The Onyx Vial (Shadows of The Nine Book 1) (34 page)

He smiled at her, then looked around at Killian and the Strattons.

“So this is the rest of you.” His voice was a crash of waves on rocky ground.

George inclined his head. “Captain Leeward.”

“George. Ariana. Killian,” Harold said, gesturing brusquely at each of them.

The Captain acknowledged them with a nod. “Welcome. As you see, I've had rooms prepared for you.” He eyed the open doors. “I apologize that there aren’t more, but I wasn't expecting so many of you.”

So Harold hadn’t planned on bringing her back after all.

“Whomever wishes may sleep in the lounge.”

“The Lounge?” Killian inquired.

Did he even know what the word meant?

“The room where you entered the vessel,” the Captain elaborated.

Killian’s face twisted in displeasure.

Sleeping on that giant sofa, surrounded by water? “I will,” she offered quickly.

“Delightful,” the Captain said. “There is a storage closet there, near the hall. It should have extra blankets." He eyed the doors flanking the open ones. "Now. My crew is small and always busy. When those are closed, someone is getting much needed rest. Please do not disturb them.”

“Yes, Captain,” George and Killian muttered in unison, as Harold nodded his agreement.

Ariana eyed them, caught between amusement and the distinct feeling of having been left out.

“If you need anything, come to me.” He took a step back inside the doorway and led them up a short, narrow set of steps. “This is my command center.”

His front wall was nothing more than a window. The walls that flanked it were the same as the floor: dark, sea-salt saturated wood. In the center of the room, there was a large wheel in an even larger console clogged with levers and buttons and screens. There was also one uncomfortable looking chair.

“Up those stairs are my sleeping quarters,” the Captain said, waving to an even narrower flight of steps in the far corner of the room. “If I’m not in my chair, that’s where you’ll find me.”

“Thank you, Captain,” George said.

“My pleasure.”

“Captain. Word?” Harold asked.

“Certainly.”

Harold narrowed his eyes at Ariana and Killian.

George placed a hand on each of their shoulders. “We’ll leave you to it,” he said, guiding them to the steps.

Ariana shrugged. She didn’t care what Harold wanted to discuss with the Captain as long as it wasn’t about her. She was home and headed to Ruekridge. Her heart leapt. Everything was going great.

Except for the part about not knowing how to destroy the Onyx Vial. And having to work with Killian to test her theory.

“Killian.”

George’s voice startled her.

“You’re looking a little… green.”

Ariana clapped her hand over her mouth but a laugh slipped out. Killian’s lips thinned and his eyes widened. The damage was done.

“What?” he snapped.

She glared at him through her grin. “He’s right,” she said. “You really do.”

“So?” he retorted. Apparently he was feeling the effects of the ocean more strongly than she’d thought.

“So you aren’t used to the water. We should get you something to combat the effects before you get sick.”

“I’m not going to get
—
” the color drained from his face and he froze. 

“Over there,” George pointed.

Killian pinched his lips together, turned, and barreled toward the door of the wetroom.

They watched him dive in the room and slam the door shut, then George turned to her, a smile in the corners of his eyes.

“I suppose
you
aren’t in danger of becoming ill?”

She shook her head and grinned. It was as though they were sharing a secret
—
their enjoyment of seeing Killian so vulnerable
—
and it made some of her bitterness toward him dissipate.

He took her shoulders in his hands and looked her in the eyes. His smile melted, replaced by a stubborn sort of grimace. “Ariana, I know you’re determined not to show us, but it’s important that we see your translation of those documents.”

She frowned.

“If we make plans based on something you fabricated so you could get into Ruekridge…”

“That’s not fair.”

His expression hardened. “It could bring a lot of things crumbling down. It could cost lives, Ariana.”

His eyes were pleading. She wanted to remain defensive and unwilling to listen to him. But she was in Ionia again. He couldn’t keep her from going through the book anymore, couldn’t replace her or verify her story using whoever fixed the book.

She sighed. “I didn't write it down, but I can, if you want,” she said, swallowing her concerns and bending to retrieve the documents still tucked in her boot.

George’s hands dropped to the pages as she handed them over. He studied them quietly for a moment, then looked at her. “Why hide these, then?”

“What do you mean?”

Amusement tickled his expression, confusing Ariana further. “Why would you not show us the documents if you didn't translate them on the page?”

She bit her lip. “Because you’d take them to whoever fixed the portal book and..." how could she word this in a way that didn't give herself away? "I don't know. I wanted to be the one who... saved the day."

George cracked a smile.

“What?” she asked, her anxiety morphing into irritation.

“
You
fixed the Heledian portal book, Princess,” he said.

Ariana stiffened. “I what?”

He nodded. “Master Hallowell knows only snippets of the Elder Script. He pieced the words from
your
list into that book until they fit.”

She felt lightheaded.
Pabl was right.

“Yes. And if it weren’t for you, we’d still be in Bolengard, all of us slowly dying from the effects of the Onyx Vial.”

A smile broke out across her face. “That’s great,” she said, then faltered. “I mean, it’s great about the book. Not about everyone dying.”

George chuckled.

“So why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” she wondered.

He thought for a moment. “We couldn’t risk you taking the only means of travel through the Nine that we've had since the war and returning home.” He sighed and patted her on the shoulder. “It was unfair. We underestimated you.”

Ariana inhaled deeply, breathing in those words as if they cleansed her. As she exhaled, she was overcome with the urge to tell him everything
—
about how it was only a theory she was going off of. Perhaps now he'd be willing to trust her.

“George, about the documents…”

“Yes?” he asked, one brow lifted.

The door to the wetroom swung open, slamming into the wall. Killian emerged, his face pallid, eyes red, as if he had woken from a particularly restless night's sleep. “I need to speak with Harold,” he grumbled.

George turned his back to Ariana. “About Hunter?” he asked eagerly.

Killian walked too stiffly toward the Captain’s door, using the handrail around the staircase for support. “Yes."

Ariana frowned. “How do you know anything more about your brother than you did before?”

“That’s none of your concern, Ariana,” George said, gently.

But it cut her.

She pushed past him and started toward Killian, who stopped a stride short of her and stared her down.

“Tell me,” she said.

He blinked, then passed her by.

“Stay,” George told her. Then he followed Killian, both of them heading up the stairs.

Ariana lay on the glass floor of the lounge, her feet propped on the couch cushions, her eyes on the eternal blue space of the Sabrean Sea, her mind on anything that could distract her from Killian Fyrenn. Tiny creatures flicked and flitted about the craft, some curious enough to abandon fear and plink against the window. She tried to count them to stay occupied.

A school of silver fish swarmed beneath her, racing the Subble toward darker water. She tapped on the glass, hoping to scare one out of position, but they were of a single purpose. Nothing swayed them. Soon they outstripped the craft, leaving Ariana to stare into a dark blue abyss.

She closed her eyes and crossed her arms, laying her head on them, letting the sway of the sea relax her. But she couldn't relax. She opened her eyes to stare at the water.

Someone stared back at her.

A young woman with a round face and eyes like pools of the very water she’d appeared within. Her long, ashen hair drifted about her, in weightless tendrils.

She wore a strapless dress made, it seemed, of multi-colored strips of seaweed woven tightly around her chest and stomach, and swirling about her legs with abandon.

Legs.

Ariana gasped.

A Mernomai
.

She’d been taught long ago the difference between Mernomai and Mermaids, but she hardly imagined she’d ever see one.

The woman’s feet flickered from feet to fins and back.

Ariana’s eyes widened.

The flipper-like tail of the Mermaid was optional for the Mernomai. She’d heard that Mernomai preferred legs for their gracefulness and used fins for their power, but she would've loved to ask. She wondered if it was possible. Maybe hand gestures?

She studied the woman’s face, hoping an idea would drip into her brain.

The woman looked somewhere to the side of the craft. When her eyes met Ariana’s again, they held concern. Her brows creased.

The woman moved her legs and arms, the resistance of the water giving her the appearance of performing a slow, graceful dance. Except that it appeared she was gesturing frantically, despite the speed.

Ariana puzzled at her.

The woman looked away again and back.

Was that panic in her eyes?

Ariana sat up, concerned, and checked over the couch at the big windows. The water was nearly as black as a coal moon sky. The vessel had gone deeper. But there was nothing in the range of her sight that appeared threatening. In fact, there was nothing in sight at all.

Not even fish.

“What…?” Ariana climbed onto the couch to get a better look. As she did, the Mernomai looped backward, and jetted into the depths, lost in a cloud of sparkling bubbles.

But Ariana had barely registered her disappointment when a violent upsurge of the right side of the craft sent her flying off the couch. The glass floor rose to meet her forcefully. Pain splashed across her side.

“Ow.” She pushed herself onto her knees, rubbing her left shoulder, ignoring her heart as it flopped madly in her throat.

Something like rain sounded around her.

Bubbles pounded at the windows in a futile attempt to breach the craft. She frowned. The patterns were… These weren’t normal. It was almost as if they were… They couldn’t be.

She put her palm to the glass floor and closed her eyes. Her mind reached for the liquid past the glass.

For the first time in far too long, the familiar cool rivulets of her etâme returned and trickled to her fingertips. A sharp sting hit each of her fingers at once. She yelped and yanked her hand away.

The Sabrean Sea was boiling.

“Ariana.”

She jumped to her feet.

Harold stood on the staircase, peering down his sun-leathered nose at her. “Come.”

She didn’t move. 

“Need you.”

“
You
? Need
me
?”

He turned and climbed the stairs.

Ariana stared after him.

The vessel shook violently. She stumbled, but kept her balance.

“Now,” Harold added, as his feet disappeared from view.

She didn’t hesitate. She hurtled over the couch and ran after him.

Harold led her into the Captain’s command center, where Killian and George stood, backlit by roiling inky waters, each of them gripping something stable as the vessel rocked and jittered.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“We’re under the Fyrennian Isle,” said Captain Leeward, shaking his head. “Just like on the surface, this place is a fortress.”

Her heart dropped. “The sea is boiling.”

As if to make her point, the Subble jolted like a giant had lifted and shaken it to hear its insides rattle. She grabbed hold of the wall to keep her balance.

Once the rocking subsided, the vessel continued to shake erratically, if less violently.

Captain Leeward nodded. “That’s our problem.”

“Can’t we go around it?” she asked, righting herself.

“I’m afraid not.”

She looked around to see George, his mouth set in a grim line, and Killian, who was no longer green but rather shifty and uncomfortable. “Why?”

“We’re having difficulty going backward. It’s as if we’re being pulled by some kind of vacuous force.”

Panic numbed her. So
that
was what the Mernomai was doing. Warning her. She’d risked her life and her warning had fallen on deaf ears. Ariana’s stomach turned.

“What do you need
me
for?”

“We’ve tried using the Fyydor, but he’s no help at all.”

“Tierenved, Captain,” Harold corrected.

“Either way, you’re useless.”

Ariana liked the Captain already.

Killian’s footing faltered as another wild quake overtook the vessel.

“What about
him
?” she gestured to Killian when the tremor had passed. “This is his territory, isn’t it? I mean, it’s his fa—”

Harold’s hand found her mouth so quickly she cried out—not from pain, but surprise. “He has a vital piece missing,” he growled.

George stepped over quickly. “Water,” he added, prying Harold’s thick hand from her face. “Which
you
have.”

So the Strattons were withholding who Killian was. Interesting.

“Now let the Captain explain what to do, so we can get out of this alive,” George continued.

Ariana trudged forward. “What do I need to do?”

“Act as a conductor,” the Captain answered.

"I don't understand."

“I’ll be pushing etâme into you, which you’ll push, along with your own—if you can—through the window and into the water,” he explained. “You’ll need to direct our power through the water to clear a path.”

“Do I need to focus on making it colder?” she asked, her throat inexplicably dry.

“No. Cold I can conjure. But my reach is terrible.” He shrugged.

“Besides, that’s what I’m here for,” Killian said.

Ariana eyed him uncertainly.

Killian continued. “He’ll be pushing cold into you, and I’ll be pulling heat out.”

Ariana swallowed hard and turned away from him. “What would happen if we don’t fight it?” she asked, her breath growing shallow.

“The craft will overheat and our defenses will shut down,” the Captain answered. “Then, while the water boils the air and suffocates us, we’ll be rocked around, losing any remaining control we might've had.”

And eventually cook us.

“Which means we won’t be able to get out of this in time to survive,” George added.

Her heart lurched. “That sounds promising,” she choked. “Why not go back through the book, wait for the subble to make its way through?”

“No way to know if it made it. Currently, we are being pulled into a trap.”

Ariana's shoulders fell. He was right. “So this is the only way.”

“It can be done,” Killian said, stepping toward her. “We’ll work together.”

Ariana eyed him warily. Had someone else possessed Killian's body when he'd been in that wetroom? Her mind tore through scenarios in which this could be a trap.

“Honestly,” he said, reading her so easily yet again. “We
need
to be one unit on this.”

She sighed a growl, frustrated with herself because she believed him. “Fine.”

“Good,” said Captain Leeward, clapping his hands together as if they’d just settled on a time for an afternoon picnic. “Now, please stand in front of the command center and place your palms against the window.”

Ariana did as he asked. The window was warm to the touch. But she kept one eye on Killian.

The Subble rocked and shuddered.

“Steer for us, Harold,” the Captain said. He set his hands on Ariana’s left shoulder.

Cold crept like frost from her skin deep down to her core. She shivered.

“Don’t hold it in,” the Captain said.

Ariana’s teeth clacked against each other. She had to get his etâme out to the water, but it was hard to find her own beneath the paralyzing cold. If only she could be warmer.

No.

She couldn’t think warm thoughts to thaw herself or she’d block his etâme. Instead, she had to make the feeling work for her.

It’d been a long time since she’d been truly cold or wet. But the moment she thought of that feeling, a memory snapped into place. Suddenly, the trickle of etâme flowed through her, swirling together with the Captain’s icy touch. With a heavy sigh of relief, she blinked the image away and moved the cold through her arms, imagining it jetting out of her fingertips.

Just as the frigid extension of her fingers met the boiling water beyond the window, Killian’s hot hands found her right shoulder, conjuring thoughts of him pinning her to the floor, his hands around her neck...

A searing heat shot through her right arm, pinched the nerves in her shoulder, and exploded like fireworks beneath her skin.

She howled in pain and tore her body away from their hands, curling and dropping to her knees. “What’d you do that for?"

“I didn’t do anything,” Killian said, backing away.

“That
hurt
,” she said, standing only when she was certain no one was near enough to touch her.

“Did you tense?” the Captain asked.

“
Tense
?” Why did her voice sound so hysterical? “Of course I was tense. This is a lot of pressure.”

The Captain shook his head. “No. If you tensed when Killian touched you, you closed yourself off. You would've had the same reaction to me, but you let my etâme flow right into you. Are you unwilling to work with him?”

“Of course I’m willing to work with him. It's just..." She huffed.
I have to trust him
. "I've never needed anyone else to—I've never used my etâme with anyone this way." She returned to her position against the glass. "It surprised me, was all,” she added. “Let’s try this again.”

After a moment, both the Captain and Killian’s hands found her shoulders. This time, when the cold swept through her and she pushed it out, she relaxed, and let Killian pull the heat through her like thread through a needle.

After a few minutes
—
or perhaps an hour, as time was fickle
—
she had narrowed her focus to the water itself, letting the passing energies fuse with her own, putting her in a more comfortable mental position, where she felt like she was alone.

The cold extensions of her fingers groped for purchase against the roiling, ever-changing current, trying to establish a path. But a path the size of her hands wasn’t wide enough. The vessel needed a tunnel.

She pressed her hands harder against the window. The fingers reached further, then twisted, stretched, formed a net and pushed outward. She tried to imagine the bubbles darting out of the way of the vessel. Each time one would reach the extension of her hands, she would let the cold net devour it and send its heat into Killian’s hands.

The Subble sped forward, less jittery, reaching farther under the watery realm of the Fyrennian Isle, and soon, the feeling in her extension was akin to running through a swarm of gnats with her hands over her face. Very few of the boiling bubbles hit the vessel itself.

Though the task required all of her attention, eventually, she started to notice George and Harold’s low murmurs and felt the sweat on Killian’s palms soaking through her shirt.

Not a good sign.

Prolonged etâme, no matter how hard she focused, was something Ariana had never done before. She started feeling weak, as if she’d been swimming alongside the vessel from the start.

Then the cold that flowed from Captain Leeward’s hands ceased.

He fell to the ground beside her. And with the absence of his power, a great weight fell on her right side
—
to Killian. His stubby fingernails dug into her skin.