Arc VII Chapter 3- Aftermath

Arc VII — Aftermath

The sea had gone quiet.

Captain Sternhelm did not trust it.

For the better part of an hour, he had stood at the battered helm of his ship, watching the waters that had so recently threatened to swallow them. Broken spars littered the deck, torn rigging hung from the masts, and the starboard railing had been reduced to splintered timber. The sailors who remained able-bodied worked with the exhausted determination of men who understood just how fortunate they were to be alive.

The Stormkraken was gone.

That, more than anything, troubled him.

He had seen ships broken against reefs, watched storms tear entire fleets apart, and once survived a winter crossing that had claimed half his crew. Yet in all his years upon the sea, he had never witnessed anything quite like the creature that had risen against them.

It had possessed every advantage.

The ship was crippled. His men were exhausted. Their weapons had done little more than inconvenience the monstrous thing lurking beneath the waves.

And then, shortly before dawn, it had simply withdrawn.

Sternhelm rubbed a hand over his weathered face.

"Captain?"

He turned toward the approaching sailor.

"Speak."

"We've recovered what we can from the lower hold. The pumps are keeping ahead of the water, but the carpenter says the starboard hull will need proper repairs before we attempt another crossing."

"Then we'd best reach a harbor before the sea changes its mind."

"Aye, Captain."

"And the dead?"

The sailor hesitated.

"Seven accounted for. Three more missing."

Sternhelm's jaw tightened.

"Keep looking. If they're aboard, I want them found. If they're overboard..."

He let the thought hang.

The sailor understood.

"Aye, sir."

Sternhelm turned back toward the water.

A pale morning sun had begun to break through the thinning clouds. Its light spread across the surface in long, shimmering bands.

For a moment, he thought he saw something moving beneath them.

A shadow, impossibly broad.

He leaned forward.

Nothing.

Only the sea.

"Bloody cursed waters," he muttered.

Raenisa Valen had not slept.

Her wings ached terribly.

The great feathers, normally arranged in elegant layers of pale gold and ivory, were still damp from the storm. She had managed to clean away the worst of the salt and blood, but several feathers had been bent or damaged during the fighting. Every movement reminded her of the strain.

Her cheek stung as well.

The shallow knife wound left by Aren's attacker had begun to close, leaving an angry red line beneath one sharp cheekbone. She had scarcely given it any thought.

There had been more important things to worry about.

Aren was alive.

That was what mattered.

She stood beside the narrow bed in their cabin, watching her husband struggle to sit upright.

His chestnut hair had fallen across his forehead, and there was an unhealthy pallor beneath his naturally fair complexion. Three days of unconsciousness had left him weak, despite the extraordinary healing that had saved his life.

He looked thoroughly miserable.

"You're certain you can stand?" she asked.

Aren glanced toward her.

"I am beginning to suspect you intend to keep me in this bed until we reach old age."

"If necessary."

"How reassuring."

He swung his legs over the edge.

Raenisa folded her arms.

Aren looked at her.

She looked back.

"You're hovering," he observed.

"You're recovering."

"I've noticed."

"Then perhaps you might exercise some sense."

He smiled faintly.

"That would be a rather unfortunate precedent to establish."

Raenisa's keen eyes narrowed.

Even exhausted, there was something distinctly predatory in that expression. Her fine elven features possessed an unusual sharpness around the eyes and cheekbones, lending her a striking resemblance to the great hunting birds of her homeland without diminishing the softness of her face. The pointed tips of her ears emerged from beneath pale hair that had been hastily braided away from her temples.

Aren had once told her she looked like a creature made equally for royal courts and open skies.

At present, she looked prepared to throw him bodily back into bed.

"You were stabbed," she reminded him.

"Yes."

"You nearly died."

"I remember."

"Then you began glowing."

"That part is rather less clear."

"And after performing what I can only describe as an act of divine absurdity, you collapsed and slept for three days."

Aren considered this.

"When you put it that way, I do sound rather inconsiderate."

Raenisa stared at him.

He offered a sheepish smile.

She struck his shoulder.

Not particularly hard, but with enough conviction to make her point.

"Ow."

"Good."

"Raenisa!"

"You frightened me, Aren."

The humor left his expression.

She looked away.

For three days, she had watched him breathe, watched his chest rise and fall, and wondered whether the strange light that had saved his life might have taken something from him in return.

Then the storm had come.

And the monster.

And for a terrible stretch of time, she had believed the sea would finish what the assassin had begun.

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Aren reached for her hand.

"Come here."

She hesitated only briefly before stepping closer.

He drew her between his knees and rested his forehead against her stomach.

Raenisa's wings shifted, spreading slightly to accommodate the embrace.

Her fingers moved into his hair.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

She closed her eyes.

"Don't apologize for surviving."

"Then what would you have me apologize for?"

"For leaving our quarters without your guards."

Aren winced.

"Ah."

"For wandering into an empty corridor."

"Yes, well—"

"And for apparently deciding that a knife wound was an acceptable excuse to abandon your wife for three days."

He laughed softly against her.

"That last accusation seems rather unfair."

"I haven't finished."

"Of course not."

She looked down at him.

"And if you ever frighten me like that again, Crown Prince Aren Valen, I will personally ensure you regret it."

He raised his head.

"Should I be more frightened of the assassin or my wife?"

"Your wife."

"Noted."

Despite herself, Raenisa smiled.

She leaned down and kissed his forehead.

For a little while, neither spoke.

They found Captain Sternhelm near the quarterdeck.

Aren had insisted on seeing the damage for himself, and Raenisa had reluctantly agreed on the condition that he allow her to accompany him.

He had protested that he was perfectly capable of walking.

She had reminded him that he had only recently regained the ability to do so.

The argument ended there.

The morning air was cold and heavy with salt.

Aren stopped when he saw the condition of the ship.

"Gods preserve us."

Sternhelm turned.

"Your Highness."

"Captain."

The older man gave him a long, assessing look.

"Good to see you on your feet, my prince."

"Though I suspect you would prefer I remain below."

"I'd prefer everyone aboard remain where they're least likely to cause me trouble."

Aren smiled.

"A sound philosophy."

Sternhelm's expression softened slightly.

"Glad you're alive, lad."

The familiarity might have offended another prince.

Aren merely inclined his head.

"As am I."

He looked across the damaged deck.

"What happened?"

Sternhelm followed his gaze.

"Storm took us first. Then something worse."

"Raenisa told me about the creature."

"Aye."

"How did you drive it off?"

The captain was silent for a moment.

"We didn't."

Aren frowned.

Sternhelm rested both hands upon the railing.

"We fought it. Your wife fought like something out of an old northern saga. The men did what they could. But that beast had us, Your Highness."

He looked toward the sea.

"Had us dead to rights."

"Then why are we still here?"

"That's what I'd dearly like to know."

Raenisa stood beside her husband, her wings folded tightly beneath her traveling cloak.

Sternhelm glanced at her.

"You saw it too, didn't you, my lady?"

She nodded.

"The way it stopped."

"Aye."

Aren looked between them.

"What do you mean?"

Raenisa took a moment before answering.

"It was attacking the ship. The smaller creatures were everywhere, and something enormous was moving beneath us. Then, quite suddenly, they began to withdraw."

"All of them?"

"Yes."

Sternhelm scratched at his beard.

"Never seen the like. Something that big doesn't abandon a meal unless it's frightened, wounded, or called away."

"Which do you believe it was?" Aren asked.

"Couldn't tell you."

The captain looked at him.

"But whatever made that thing leave, I'd be grateful if it remained in a charitable mood."

Aren glanced toward the water.

He could see nothing beneath its rolling surface.

Still, an unpleasant sensation settled in his chest.

"What of our losses?"

Sternhelm's expression darkened.

"Seven dead. Three missing. More wounded than I'd care to count. We've lost stores, damaged the hull, and torn enough canvas to keep a sailmaker busy for a month."

Aren lowered his head.

"I'm sorry, Captain."

Sternhelm shook his head.

"Don't start carrying every death aboard this vessel on your shoulders. The sea doesn't care whose banner flies from the mast."

"They were under my protection."

"And they knew the risks when they signed aboard."

Aren looked at the damaged railing.

"See that their families are compensated. The missing as well, unless we learn otherwise."

Sternhelm studied him.

Then nodded.

"I'll see their names are recorded."

"Thank you."

A shout came from the rigging.

Sternhelm turned, barking an instruction to the sailors working above.

When he looked back, Aren had gone noticeably pale.

Raenisa noticed immediately.

"Aren?"

He swallowed.

"I'm fine."

She narrowed her eyes.

"You're turning green."

"An unfortunate trick of the light."

"Aren."

He took a slow breath.

The deck rolled beneath him.

His stomach rolled with it.

"Oh, gods."

Raenisa caught his arm.

"Below. Now."

For once, he offered no argument.

Aren barely made it through the cabin door.

The ship lurched beneath his feet, and an unpleasant wave of nausea rose so suddenly that he scarcely had time to reach the bucket beside the bed.

He dropped to his knees.

What followed was thoroughly undignified.

Raenisa was beside him almost immediately.

"Oh, Aren."

He retched again.

She gathered his chestnut hair into one hand, keeping it away from his face while the other rested firmly between his shoulders.

"Easy. Breathe."

He attempted to obey.

His stomach had other intentions.

For several miserable moments, the Crown Prince of Valecrest could do little more than cling to a wooden bucket and regret every decision that had brought him aboard a ship.

Eventually, the sickness passed.

He remained where he was, breathing heavily.

Raenisa continued holding his hair.

Aren gave a weak, bitter chuckle.

"Tell me something, wife."

"What?"

"When you imagined marrying a noble prince, was this what you had in mind?"

Raenisa looked down at him.

"Not particularly."

"Ah."

"I imagined considerably less vomiting."

"How cruel."

"And perhaps a little more dignity."

Aren laughed weakly.

"Then I fear you've been terribly deceived."

"Tragically."

She reached for a damp cloth and gently wiped his mouth.

He closed his eyes.

"Perhaps you can have the marriage annulled. Surely there's some provision concerning husbands who spend their mornings embracing buckets."

"I'll consult the appropriate scholars."

"Do hurry."

She smiled.

Then, with considerable care, helped him back onto the bed.

Her wings shifted behind her, one brushing the edge of the nearby table.

Raenisa immediately turned.

The black gryphon egg remained nestled beneath its heated lamp, secured within a padded cradle of cloth and straw. During the storm, she had fastened the cradle to the table and wedged additional blankets around it to prevent the egg from rolling free.

The lamp had survived.

So had the egg.

Aren followed her gaze.

For the first time that morning, his expression brightened.

"You saved it."

Raenisa looked back at him.

"Of course."

He studied the dark, faintly reflective shell.

"Even with everything that happened?"

"I wasn't about to let your gift roll across the cabin and crack against the wall."

Aren smiled.

"Our gift, I think."

She approached the table and rested her fingertips against the shell.

"It remains warm. I checked it whenever I could."

Aren watched her.

There was something deeply comforting about the sight of his wife standing beside the egg, her pale wings settling around her shoulders, one hand resting protectively upon the little life entrusted to them.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

Raenisa glanced toward him.

"For what?"

"For looking after both of us."

Her expression softened.

"Someone had to."

Aren chuckled.

"Indeed."

She returned to the bedside.

"Now lie back."

"Yes, my lady."

"And drink something."

"Of course."

"And if you attempt to visit the deck again before you've recovered—"

"I shall surrender myself to your judgment."

"Wise."

He smiled.

"Marriage has taught me many things."

"Apparently not enough."

She handed him a cup of water.

He took a cautious sip.

Then another.

His stomach seemed willing to tolerate it.

For now.

Some time passed before Aren spoke again.

Raenisa had settled beside him, carefully tending to the damaged feathers along one wing. The task required patience, and he watched her work in companionable silence.

"Raenisa?"

"Hm?"

"May I ask you something?"

She glanced at him.

"You generally do."

He smiled faintly.

Then his expression grew serious.

"The wound."

Her fingers stilled.

"What about it?"

"I remember being stabbed."

She lowered her wing.

Aren lifted the hem of his shirt.

Along his side, where the assassin's blade had entered, lay a patch of newly healed flesh.

Pink.

Smooth.

Strangely untouched by the passage of time.

He ran his fingers across it.

There was no pain.

No tenderness.

Nothing to suggest that only days earlier a knife had nearly ended his life.

"I should be dead," he said quietly.

Raenisa did not answer.

He looked at her.

"Shouldn't I?"

She held his gaze.

"Yes."

The word settled heavily between them.

Aren lowered his shirt.

"I remember the knife. The corridor. Trying to call for you."

Raenisa reached for his hand.

"And then?"

He hesitated.

"Light."

She watched him carefully.

"It came from you."

Aren frowned.

"From me?"

She nodded.

"Golden light. It filled the room. Your body lifted from the bed, and your wound closed before my eyes."

He stared at her.

"That isn't possible."

"I know what I saw."

He looked down at his hands.

"Did I say anything?"

"No."

"Did I move?"

"You stood."

Aren blinked.

"I stood?"

"Only briefly. You weren't yourself. Your eyes..."

She trailed off.

"What about my eyes?"

"They were different."

"Different how?"

Raenisa shook her head.

"I don't know how to describe it."

Aren sat quietly.

For a man raised among scholars, priests, and strategists, he found the absence of an explanation profoundly irritating.

He understood magic.

Or at least, he understood that magic possessed rules.

This had followed none that he recognized.

"Perhaps the Radiant intervened," he suggested.

Raenisa studied him.

"Perhaps."

But neither sounded convinced.

Aren leaned back against the pillows.

"I suppose I should be grateful."

"You should."

"And yet..."

"What?"

He looked toward the porthole.

"I cannot help wondering why."

Raenisa said nothing.

Aren glanced back at her.

"Why me?"

She considered the question.

Then reached across and took his hand.

"I don't know."

He smiled faintly.

"Not a particularly reassuring answer."

"No."

She squeezed his fingers.

"But it's the only honest one I have."

He brought her hand to his lips.

"Then I'll accept it."

By late afternoon, the sea had settled into long, gentle swells.

Raenisa stood near the porthole while Aren slept.

Her wings were finally dry enough to fold comfortably, though several feathers would require more attention once they reached land.

She looked toward the black gryphon egg.

Its shell remained warm beneath the lamp.

A small comfort.

Something alive.

Something that had survived.

Her gaze returned to Aren.

He lay peacefully beneath the blankets, one arm resting across his stomach.

She had never imagined that marriage would make her so afraid.

Not of her husband.

Not of the responsibilities that accompanied his station.

But of losing him.

The realization unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

She crossed the cabin and sat beside him.

For a moment, she simply watched him breathe.

Then she leaned down and pressed a kiss against his temple.

"Don't do that to me again," she whispered.

Aren stirred.

His eyes opened slightly.

"Do what?"

"Nearly die."

He gave a sleepy smile.

"I'll endeavor to avoid it."

"You'd better."

He reached for her hand without opening his eyes fully.

She gave it to him.

Outside, the sea rolled quietly beneath the fading sun.

Far above, sailors worked to mend the damage left by the storm. Captain Sternhelm stood at the helm, studying the northern horizon and calculating how much farther his wounded ship might travel before requiring repairs.

And far beneath the surface, beyond the reach of sunlight, something immense moved through the dark water.

It did not approach the ship.

It did not attack.

It merely followed.

Waiting.

Watching.

Drawn toward a presence it had felt only once before.

A warmth.

A light.

Something that did not belong to the sea.

And yet something the sea remembered.