Queen Of Nothing

Part Twenty: Wretched Waters

Though the assignment had been clear, Netilaa had been given nothing to aid her on her journey. The queen had found herself once again traipsing through the unfamiliar forests on the island, nothing to guide her way but the remnants of a pathway that hadn't been walked in a very long time. The sun had set, meaning Rystak and those who had accompanied her would be long gone.

Had their magic been returned to them, and would she be capable of feeling it if it had been? The Artillians hadn't had access to magic in a very long time, and her own tainted bloodline likely didn't carry enough power for her to access it the way Ember's would have. With the return of magic, she could only imagine what was transpiring back in Kaskadan with the Court and their king.

Still, there was little time for her to ponder the happenings in Kaskadan as Netilaa reached the shoreline, pondering how she would cross back to the mainland. Of course, this task would not be an easy one, she thought to herself as she took in the empty beach before her. The gods would not have granted her with this if they knew it would be simple.

So the queen took to work, gathering some of the larger fallen trees along the edge of the forest and materials to tie them together. Netilaa was accustomed to the shoreline, familiar with the water, though these waters were not the beautiful blue of the Cobalt Sea she had grown up with. The darkness made the span of ocean between the lands nearly black, and she thought of Ember's words to her on the boat. 

Whatever was beneath the waves would not scare her away. Only the fear of failure drove her as she drug the makeshift raft to the edges of the water. Netilaa allowed herself a brief moment of hesitation before she pushed the improvised vessel out until it no longer drug along the sands. She hauled her body up, clutching the only real evidence that anyone had ever visited the island before her-an ore left behind by someone who surely regretted their decisions.

Lightning split the sky above her as thunder sounded, signaling the rain only moments before it began.

"Of course," Netilaa breathed, shivering at the chill that seemed to overtake her. The curse on her lips was silenced by the ominous sound that began in the darkness as she navigated further from the shoreline. It seemed to have no source, yet the queen pushed forward despite the fear that seeded itself in the pit of her stomach.

The waves only worsened the further she went, threatening to overturn the makeshift raft. Navigating the wretched waters turned into a struggle as the downpour picked up, obscuring her view of the shoreline she was aiming for. Frustration overtook her fear, and she paddled on ferociously, hoping that she didn't find herself floating aimlessly by morning.

"Netilaa," a voice called through the storm, sending a sharp chill down her spine. For a moment, the queen wondered if she had imagined the sound of her name until she heard it again, this time much closer than before.

As she peered through the darkness, her heart pounding, a shape began to take form in the sea.

"Netilaa," Ektor called to her, his body floating closer to her raft. "Why didn't you save me?"

As she blinked, the image of the arrow protruding from his head became clearer through the rain, taking her breath away.

"Why did you leave us behind?"

Another familiar voice crept along her skin, a second shape washing up beside Ektor's body. Arrowen, her middle brother. His body was mutilated, torn to nearly shreds from the battle he had not survived. Though she had not seen his demise, Netilaa was certain what she was seeing in the Sea of Grief was the truth.

"You should have fallen with your people."

Gravin's body seemed to come from the depths beneath her, as if he had been dumped into the water after Artillia had been overtaken. The words he whispered, though, they seemed to float over her shoulder, as if her oldest brother were sitting just behind her on the vessel. A lump formed in her throat as she took in the gaping wound in his neck where his throat had been sliced open brutally.