Virginia Kantra - Forgotten Sea

“More than a matter of academic interest. Matter of survival.”

His hips, his shoulders pressed something solid. A bed, hard and narrow as a ship’s bunk. A pil ow, flat and musty.

The voices cut off. He heard a scrape, a thump, before the silvery light behind his eyelids faded away.

He lay on his back under the earth, alone in the dark, in the silence. His head throbbed.

For the first time, it occurred to him he might die after al.

She crouched alone in the filth, in the dark, her heart pounding so hard her body shook with it. He was coming back.

She pressed her fingers to her mouth so she wouldn’t whimper, so he wouldn’t hear and find her.

He was coming back with a present for her, he said. The thought made her curl herself tighter in her corner. “ My little angel ,” he cal ed her, which made her want to throw up. If only she’d be quiet, if only she’d be good, if only she were nice to him, he wouldn’t have to hurt her, he said.

She heard a scrape, a thump from the top of the stairs.

And woke gasping, her skin clammy with sweat.

Just a dream.

Lara lay dry-mouthed and wide-eyed, staring into the darkness, wil ing her stomach to settle and her heartbeat to return to normal. Throwing off the tangled covers, she staggered across the room and jerked open the window.

She drew a deep, slow breath. Held it, while the clean night air blew away the sticky remnants of her dream.

The quad was empty, the students in their beds. No one was up but Lara and the moon. Even the infirmary was dark.

Lara frowned. Miriam had said Justin needed rest. But whoever was with him ought to have a light. Did the sleep spel stil hold? Or was he lying awake, alone in the dark?

From experience, she knew better than to go straight back to sleep after a nightmare. Maybe she would just go check on him. No one had told her she couldn’t visit the infirmary.

Because it never occurred to them that she would try, her conscience pointed out. She ignored her conscience and reached for her clothes.

Minutes later, she was creeping down the staircase of the sleeping dormitory. A tread creaked under her bare feet.

She froze, her heart revving about a mil ion miles a minute.

Which was ridiculous; she was a proctor now with her own apartment, and she had every right to leave her rooms if she wanted.

She stole through the silent common room, avoiding the clustered study tables, the couches crouched like beasts around the dark TV. Moonlight poured through the casements, forming silver tiles on the floor.

She fumbled with the deadbolt on the door. She had always been the good girl in her cohort. Her roommate Bria had been the one who nudged and pushed and led them into trouble, who snuck out at night and slipped in at dawn, flushed, laughing, and defiant. Lara was in agony for her friend every time Bria was cal ed to the headmaster’s office.

Bria had only grinned, shaking her wild mane of blond hair.

Natural y curly. Natural y blond. It wasn’t always easy, having a best friend who looked the part, like a painting of an angel from the Italian Renaissance. “What’s Axton going to do, throw me out?” Bria’s smile invited Lara in on the joke.

“Come on, Lara, God Almighty cast us out of Heaven. You think I care if a bunch of teachers expel me from their stupid school?”

They’d been opposites in so many ways: Bria, outgoing, outspoken, and outrageous; Lara, careful, committed, and responsible.

But as the only two girls in their cohort, they were inevitably paired. For eight years, they’d shared notes and secrets, skipped gym and meals together, whispered about everything and nothing across the space between their beds after lights out. Bria was Lara’s other self, her other side, F o r g o t t e n s e a 47

secret and daring. Lara missed her more than she could ever admit, even to herself.

The school never expel ed Bria. She’d been right about that. But the summer before their senior year, Bria ran away. Lara never saw her friend again.

Flyers.

The masters refused to acknowledge them. The students spoke of them in whispers. The ones who deserted the security of their own kind, the nephilim who left Rockhaven.

Lara shivered as she pul ed the door shut behind her and turned her key in the lock.

She could never do that. She owed Simon everything: her home, her education, her identity.

Her life.

Wards made of glass rods chimed from the trees as she hurried along the edges of the upper quad. The night was alive with the rustle of leaves and insects, the flutter of breeze and bats. She ducked her head past the dining hal, lengthened her stride toward the infirmary.

She tested the handle. Locked. Of course.

It took only seconds to open the door with her proctor’s key.

The waiting room was empty and dark.

“Hel o?”

No answer. No nurse behind the desk, no guard at the door.

She took a few steps forward, her blood pounding in her ears, her senses humming. They would not have left him alone.

She had a sudden, jarring image of Justin’s white face, the heth gleaming in the hol ow of his throat, and doubt coiled like a worm at her heart. Would they?

“Miriam?” she cal ed softly into the dark.

Silence.

She reached out with her mind, straining for the whisper 4 8

V i r g i n i a K a n t r a

of his presence, trying to pick out his scent, his heartbeat.

The effort made her tired brain throb.

Or was that an echo of his pain?

“Justin? Dr. Kioni?”

Nothing.

Her feet fol owed her thoughts down the deserted corridor.

She threw open doors as she passed, caution melting into anxiety. “Justin.”

His room.

His room.

Empty.

She stood in the doorway, her gaze scraping the rumpled hospital bed. He was gone, the only signs he’d ever been there the wrinkled sheets and the black sheath on the table.

He was gone. A sudden chil chased over her skin.

Escaped.

She picked up the knife left lying on the table.

Zayin’s words mocked her. “Still think he’s harmless?”

Th e s k y wa s pe w t e r a n d pa l e g o l d, t h e s u n just breaking through the clouds to shimmer on the surface of the western sea.

Lucy Hunter sat alone in the inner bailey of Caer Subai, listening to the splash of the fountain and the restless murmur of the ocean outside the wal s. After seven years, the work of rebuilding the selkie stronghold of Sanctuary was nearly complete. The towers rose tal and strong, wreathed in mists and magic. The scent of apple blossoms blew from the hil s, mingling with the wild brine of the sea and the rich perfume of her garden.

Roses rioted everywhere, cascading pinks and bold reds, bright yel ows and starry whites gleaming like constel ations against the thick, dark foliage.

Her hands clenched in her lap. Not everything on the island was barren.

“You are up early.” A deep voice disturbed her reverie.

She turned her head.

A man stood in the shadow of the castle wal, watching her with eyes the color of rain. Tal, broad, and handsome, his hair blue-black like a mussel shel. Conn ap Llyr, prince of the merfolk, lord of the sea. Even now, the sight of him had the power to steal her breath and stir her heart.

“Or couldn’t you sleep?” he asked.

She turned away, unwil ing to burden him with her growing sense of failure. “I had a dream.”

His deerhound, Madagh, left his side to thrust a cold nose against her colder fingers. She stroked the dog’s gray, bearded muzzle. It was easy to take comfort from the dog.

“You could have woken me.” Conn’s voice was too measured for reproach.