Hearts in Exile

By Mysti Parker

In Tallenmere, fate has a way of catching up with you...

Somewhere, hidden in the waters of the Southern Sea, lies an island unlike any other. Within the amber glow of its pyrogem-laden cliffs, legend says the very heart of the dragon god Drae keeps the island, and its occupants, alive.

Loralee Munroviel, daughter of Leogard's High Priestess Arianne, had no idea what she would face when she arrived by boat ten years ago and was left alone in exile. All she knew about Draekoria's inhabitants was written in one tattered notebook. Now, her life revolves around keeping Drae's descendants happy. Never in her life did she imagine being a Dragon Keeper.

Captain Igrorio Everlyn, known as Sir Robert to his unit of Holy Paladins, has faced his share of hell, battling the evils of Emperor Sarvonn's tyranny and the dark god Tyr's abominations. But none of that compares to the ten years of hell he's been without Loralee, presumed dead.

One freak storm changes everything. Now the two of them must fight to reestablish the delicate balance of the island before the dragons take things into their own hands. Through it all, they discover the secrets that kept them, and their hearts, exiled for a decade.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melange Books, LLC
• Release date: May 30, 2013
• ISBN: 9781612356303

Mysti Parker

Mysti Parker (pseudonym) is a full time wife, mother of three, and a writer. Her first novel, A Ranger's Tale was published in January, 2011 by Melange Books, and the second in the fantasy romance series, Serenya's Song, was published in April 2012. The highly anticipated third book, Hearts in Exile, came out in June 2013. The Tallenmere series has been likened to Terry Goodkind's 'Sword of Truth' series, but is probably closer to a spicy cross between Tolkien and Mercedes Lackey. Mysti's other writings have appeared in the anthologies Hearts of Tomorrow, Christmas Lites, and Christmas Lites II. Her flash fiction has appeared on the online magazine EveryDayFiction. She serves as a class mentor in Writers Village University's seven week online course, F2K. Currently, she's working on her first historical romance and has two children's books in the the hands of a hard-working agent. When she's not writing, Mysti reviews books for SQ Magazine, an online specfic publication, and is the proud owner of Unwritten, a blog voted #3 for eCollegeFinder's Top Writing Blogs award. She resides in Buckner, KY with her husband and three children.

Book preview

Acknowledgments

My thanks goes first to God above, who never fails. To my husband of sixteen years, who keeps our romance alive and inspires me to write about it. To our three beautiful children who are my heart and soul. To all the family and friends who have supported me since I began this crazy journey. To my late mother who encouraged me to follow my dreams. To all my critique partners, both new and old, who have spent countless hours helping me polish these stories to a shine—I can never thank you enough. Finally, to my readers—it’s your encouragement and support that keeps the world of Tallenmere alive and strong. Thank you for helping me build it, one story at a time.

The Tallenmere Series:

A Ranger’s Tale

Serenya’s Song

Hearts in Exile

No Place Like Home (coming 2014)

Hearts in Exile

Mysti Parker

In Tallenmere, fate has a way of catching up with you...

Somewhere, hidden in the waters of the Southern Sea, lies an island unlike any other. Within the amber glow of its pyrogem-laden cliffs, legend says the very heart of the dragon god Drae keeps the island, and its occupants, alive.

Loralee Munroviel, daughter of Leogard's High Priestess Arianne, had no idea what she would face when she arrived by boat ten years ago and was left alone in exile. All she knew about Draekoria's inhabitants was written in one tattered notebook. Now, her life revolves around keeping Drae's descendants happy. Never in her life did she imagine being a Dragon Keeper.

Captain Igrorio Everlyn, known as Sir Robert to his unit of Holy Paladins, has faced his share of hell, battling the evils of Emperor Sarvonn's tyranny and the dark god Tyr's abominations. But none of that compares to the ten years of hell he's been without Loralee, presumed dead.

One freak storm changes everything. Now the two of them must fight to reestablish the delicate balance of the island before the dragons take things into their own hands. Through it all, they discover the secrets that kept them, and their hearts, exiled for a decade.

Table of Contents

Hearts in Exile

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

About the Author

Previews

Chapter One

~ Loralee ~

Please, take me home.

I clung to the sides of the rowboat, pleading silently for my life. Behind me lay a lush island that had appeared out of nowhere when I touched a pyrogem embedded on the ship’s rail. After I climbed aboard the much smaller craft that was no more than a glorified skiff, I couldn’t bear the sight of the white sand, the swaying fronds, and those imposing red cliffs any longer. I resisted every urge to look over my shoulder as the crew lowered Sanvar and me into the sea.

After too short a time, he stopped rowing.

My lady, I have no choice. I’m so sorry.

The wood-elf oarsman’s guilt-ridden face made me loosen my grip on my brave façade, and a sob broke through.

"I told you yesterday. I don’t belong here. Please, Sanvar, take me somewhere else, anywhere else. Tell them I died on the voyage. But, don’t leave me here alone."

His lip quivered. I have a wife and three boys. If your mother found out ... please, Miss Loralee. You’re just having second thoughts. There’s a little house up there. He pointed across the rolling waves to the cottage on a ledge—a thatched dot against rust-colored rock. The last Keeper seemed quite content.

Why did he have to remind me about his family? Over the course of the month-long voyage, I’d learned every detail of each crewmember’s life. Such conversation came naturally to me, after having spent the better part of a century talking to countless people during my duties at Leogard’s Temple. Being left indefinitely on a remote island without another soul to converse with had me on the verge of panic. I had to do something, but I knew only one other option.

You can’t do this. The other Keeper is missing, presumed dead! I let go of the rowboat to rummage through my bag, but tears clouded my eyes and kept me from finding that accursed journal.

But, you’re replacing him, aren’t you?

No! I don’t want to die here. I can’t die here!

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

I closed my eyes for a moment, snatched my bag from between my ankles, and tucked its bulk under one arm. I removed my slippers and hooked my fingers in the heels to hold them. Sanvar leapt from the boat and offered a hand, but I ignored him and swung both legs over the side, almost capsizing before adjusting my weight to steady the boat.

Sun-warmed seawater lapped at my ankles. Under any other circumstances, it would have been inviting. Giving up the last of my tiny refuge, I slipped into the knee-deep water. The boat rocked back into its natural position.

Can I help you with your bag, Miss Loralee?

I answered with a look that made him cringe. With one deep breath and sand retreating from beneath my feet, I wobbled and turned around to face my exile. Hints of fish and the perfume of tropical flowers tickled my nose. I’d never been anywhere like this, having spent most of my life behind Leogard’s city walls. The closest I’d been to the ocean was when I fished with my father as a child, dipping my toes in the cool waters of the Hansom Sea as we sat on the dock. There were also the days and nights I stared across the endless blue expanse from the battlements, wondering when he would come home from his latest campaign. But, this kind of intimacy with the sea, I’d never imagined nor wanted.

Oars splashed rhythmically behind me. Sanvar was already heading back for the ship. Fighting the temptation to go splashing back through the water to beg with all I had, I left the ocean and let my bag and slippers plop to the sand. If I fought back too much, they’d probably tie me to a palm tree and leave me there. At least I had the freedom to roam about, for whatever that was worth. I refused to look back at the sea, and decided to gather whatever visual knowledge I could about what lay ahead.

On the far side of the beach, palms and bushes crowded against a huge cliff that spanned the island. Unmarked crates waited on the sand a few yards away. The crewmen had left everything I needed to survive, but without Igrorio —could it ever be a life?

Remembering the instructions in my journal, I approached the stone pillar that housed a dull amber pyrogem identical to the one on the ship’s rail. Just like I did at sea, I put one hand to the birthmark on the back of my neck and closed my hand over the warm, uneven surface of the island’s beacon. The pyrogem flared with inner orange light. A subtle shockwave rippled through my body. Clamping my eyes shut, I feared everything around me might disappear into some unknown universe.

Thankfully, the island and I still felt intact. I opened my eyes, and nothing looked different. I could still see the ship, now hauling the rowboat and its lone occupant back up the side. Except, according to the journal and crew, the island would be invisible to anyone passing through on the ocean, thanks to the magical shrouding.

I’d essentially been transported to my own universe.

Loneliness wrapped its cold fingers around me, reminding me of my place in this world. Betrayed. Exiled. Sentenced to a life I never wanted.

I withdrew my hand from the now-dull pyrogem, picked up my bag and slippers, and willed my feet forward. With every step, yesterday’s worries drifted farther away. My fate lay beyond those cliffs. I had studied the creatures in the journal during the voyage, memorizing their names, ages, and lineage. Unseen insects buzzed near my ear. I fanned them away, but something scratched my heel. I nearly leapt from my skin.

At my feet, a snippet stared up at me with his round, yellow eyes. I let out a huge breath. Puddle, you silly thing. Why on Tallenmere did you have to sneak aboard the ship?

The creature leapt eagerly into my waiting arms and found his perch on my shoulder. I’d almost forgotten about the little gray creature with the black-striped tail who had been my constant companion on the voyage. At least I would have something familiar from home here with me.

He licked my ear. Where Lo-lee goes, I goes.

But you’re Prysilla’s pet, not mine. You’d have been much happier and safer in Leogard.

He sneezed, licked a slender, dexterous paw, and swiped it over his face.

I allowed myself to smile for the first time since this whole nightmare began. I wish you’d stayed with Prysilla, but you’re here now, so we might as well make the best of it.

Trudging through the white sand, I finally reached the rock wall and the inclined path leading up to the cottage. Puddle balanced on my shoulder as I started to climb. The well-worn trail hugged the cliff on its meandering journey ever upward.

Rocks of various shapes and sizes lined the outer edge. On each one, a patch of bright white paint had been swiped across it. Puzzled at first, I realized the intent behind the markings the higher I climbed. One look over the edge near the top made me dizzy enough to press my back against the safety of the cliff side. The paint must have helped to mark the path at night or during inclement weather. Is that how the former Keeper had died—plunging over the edge to splatter on the rocks below? I shuddered and stuck close to the wall until the trail evened out in front of the cottage.

Painted the same white hue as the rocks along the path, the tiny stone house had seen better days. Chipped paint and drooping shutters begged for maintenance, but the structure appeared solid.

A few weeds grew here and there along the foundation and between the flagstones that led to the entrance. Large bushes filled to bursting with fragrant yellow flowers grew on each side of the white plank door. Bees buzzed and butterflies flitted from blossom to blossom. The flowers were wilted and the leaves dry and brittle. I thought the journal mentioned heavy, frequent rains, but maybe the water didn’t reach this area of the cottage very well. On second thought, the palms and bushes at sea level were the same. A drought, perhaps, but the place still held an exotic beauty. Had I been here for pleasure, the setting would have proven nothing short of paradise.

But, I felt nothing of the sort as I peeked through the octagonal window. I cranked the knob and threw open the door. Before me was a one-room living space. An unmade bed sat in the left corner, dirty dishes cluttered the little dining table straight ahead, and towels were strewn about the floor near the bathing area to my right. A small hearth stood beside that, complete with a shelf full of cooking pots and utensils.

I wrinkled my nose at the musty, moldy smell. The place needed some airing out.

Puddle hopped from my shoulder to the floor in one graceful leap, sniffing intently at our surroundings. His gray and black-striped tail swished as it did when he was really curious.

I dropped my bag on the floor, surprised to find a divided door next to the dining table. I walked to it and opened the upper half. A lovely garden lay behind the cottage. From there, I could tell the tiny outer refuge had also been taken care of, but neglected for a little while. The grass needed trimming, but was turning brown like the bushes and trees in front. Leaves and wilted blossoms littered the stone walkway and a white bench under the twisted branches of a penuke tree.

The garden was tucked into a triangular nook inside the cliff walls. Though brown and wilted like the grass, sun-loving plants were situated in ideal positions to catch the light, while the vines and bushes that favored shade grew along the periphery. From the rightmost rock wall, a tiny waterfall flowed into a tiled, crystal clear pool. A ceramic pitcher hung from a hook beside it.

Despite all the signs of habitation, I didn’t see any obvious clues as to the previous Keeper’s disappearance. I’d probably stumble on his decaying corpse somewhere, or worse yet, maybe there was no corpse left to find. He could have been a tasty meal for this island’s inhabitants. I’d overheard the sailors talking about several that could do the job.

A full-body shudder ran through me. Twice.

I glanced over my shoulder and spotted the cloth-covered revaeri just next to the hearth. So that’s how the Keeper communicated with my mother—through the enchanted mirror I had thought was used only to speak with priestesses in the outlying temples.

I started back toward the front door to retrieve my bag when a shadow darkened the threshold. I froze.

The dark form lowered itself directly in front of the doorway. One dull green reptilian eye stared into the cottage from the side of a dragon’s head.

Oh, goddess.

Puddle squealed and darted under the bed.

Smoke drifted upward in swirling tendrils from the creature’s nostrils. Dull gray scales covered its head, and what I could see of its neck. Besides some short, blunt horns and spikes lining its wide jaw, the dragon’s head was smooth and lizard-like. The creature’s shoulders were even with the cottage’s roof. At least it couldn’t fit through the door.

Then, it spoke.

The rumbling voice reverberated in my chest. You, mortal. Make yourself known. Step forward so I can see you.

I gnawed on an already worn-down fingernail and wondered why the creature would make such a request. I stood no more than ten feet from it. Either it had a vision problem or it intended to eat me. At the taste of blood on my tongue, I forced myself to stop chewing on my raw fingertip and tucked both hands behind my back.

Trembling like a frightened snippet, I whispered, I’m here.

Speak up, mortal, or face my wrath!

I’m Loralee, your new Keeper. I took one wobbly step forward, waving my hands helplessly in what I hoped would be interpreted as a surrendering gesture.

The dragon’s horns and jaw spikes extended in one sudden burst. The journal never mentioned that aspect of dragon anatomy. My legs couldn’t hold me upright anymore. I fell to my knees, shaking so hard my teeth chattered.

Who sent you? the dragon thundered. Who are your kin?

The wisdom symbol on my forehead tingled—a timely reminder to watch my tongue. It would not be wise to explain how I had been forcibly sent here, not until I knew how to handle myself around these creatures.

Hugging myself tightly, I forced part of the truth past my clacking teeth, hoping it would suffice. I am the eldest daughter of Priestess Arianne. I’m a high elf, as she and King Leopold are.

Daughter of the Priestess? Do you think me but a dragonling, ignorant of the deceitful ways of elven-kind? He craned his head this way and that, as though trying to focus through his cloudy eye.

N-not at all, kind dragon. Goddess, that sounded pathetic. I am here to care for you, not to do you harm. I bowed my head to show my reverence, knowing any minute I could be reduced to ashes. The journal didn’t mention how to introduce myself to my charges, either. Another bit of information that would have proven useful before I became a snack.

Who is with you?

No one but a harmless snippet. Glancing toward the bed, only Puddle’s yellow eyes were visible, wide and startled, as I’d ever seen them.

Another voice spoke from behind the gray dragon. Still as rumbling, but not as deep and more airy, like a bellows over a blacksmith’s fire. Female, perhaps? Back away, Kershar! Let me get a look. An olive-green dragon’s head nudged Kershar’s to one side and turned sideways to inspect me with a pale yellow eye. You’ve frightened her to near death. Have I not told you to remain cave-bound while you go through the shedding?

Shedding? I dared a look at Kershar, finally realizing why his eye, and to a lesser extent, his scales, were so dull. My sister Prysilla had raised a virtual zoo of pets over the years. Every reptile and amphibian replaced their skin on a regular basis. Like those, Kershar must have been molting. The edges of the shedding eye scale had already separated from the new tissue beneath.

The olive-green dragon spoke again. Come closer, child. My mate will not harm you. He is all smoke and no fire, and he is as mortal as you are.

Kershar butted the other dragon’s head. What did you say to her?

Never mind, Kershar. She butted him back. Child, you are safe with us. A dragon’s promise is as firm as this rock upon which we stand.

Having no choice, but feeling a little more comfortable in this creature’s presence, I pushed myself to my feet and swallowed in a futile attempt to wet my dry-as-cotton mouth. I stepped forward until I was so close the dragon’s warm breath ruffled my acolyte robe.

They’ve sent another Keeper, I see. I am Xaxony, matriarch of the clan. You’ve met Kershar, my mate. Xaxony flicked a red, forked tongue and smiled.

Dragons can smile? Who knew? I’m Loralee. Loralee Munroviel.

The Priestess’s daughter? Xaxony puffed a cloud of smoke from her nostrils.

Kershar rumbled again. The mortal is deceiving us. She cannot be a Keeper.

She smells like a Keeper to me. Where is your mark, child?

Mark? What mark ... oh!

I turned my back to Xaxony and parted the hair at the nape of my neck, hoping at least some of the dark birthmark was visible on my scalp.

After a pause that lasted too long for comfort, Xaxony said, She is genuine. We should leave her in peace until she is settled. Come to the caves when you are ready, child, and I will show you the island.

I nodded, then thought of something. Oh, um, I think I can help you, Kershar.

He butted his gray head into Xaxony’s to take center stage in the doorway again. Help from a mortal! I sailed Tallenmere’s skies and fathered ten dragonlings before your king was even a twitch in his father’s groin.

Xaxony butted in again. Kershar, listen to her. Your stubbornness is as annoying as scale mites.

He emitted a grumble that sounded like a rockslide. Very well. Speak, mortal.

I’m a healer, like my mother. If you will hold still, I may be able to remove the shedding scales from your eyes.

He grumbled again, but lowered his head to rest his chin on the threshold. Assuming this was Kershar’s acceptance of my plan, I bent toward one eye, and gently as possible, slid a fingertip under a loose edge of the scale. Then, I pulled on it slightly, testing the resistance. It loosened more, and behind it, I could see the bright green of an iris and the tip of a vertical pupil.

I paused to gauge the dragon’s reactions, not that I knew anything about dragon discomfort yet. But, Kershar hadn’t moved, and I remained uncooked. So far, so good.

Pulling as gently and evenly as I could, I slowly removed the scale from his eye, until the platter-sized opaque disk came off in my hands.

Kershar rumbled again, but in a way that sounded more satisfied than anything else. It appears my mate is correct, as usual. You are genuine, mortal.

You may call me Loralee, if you wish. He turned his head, allowing access to his other eye, and I repeated the process. Is that better?

He lifted his head and lowered his chin in a single nod.

I let out a pent-up breath. If you have anywhere warm to soak, it should help with the rest of the shedding process.

Kershar turned to go, with one long tail flashing by the door. Your kindness will not be forgotten ... Loralee. He disappeared beyond an ivy curtain on the rock wall outside the cottage.

Xaxony nodded and started to follow her mate.

Wait.

The dragon stopped, craning her neck in a graceful arc to face me again.

I blurted out my question before I lost my nerve. What happened to the other Keeper?

I do not know. He was here one evening before our respite, and gone the next sunrise. Rayven was a good Keeper, better than the one prior. He served us for a century and witnessed the hatching of our last dragonling. We have missed him greatly these last three months. Though I do not know his fate, listen to me carefully. Kershar and I inhabit the caves adjacent to this cottage, just beyond the ivy. Should you have a concern with any of our clan, come to us first. Ten other dragons inhabit this island. Most keep to themselves, and you will rarely see them, but some, like our son, Draktor, do not warm quickly to new Keepers, but your presence is necessary for our survival. His last dragonling failed after the Keeper’s disappearance. He and his mate, Kerasha, were deeply saddened, and Draktor has been even more irritable ever since.

Everything she said sounded like something I might have read in a childhood storybook. My voice shook as I admitted my ignorance. It will take some time for me to understand all this.

Do not worry, child. I will show you how to survive here.

The genuine warmth in her smile gave me just enough hope to cling to for now. Perhaps I would be fine after all, until I could find a way to return home.

Thank you, Xaxony.

Tell me, Keeper, did the Priestess know about the child you carry before she sent you?

My eyes widened. No, but how did you—?

I have lived long enough to know the signs in both dragon and elven-kind. This island is not the proper place to raise an elven child. Nevertheless, you are here now, so you should rest. Tomorrow will come as it tends to do.

When Xaxony left, the surroundings grew as quiet as before, as if two legendary creatures had not just made their introductions. I wilted to the floor. Sitting cross-legged, head in my hands, I let loose a torrent of tears. Puddle scampered to my side, laying a tiny paw on my knee.

I cried until there were no tears left, wondering how I could possibly navigate the fragile politics of being a Dragon Keeper.

But, most of all, I worried about the baby Igrorio would never see.

Chapter Two

~ Sir Robert ~

The Southern Sea, Ten Years Later...

A broken clock hung on the wall, its hands frozen somewhere back in time just like every waking thought in my head. I sat up on the cot, deciding I was entirely too sober for such a long voyage. Only absinthe kept my mind dulled enough to allow decent sleep. A few more centuries of this, and I’d be nice and pickled.

The lantern above swung with the ship’s movement and cast shifting shadows over the bare plank walls. I scratched a nagging itch on the point of my ear and yawned. My cabin on this particular Leogardian naval vessel was no better furnished than the ones I once shared with my unit. Except this one afforded more privacy—a perk that came with my role as Captain of the Seventh Unit of Leogard’s Holy Paladins. At least a sturdy side table was within reach. I opened the drawer, found the silver flask, and put it to my lips.

But, someone rapped on the door.

I didn’t even have a chance to answer when the door opened and Francis poked his head inside. We were to reconvene with the rest of our unit already stationed on Tyronia’s Ilzara peninsula. Nearly a month at sea already, so the next few days would be especially tiresome without the others here for Francis to pester. He eyed the container in my hand.

Here it comes.

If you want to continue on your path of self-destruction, Francis said, please do so on your own time.

I smirked and turned back the absinthe. Nothing remained but three or four drops to sting my throat and make me thirsty for more. I corked the flask and flung it back in the drawer. I never requested your counsel, nor did I ask you to enter this room. Do you have a reason for invading my privacy, other than to chide me for drinking from an empty flask?

Donned in his chainmail, which was polished to a near-blinding shine, Francis stepped through the door and closed it, holding to the rope handle to maintain his balance. I merely wanted to inform you there’s a storm brewing. He frowned at my casual tunic, breeches, and plain leather boots. Captain Elweth says we cannot avoid it.

A storm on the Southern Sea in spring. How surprising.

The alcohol has not dulled your sarcasm, I see.

How about this, then? I smirked, giving just enough pause to add some drama. Once this crusade is over, I’m finished.

The confusion on Francis’s face gave me an odd sense of satisfaction. We’d been through hell and back together more than once since we were mere boys, and I couldn’t imagine life without him. But, despite being the best friend I’d ever had—closer than I imagined any brother could be—Francis had been a thorn in my side for decades, constantly reminding me of my faults. The half-elf was a veritable walking conscience.

Francis rubbed his brow with one hand and groaned. Finished with what, might I ask?

This whole thing, my friend. I’ve spent over half my life in the belly of a ship or cutting down men forced into battle. And for what? A few accolades in the streets when we return home. It’s a pointless endeavor.

And what exactly would you do? Where would you go?

Up north perhaps, or to Faerion. I have yet to decide.

We have been chosen by the great Father Omri—

No, Francis, we were chosen by Leopold. Let us be truthful with ourselves while we have this heart to heart.

Very well. The king chose us, with our Great Father’s blessing. You claim our tasks are pointless, but what of the people we have freed from Sarvonn’s oppression?

My laugh sounded as bitter as the absinthe lingering on my tongue. We’ve hardly been regarded as heroes in Tyronia. Not for a long while, anyway. The people say they want freedom. Then, when we give it to them, they complain. I say they should be left to fight their own revolution, if they so desire. They will never appreciate freedom unless they are forced to acquire it themselves.

Do you forget the other duties we perform in Leogard? What of the near-massacre in Summerwind? Had it not been for our intervention, Tyr’s progeny would have killed thousands.

What of it? Francis was very clever with rebuttals. I had to give him that.

We saved an entire community, with only one casualty. That is no small thing. Do not underestimate your abilities, Igrorio.

I cringed at the use of my given name. I’d embraced the nickname Robert ever since an inebriated dwarf named Mirrien couldn’t pronounce my real name. I wore the silly moniker like a shield. Maybe I hoped it would help me forget the past. It had yet to work.

Francis braced himself against the ship’s rocking and stepped to the cot. He started to sit, but the ship lurched and tossed him flat on his back beside me. His head banged against the wall. I laughed and held out my hand, helping Francis to sit upright.

"I’m glad I could serve as jester for you, Captain Everlyn." Francis rubbed the back of his skull.

I think the storm is upon us.

He gripped my shoulder. Promise me you will rethink your decision.

I cannot promise anything.

You are one of the best paladins to serve under the Leogardian flag. And you have responsibilities off the battlefield, people who care for you. Loralee would want-

My glare cut Francis short. Do not speak her name.

Perhaps someone should. Omri knows she was the only one able to talk any sense into you.

The boat gave another violent jerk, nearly knocking us both off the cot.

The first mate’s voice rang down through the hatch. All hands on deck!

Francis and I exchanged worried glances, jumped to our feet, and slammed against the door. Pushing ourselves off the wall, we finally got the door open and stumbled outside. Crewmen scrambled up the ladder ahead of us.

We climbed onto the deck, where the sailors worked furiously to bring down sails and reinforce rigging.

One of the naval officers emerged right behind us. The first mate intercepted him. Are there any left below deck?

No, sir.

Good. Batten down, men, or we’ll be feeding the sea tonight!

Black clouds churned in the afternoon sky. Rain pelted my face. To my left, at the stern, the ship’s captain clung to the wheel. He’d already steered toward the winds, and he was struggling to angle the ship to climb each wave in an effort to keep from burying the bow. The ship creaked and groaned with every assault from the waves.

This was no ordinary storm.

Francis and I held on to whatever we could to keep from falling and hurried to help secure the sails. The darkening sky, buffeting winds, and torrential rain made our task that much harder. But I concentrated on the feel of the rough rope in my hands and the memorized movements I’d used countless times to tie knots.

Though we’d never had to resort to it before, I decided to try reinforcing the ship with Omrishidari, our shielding magic. I held up my fist and started to yell at Francis to do the same, but a ball of swirling light already orbited his hand.

Always a step ahead, brother. Head to starboard. I’ll go to port. We have to try to keep the hull intact.

He nodded, then extended his shield toward the rigging in one quick burst that helped push him to the right side of the ship. Once there, he quickly wound a rope around his left arm, tethering himself to a belaying pin. I repeated the process on the left side of the ship.

The crewmen secured themselves to whatever they could. Bracing my body against the rail, and squinting against the rain and wind, I held up my right fist. Tingling energy rode an instantaneous current through my chest, arm, and fingers. A burst of light—hot, but cold at the same time—exploded from my hand.

Concentrating on our goal, I leaned as far over the rail as I could, then extended the shield. Fast as a tidal wave, the translucent barrier spread toward the bow and stern. Simultaneously, it spread to the top of the mast, to the hull below, meeting a little extra resistance as it hugged the sides and penetrated the waves.

Francis’s shield met mine at each end of the ship. An extra jolt of energy jarred my arm as our two energies collided. From experience, I knew as long as that added buzzing sensation lasted, our shielding remained joined and solid. It provided a respite from the wind and rain, but I wasn’t certain how long we could hold it. Such a large shielding required a great deal of concentration, but maybe we could at least reinforce the ship and prevent anyone from going overboard.

Fear tried to worm its way in, fueling a rising panic. The water was dark, deep, and hungry, and the only thing between me and it was a bit of wood and some magic. I clung to the one thing that kept fear at bay—anger—with this storm, with this life, with the great god Omri himself.

I bared my teeth and challenged him, screaming at the top of my lungs. Come on! What are you waiting for? I’m right here! Come get me!

Lightning streaked across the ceiling of clouds. Thunder jarred the deck. Despite the shielding, we remained at the mercy of the waves, which tossed the ship around like a child with a toy boat in a bathtub. Wood cracked, wind and water roared. Desperate prayers echoed within the confines of our shields. Francis recited a prayer of protection, screaming over the roar of the waves.

I knew I should be doing the same, but I didn’t have the heart. It died with Loralee.

The ship lurched hard to port. I gritted my teeth and wedged my boots against the bottom of the railing to keep from going over. I clung to the rope in my left hand until each fiber dug painfully into my fingers.

A wooden pail hit my leg and clattered along the deck, rolling back and forth with each toss of the waves. Someone must have forgotten to secure it. The extra buzzing sensation within my shield hand diminished. Francis had fallen. He flopped around on the deck by the rail, held only by his tethered arm. The bucket must have struck his head and stunned him.

His shielding was gone, giving the sea the advantage it needed.

A monstrous wave crashed over the starboard side, washing my feet from under me. My shield proved useless now, so I retracted it. It shrank into my fist as my backside thudded onto the deck. One of the crewmen lost his grip and washed over the rail, his terrified scream quickly drowned out by the sea’s fury.

The little bit of absinthe in my stomach threatened to come back up. Between the vertigo of the ship’s horrific dance on the waves and the blinding flashes of lightning, I realized this might be my final crusade after all. Regrets dominated my thoughts. I wished I had sought help for my father instead of trying to care for him alone as a boy. I wished I could apologize to Francis. And most of all, I wished I’d had the chance to wake up with Loralee one more time before I left on that campaign ten years ago.

The waves devoured one sailor after another, each one a valiant warrior of the Leogardian navy. I held to the rope for dear life and wrapped my other arm around the rail so hard the wood splintered into my skin. If I’d only had on my armor, like well-prepared Francis. He had pulled himself up, thankfully, but I did not like the look of finality in his eyes.

The boat lurched upward at the bow. My feet slid sideways toward the stern, and my arm slipped off the rail. Luckily, the rope held onto my arm, but the weight of my body falling jerked my shoulder out of socket. I cried out, but forgot the pain at the sounds of cracking and popping.

We crested the wave, and for a brief moment, we were suspended in calm, as though the sea enjoyed toying with us. Francis still held his own, and our eyes met once more before the ship fell. All I could see was a black mass of water many feet below us.

I let loose one last taunt. Is that all you’ve got? Get on with it!

Hungry and bored with its game, the sea swallowed the bow and bit down hard. Deck planks splintered into jagged pieces, masts toppled, and the rail gave way. The rope, now useless, squeezed painfully around my arm as though it was still trying to do its job, but I bounced and skidded along the buckling deck until I fell into the depths.

Francis—I could see him. So close. If I could just ... I reached out. Our fingertips brushed, but the ocean tore us away from each other. Helpless as a ragdoll, I had no control in the aquatic fury. I lost all sense of direction, flailing my limbs in a useless attempt to stay afloat. Saltwater tainted with lamp oil set fire to my nose and lungs. I gulped in every bit of air I could when I broke the surface and cried out for Francis. Every now and then, I caught a glimpse of a hand or a leg, and thought I heard his voice, but the ravenous waves quickly swallowed all sight and sound. It felt like hours, this repetition of breathing, choking, searching for Francis in the abyss.

Just let go and face the inevitable.

Though I’d prayed for death in my darkest hours, when alcohol and reckless battle did nothing to ease the nightmares, now that it was upon me, I lacked the courage to surrender.

Every muscle in my body screamed from exhaustion and begged for relief. I kept treading