his hands and he shushes Veyda when she tries to rise from the chair. “Conserve your strength. You barely scratched the surface of Aella’s reserve.”

Veyda swallows, pure relief hot on her tongue. Her night shift is thin enough that the air coming in off the balcony sends a chill across her skin; the hairs on her arm prickling, stabbing at her until her magic ripples, growing and morphing from scab-black back toward a healthy red. It is then that she takes what feels like her first deep breath since being trapped in ice.

Her mind feels sharper, more like herself, and she lifts her chin. “Send word to my sister. Tell Enya I have need of her.” She pauses, relishing in the feel of her heartbeat pulsing under her skin. “In the morning, gather the J’korun we have on hand who could stand to face a little chaos. They will leave in the coming days.”

Iblis bows deeply, “Of course, my Queen. For now,” he gestures towards her lavish bed, “rest.”

“Rest.” Veyda sneers, “I have things to do, Iblis.” But she follows his directive: her body heavy and tired as she slides under rich blankets and satiny soft sheets. Outside, Veyda can see the stars begin to come out and play, and her eyelids droop as warmth finally seeps through her frigid skin.

Iblis leaves her to her thoughts, the door closing her off from the rest of the sleeping castle. The wind whispers to her, and she is reminded of the conversation she had with the silver-haired leader at the banquet she held for him. If our Seers receive visions; what need have they to hear voices? He thought it was less direct. Perhaps that everything she had to offer was less. Veyda’s lip curls back, her eyes narrowing as a familiar anger burns in her chest. If our gods favor one sense over the other, I see no reason for it to be seen as less. What does he know, anyhow? Confident doubt replaces the anger and her eyelids flutter shut. He wouldn’t be the one to hear the voice of the gods anyway.