The Midnight Star

He still has a set of chains between his wrists, along with two Inquisitors at his sides—but the chains don’t do much to restrict his movements, allowing him instead to eat freely. His wrists are also bandaged with clean cloth and there’s a blanket wrapped around him. He seems unharmed, for the most part, by our ordeal in the ocean. I suppose his powers have not yet abandoned him.

“Why did you save me?” I ask Teren, my voice breaking through the silence.

“Probably the same reason why that Dagger saved both of our lives. The Windwalker, was it?” Teren doesn’t bother looking up from his plate as he speaks. It is his first proper, hot meal in a long time, and he seems to be savoring it.

“And what reason is that?”

“As you said, I am here only to carry out the gods’ wishes. And I’ll be damned if your foolish actions make this voyage pointless.”

Let him keep you safe. My whispers are surprisingly calm tonight, perhaps subdued by the herbs Magiano mixed into my tea. I nod at Teren. “Remove his chains,” I say to the Inquisitors standing beside him.

“Your Majesty?” one of them responds, blinking.

“Do I need to repeat myself?” I growl. The Inquisitor turns pale at my tone, then hurries to do my bidding. Teren eyes me as his chains fall away, landing with a heavy clang on the floor. Then he lets out a small laugh. The sound of it is familiar, and it scrapes against my memory.

“Trusting me,” Teren murmurs, “is a dangerous game, mi Adelinetta.”

“I’m doing more than that,” I reply. “For the rest of this journey, you will be my personal guard.”

At that, Teren’s eyes flare with surprise and anger. “I’m not your lackey, Your Majesty.”

“And I’m not Giulietta,” I fire back. “You could have killed me on board the ship, when you first freed yourself. You could have drowned me in the ocean. But you didn’t—and that makes you more trustworthy to me than even my own crew. It’s clear I can’t rely on all of my men, and for once, we have the same goals. So, for the rest of this journey, you will be my personal guard. It is in both of our personal interests.”

The mention of Giulietta, as always, seems to hit Teren hard. He winces, then turns back to his food. “As you wish, Your Majesty,” he replies. “I suppose we’ll see how well we do together.”

I take a deep breath. “This will all be over soon,” I say. “And your duty to the gods will be complete.”

Teren puts his plate down. We exchange a long stare.

Finally, he rises from his seat and faces one of the Inquisitors. The man swallows hard as Teren seizes the sheath of his sword and pulls it off the belt. Teren glances at Magiano, then at me. “I’ll need a weapon,” he mutters, hoisting the sword in the air before he steps out of the cabin.

I do not realize how tense his unchained presence made me until he is out of the room; I relax my shoulders in his absence.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Magiano says, walking over and offering his hand for support as I rise. “One heroic act doesn’t make a man trustworthy. What if he decides to turn his blade on you?”

I follow Magiano out of the main cabin and turn down the corridor to our quarters. “You can’t watch me all the time,” I say wearily. “Teren will be better than leaving me at the mercy of any other rebels who might be on board.”

Magiano tightens his lips, but doesn’t argue. His eyes search my face, pausing for a heartbeat on my scars. His braids are tied up in a thick mess, ruffled from exhaustion, and light from the corridor’s lanterns highlights the gold glint in his eyes. “You aren’t well tonight,” he says softly.

Before I can respond, the whispers hiss again, fighting against the herbal tea, and I rub my temples in an attempt to soothe my headache.

Magiano takes my hand and leads me inside my quarters. “Come,” he says. I follow him to the bed, where I gingerly sit down, while he goes to the writing desk, lights a candle, and prepares me another mug of tea. Outside my porthole, a strange wailing echoes across the ocean. I sit still in bed for a while and listen to it. It is a low, lingering sound, like a ghost’s whisper on the wind, and as I continue to listen, I feel it coming from right beneath the waves. My energy trembles at the call, even as something about it sounds familiar, even beckoning, to my ears. This is a sound from the Underworld.

The shadows in the corners of my quarters seem to bend and shift, even as Magiano stands barely a few feet away. I must be hallucinating again, my illusions twisting out of my control. The shadows change into shapes with claws and teeth, tiny empty sockets for eyes, and as I look on, the shapes sharpen until their faces take on the characteristics of people long gone. They struggle to crawl out of the shadows and into the moonlight that paints the floors. I sink deeper into bed, try to ignore the sound outside, and pull my blankets up to my chin. I have to find a way to regain control over the threads of my energy. I practice taking deep breaths—in and out.

The wail outside fades, then strengthens, then fades again. After a while, I can barely hear it anymore. The shadows against the walls lose their threatening shapes, settling into flat darkness.

“Adelina.” Magiano’s whisper. I hadn’t even noticed him approach and sit on the corner of my bed. He holds a mug out to me.

I take it in relief. “Did you hear the wailing?” I ask.

He leans over and carefully peers out of the porthole, his hand supporting his marked side. If the moons were new tonight, the ocean would be a black mass, reflecting nothing but a sky full of stars. But tonight the storm clouds have cleared and the water is brightly lit, and as we look on, I can see the rolls of water pushed up by a pod of baliras swimming by.