I had never seen the ocean before. When I stepped onto the ship and looked out to see nothing but water stretching to the horizon, I felt just as
small and alone in this body as I had when I first opened my eyes.
But… so much had changed since then. Now I knew why I was here. I was small, but I had purpose burning in the center of my chest. That was enough to make my fear turn to admiration after those first few moments.
That fear, instead, remained for Caduan. His health had declined so rapidly that I now felt so foolish for not realizing sooner how bad it was. He skillfully hid his weakness in casual leaning against rails and walls, in tiny coughs concealed by the back of his hand, beneath shirts that were always buttoned up all the way to his throat.
Still, the situation had deteriorated enough for others to notice, though no one dared to speak of it openly. Perhaps that’s why Caduan kept the number of people on this ship limited. Alongside me, Meajqa, Luia, a few of Luia’s most trusted generals, and a select few others accompanied him. The rest of Ela’Dar’s armada was filled with warriors. Every ship we had was mobilized.
Caduan mentioned we only had one chance to do this. I understood he meant that he only had one chance.
On the first night, I didn’t even attempt to sleep. Instead, I stood by the railing, watching the ocean shimmer under the moonlight, like dancing silver sheets. Eventually, Caduan joined me.
“I’ve never seen the sea before,” I said. “At least, not in my own body.”
“It fascinates me.”
I thought that avoiding his gaze would keep me from seeing the death consuming him. But I flinched, realizing I could hear it in his voice now, too.
“There are three great unknowns in this world,” he continued. “The sea is one of them. The depths stretch for miles, home to creatures larger than this ship. And those are just the ones the Fey have been lucky enough to glimpse. We know so little about what lies beneath.” I finally looked at him as he gazed up at the sky. “Just like what lies beyond the stars.”
My chest tightened as I watched him. “Would you have liked to explore
it?”
“The sky? The sea?” “Both.”
“Yes. But even five hundred years has not been enough to conquer
every unknown, no matter how much I tried.”
Five hundred years seemed so long when I spent it languishing in a series of broken human minds. And yet so tragically, unfairly short, when Caduan spoke of everything he still wished to do.
He gave me that dismantling stare, the kind that seemed to peer into my thoughts.
“I have no regrets about how I spent my life, Aefe,” he said, softly. “And I still have unknowns to learn as of yet. Perhaps death is the most interesting one of all. There are many worlds beyond this one.”
I thought of what he had said to the dying Fey, what felt so long ago. “Death is a door,” I murmured.
He gave me a tired smile. “A lifetime of learning has taught me the only constant is that nothing ever truly ends.”
I let out a faint scoff. “Once, that thought would have appalled me. As Reshaye, I was so afraid of endlessness.”
“Not anymore?”
A pause. I did not know how to answer that. “Perhaps. I do not know.” “When I first met you,” he said, “I thought you were fearless. You
were… interesting. Unlike any person I had ever known before.” “I feel like I have spent my entire life afraid.”
“You feel everything.” He pushed a flying strand of dark red hair away from my eyes. “That is the bravest act in this world. To feel. I am often too afraid to do it myself.”
For all the times that I had thrown Caduan’s supposed cowardice in his face, it was little more than a sharp word I wielded as a weapon. Now, I cursed myself for it. He was the bravest person I had ever met.
And he was wrong about me.
Because then he ducked his head and coughed—delicately, quietly, as he always did. But when he turned back to me and gave me a small, reassuring smile, I saw the dark violet on his hand and at the corner of his mouth.
In that moment, I imagined Caduan standing in the doorway to another world, and I did not feel brave at all.
THE DAYS PASSED, and the Ela’Dar armada cut through the sea like birds treading a path through the sky. The air grew tighter, jokes replaced by quiet tension. Caduan spoke less and less. After several days, I realized it was because he was finding it more difficult to hide the labor of his breathing.
We sent Wyshraj scouts in bird form ahead to scout the distance between us and Ara. At last, they returned with a new sense of urgency. They had seen Threllian ships ahead—Aran ships. Nura, as we suspected, was crossing the sea as well, ready to retake the throne of her traitorous country.
“She has an army,” the scout told us. “She has assembled all of her Threll-based resources. And she has…”
Caduan put up his hand. He didn’t need to hear any more.
I had known something was… odd. I could feel it growing in a world beneath this one with each day we were at sea. What I now realized was that I had been sensing the presence of Nura’s stolen Lejara—the magic that had created me.
“We go faster,” Caduan said decisively. “If we reach Ara before, or at the same time, she does, it will be easy to use their own chaotic infighting against them.”
Caduan’s command left no room for argument. The sails were let out, and the spells that quickened the ships through the water enhanced. Caduan returned to the bow.
We moved so fast now that I struggled to keep my hair bound. Meajqa did not even bother to tie his back, allowing the wind to whip golden streaks about his face.
Uncharacteristically, he had barely spoken during the trip. “What is wrong?” I asked him, at last.
“I think this is a mistake,” he said. “I think we are in floating caskets.” Then he turned away, face to the sky, and said nothing else.