The stone hall of the Temple of the Sea Sisters was full. The seats were not enough. Commoners stood in the aisles, jostling at the doors, their shoulders pressed together, their breath fogging the cold air. It was their daily routine to watch the trials of the Sea Sisters, but this trial was different. The case had shocked the public, and it was among the most anticipated in Salter.
The three Sisters sat in their high seats. Ebb in the centre, Tide on her right, Wave on her left. Their faces were firm. Their eyes were fixed on the accused. Ebb's hands rested flat on the armrests, her spine straight as a blade. Tide leaned forward slightly, her fingers drumming once on the stone. Wave sat still, her hand pressed to her stomach, her face pale.
The accused was a man in his late forties. His teeth were like the darkness of the ocean depths, worn like wood the sea had eaten over time. His clothes were dirty—stained with salt and something darker. He was accused of murdering his entire family.
The looks directed at him were looks of disgust, malice, and anticipation. The Sisters' looks were looks of judgement.
The accused looked at the people casting harsh glances at him. His eyes moved slowly across the crowd, reading their faces.
"Look here," Ebb said, her voice cold and carrying through the hall. She leaned forward, her fingers curling around the armrest. "Why do you look at them? We are the ones who pass judgement here."
The accused turned his head slowly, his chains clinking against the stone floor. His voice was flat, worn. "Your judgement does not matter, actually. In any case, the sea has the final word." He paused, his lips curling into something that was not quite a smile. "Besides, their eyes have already judged. Most here wish to see me dead for something I didn't do."
Tide leaned forward, her fingers tapping once on the armrest. Her eyes narrowed. "You confessed yourself that you did it. Why do you deny it now?"
The accused spread his hands, the chains rattling faintly. His shoulders lifted in a small shrug. "I'm confused, Sisters. When did I ever confess to something I didn't do? I love my family." His voice cracked, but his expression did not change. "But my brother Bob hated me. And he hated them even more. I wouldn't be surprised if he is the one who did it. I think he killed them. And now he's trying to send me to my death too."
"Who is this Bob? Your name is Corn." Ebb narrowed her eyes, her lips pressed thin. Her hand tightened on the armrest.
"Bob is my brother. And throughout his life, he hated two things: the sea and my family." The man's voice cracked again. "So he killed them. He couldn't bear to see me happy, so he killed them all."
"There is no Bob," Ebb said, her voice cold and final. She straightened in her seat, her chin lifting. "There is only Corn. You killed your family and pretend madness. That will not protect you from the sea."
The accused shook his head slowly, his chains scraping against the stone floor. His eyes dropped to his hands, then rose again. "Why do you insist that I am my family's killer? I already said Bob did it."
Ebb looked at Wave. Wave was silent. She had said nothing throughout the session. Her hand rested on her stomach, and her face was pale. Her eyes were fixed on a point somewhere beyond the accused.
"Do you believe in the sea, Corn?" Ebb asked, turning back to him.
The accused looked up, meeting her eyes. His gaze was steady. "Yes, my lady, I believe in it. But Bob—I don't think so. To put it more precisely, he hates the sea."
"I acknowledge the effort you put into your words, but that doesn't change the fact that you are a murderer of your own kin." Ebb's voice was hard, each word a stone laid on a grave. "You killed your brother by drowning him at sea. It's no surprise that he hates the sea and hates you too. You were given a chance, but you didn't intend to change. But believe me—this time you will get what you deserve."
The crowd clapped, satisfied with the verdict. The sea's verdict.
The Sea Knights escorted him out. The accused did not resist. His chains dragged behind him. The public left the hall, their voices rising in excited chatter.
Tide looked at Ebb. Her brow furrowed. "Why does he keep talking about his brother Bob?"
Ebb kept her gaze on the empty doorway. Her fingers tapped once on the armrest, then stilled. "It's just a way to avoid judgment. Everyone tries in their own way. But the sea doesn't distinguish between the sane and the insane."
Tide gestured with her eyes toward Wave. Ebb looked at Wave, who was not well. Her face was grey, her lips pressed together.
"Are you still sick?" Ebb asked.
"Yes, I still have pain in my stomach," Wave said weakly. Her voice was thin, barely audible. Then she vomited again on the floor. Her body convulsed, her hand shooting out to brace against the armrest.
Ebb rose and left the hall without another word. Her robes swept behind her.
Tide looked at Wave, her voice low and without warmth. "This is hard on you. But you will get used to it. Just as I did."
Robert stood on the palace balcony, looking out at the dark lights of the Black Mud Town. The torches flickered below like dying stars. Behind him stood his old grey councillor, his head bowed, his hands clasped before him.
"Did you summon me, my lord?" the councillor asked.
"Yes, I did." Robert did not turn. His hands rested on the stone railing, his fingers curled loosely. "As I gazed at the sky, I found myself waiting for something. Tell me—has the sun ever shone on this place before?"
The councillor hesitated. His fingers twisted together. "But you, my lord—you are older than me, and you have spent most of your life within these walls. If the sun were to rise in this place, you would remember. In other words, it would be something for everyone to remember."
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"Yes, that's somewhat true. But for most of my life I was also blind." Robert's voice was quiet, almost distant. "So perhaps during those years the sun bestowed its mercy upon this place. Provided I cannot see it."
"No, my lord. Light has never entered this place." The councillor shook his head slowly. "Besides, if it did, you would not need eyes to see it. Sunlight is a feeling of strange warmth. The eye cannot see it, but the body can feel it."
Robert's fingers curled around the stone railing. His knuckles paled. "I don't know. But this kingdom must carry an ancient curse to prevent something so beautiful from entering."
"They say, my lord, that there were days when light was part of this place. But all that disappeared in the years of darkness that humanity lived through here at the hands of the Normens." The councillor's voice dropped, as though he feared the walls themselves might hear. "They say that every time the sun decides to give us a drop of its light, a scream drives it away."
"Nonsense," Robert said in a faint, inaudible voice.
"What did you say, my lord?"
Robert turned his head slightly. His eyes found the councillor's face. "Are our people marching to Valkryn?"
"Of course, my lord. Exactly as ordered. Our people are being sent scattered and hidden to the kingdom of light."
"Good. In times of war we must follow the light." Robert's hand left the railing. He straightened. "Staying in darkness does not bode well."
"Will you send all the people there, my lord?"
"Yes. War is at hand. We must not hesitate."
"But will the Kingdom of Valkryn receive them on a path paved with roses?"
"We do not need a path paved with roses. In war we take any path." Robert's voice hardened. "Even if it is a path full of blood. Go and continue the evacuation. And I do not want their path to be one and clear. I want my people to move in secrecy. And when they strike, they strike in secrecy."
"Your command, my lord. We will see to it."
Robert turned slightly, his eyes narrowing. "There's one more thing I want to ask you about. Who is this Ben I keep hearing about?"
The councillor's voice was careful, measured. "He's nothing, my lord. Just a dwarf who took advantage of his size to stick his nose into things bigger than him."
"And what does he do that his name is spoken more often than mine? In my own kingdom?"
" "He writes, my lord Histories. he became famous for his methods of writing about events from the heart of the event."
"I didn't see him in the maze, if that's what you're claiming."
"As I said, sir, he has his methods."
Meriel was having dinner with his sister. The maidservants served the food, their hands moving quickly, their eyes downcast. Meriel looked at his sister coldly, his knife moving slowly through the meat on his plate. The blade scraped against the ceramic with each cut.
"Are you well?" Meriel asked, not meeting her eyes.
"No, I am not," Layla said flatly, pushing a piece of bread around her plate. Her fork scraped against the porcelain.
Meriel said nothing. He looked at his plate and set his knife down. The sound was soft but final.
Layla lifted her head. Her eyes were steady. "When will we declare war, brother?"
Meriel chewed slowly, then wiped his mouth with a cloth. He folded the cloth and set it beside his plate. "The war has already begun. It is a matter of time until it ends."
"Will we not hold a funeral for Gerald?" Layla's voice softened, almost breaking. Her hand tightened on her fork.
Meriel looked at her for the first time. His eyes were tired, but steady. "We must retrieve his body first. After we win the war. William will help us with that." He paused. "You have met him, have you not?"
"The young man with the cane," she said, frowning slightly. Her head tilted. "But in what capacity?"
"He succeeded Gerald as ruler. My brother trusted him." Meriel leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking. "So will I."
Layla's eyes widened a little. Her fingers tightened on the edge of the table. "Gerald trusted too much, and look what happened. How do we know this person is trustworthy?"
Meriel took a slow breath. His shoulders rose and fell. "He has sealed his succession to the throne. I think Gerald saw something in him that will be very important in the war we will lead. Rob is still young. He cannot rule now and lead a war."
Layla nodded slowly, her fingers tracing the edge of her cup. "Yes, you are right. Ironfield is a kingdom of many war leaders."
"The men there prefer death in war over spending their whole lives in the mines," Meriel said, looking toward the window. His reflection was faint in the dark glass.
"Good. But I do not think our men share the same feeling." She leaned forward, lowering her voice. Her eyes were sharp. "They are suffering. Their families have drowned in hunger and disease. There is no loyalty left in their hearts toward you. What will you do about that?"
Meriel met her gaze and held it. His jaw tightened. "I have already sent two private letters to the Kingdom of Salter and Valkryn to resolve all issues between us. And I sent some things as a token of trust."
"Do you think they will accept your offer?" she asked, frowning.
"Yes. They have no choice." He picked up his cup and drank. "In times of war, the wheel must keep turning. If it stops, you have lost the war. And they know that."
At that moment, Sereine was pouring wine into their cups. Her hand was steady, but her eyes were distant.
"This is a new maidservant named Klara," Layla said, nodding toward her.
Meriel glanced at the girl. His eyes moved over her face, then dropped. "Where are you from, Klara?"
Sereine did not say anything. Her hand paused on the pitcher.
"Why doesn't she speak?" Meriel asked, turning to Layla.
Layla answered calmly, "She's mute, brother."
Meriel watched Sereine for a moment longer, then said, "Good job, Klara. The food is good."
Sereine gave a small nod and stepped back. Her face was unreadable.
Layla returned to the matter at hand. "So we will wait for this William to start this officially."
Meriel set his cup down. The sound was sharp. "We must hope he is not late. In war, he who does not strike first receives the first blow."
Holland was in his chamber, before the mirror. He had a plate of food. The mask was on the table. He ate while looking at himself. He avoided eating before anyone because of the ugliness of the sight. But he watched himself and his hideous face as he ate. His reflection stared back at him—melted skin, scars, the ruin of what had once been a man.
Until one of the palace knights interrupted him.
Holland quickly replaced the mask. His hand moved fast, covering his face. He lowered his head.
"What is it? Do you not know how to knock on the door?" His voice was sharp, muffled by the mask.
"Forgive me, Your Grace. But there is something that requires you immediately."
"What is it?"
He rose. His chair scraped against the stone. When he went to the throne room, there was a person from the noble families of the Open Plain.
"What is it?" Holland said, his patience thinning.
"My lord, there are many people entering the abandoned Great Harvest City. Suspicious people in huge numbers. The knights there could not do anything. So on behalf of the residents of the Open Plain city, I want to know what the hell is happening."
"There is one person who can answer."
He hurried to Sam's chamber. When he arrived, the guards opened the door. But when he entered, no one was there.
There was a letter on the bed. Holland picked it up. His fingers were steady. It was written:
"Everyone wears a mask. Everyone hides ugliness. But not everyone pretends with such skill."
Holland went out. His voice was sharp. "Where is Sam?"
"What?" said the guard.
"The boy is not in his chamber. Where is he? Tell me."
"We have been here the whole time. No one left except Kormel. She brought breakfast and then left."
Holland hurried to Kormel. He stood before her. His chest was heaving.
"What exactly are you doing?" he demanded.
"What?" said Kormel, looking up slowly. Her hands were still on the table.
"Where is Sam?"
"He is in a place far from this palace, which was never his place."
"Are you still taking that medicine?"
"No. But I realised he has no place here."
"He is a guilty man. He must be punished." Holland's voice rose. "And now there is something bigger we are embroiled in."
"He said we are on the brink of war. Is that what you mean?"Holland was annoyed with Kormel. He left angrily. The door slammed behind him.