Tides of Torment (Immortal Realms Book 2)
Tides of Torment: Chapter 9

Sereia had left promptly for the port, leaving Travion to handle the other side of Midniva’s matters. Kian had to be summoned—again—and he was fairly certain that his nephew would soon go into hiding. As his named heir, when Travion was indisposed, Kian sat on the throne.

Despite his nephew’s help over the past two months, it was clear this wasn’t where his heart was. Yet, there was no other option presented to Travion. With no child of his own, the crown had to be passed on to another family member, and with Ruan the heir to Lucem, it was left to Kian to shoulder Midniva.

Travion was bound to the castle walls for yet another day while more suffered. He loathed this waiting game, but soon his nephew would arrive, and Travion could finally set out and hunt down the person responsible.

The loss of the fleet infuriated him. Midniva couldn’t afford to lose those numbers, not when the assaults seemed to increase by the day.

He wound his way down the upstairs hall and strode to Taimon’s office. The door was ajar, allowing Travion to peer inside. Red walls were bare of any paintings or portraits. A golden high-backed chair sat in front of a dark cherry desk. Bookshelves were lined with several volumes that Travion had a sneaking suspicion were more likely to be accounting figures than novels of adventure or romance.

“Your Grace.” Taimon’s voice startled Travion. “Are you in need of something?”

He shoved off of the door frame and glanced down at his steward. His hair hung loose rather than in its typical bun or topknot, and his nostrils flared as if he’d hurriedly made his way through the hall. In the short few years his steward had been in his service, Taimon never seemed to relax. His shoulders were always bunched by his ears. Travion knew he wasn’t the easiest to deal with, but to cause such anxiety all the time?

“Prince Kian shall be arriving this evening, although he doesn’t know that yet. I’ll be calling on him soon.”

Taimon had been in the strategy room, he knew what they’d planned. Still, he didn’t seem to approve.

“Are you certain? I know we discussed this, and I don’t want to second guess you, Your Grace, but with so many unknowns and you sailing into dangerous waters?”

Stiff muscles wouldn’t keep Travion from leaping into battle. Not when innocents were dying while he sat and twiddled his fingers. “We are running out of options, Taimon. With every day that passes, I grow more impatient. We cannot simply wait around any longer.”

Taimon nodded and fidgeted with the gold buttons on his overcoat. “I see. Will you need me in the castle? It’s unfortunate timing, you see. My mother is ill, and I fear her last days draw closer. I’m not sure how long I’ll be in Hillbride for.”

As much as Travion couldn’t afford to lose an important member of the castle, he wasn’t so cruel as to deny the male what could be his mother’s last days. “Of course. Take all the time you need, Taimon. You may leave whenever you wish.”

Taimon bowed his head. “Thank you. I’ll take my leave at once.”

“Send my regards to your mother,” Travion said before he turned away and continued down the hall until he arrived at his study. Once inside, he walked up to the basin on a white marble pedestal. The water rippled from his approach, then stilled. With a sigh, Travion picked up a knife and pricked his fingertip. Blood dripped into the water as he murmured over it. The red spun around in a circle until an image slowly formed.

Dark, mussed hair fell over the male’s brow, nearly brushing against green eyes. “Brother!” Zryan cried. “I’m so glad you called on me.”

Zryan was not at all who Travion wished to speak to. “I didn’t. I was actually calling for Kian.”

Zryan rolled his eyes, smiling broadly. “Come now, my son left Midniva not long ago. You can spare a moment with me.”

“No, actually, I can’t. I leave for Tribonik at dawn.”

Zryan’s smile faded. “What? So soon?”

Travion shifted his weight to one leg and used the basin to hold himself up. He sighed, shaking his head. “It appears so. The attacks have increased, decimating one of my fleets, and I cannot have this on my conscience. It’s because of The Creaturae, and it is our responsibility. We’re more than the royal family, we’re the caretakers. It’s time we took care, Zryan.”

His brother glanced away from his basin. “Nothing good can come of this.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

Travion didn’t make a habit of soothing Zryan when most of his woes stemmed from the discord he created. Still, he was his younger brother, and it was only a matter of time until the relative peace came to an end, wasn’t it?

“Likely not. But together, we can put things back to rights. We’ve done it before, and we can do it again.” Like after Ludari had been slain and the kingdom was in utter chaos. It had been up to the brothers, and later on, Alessia, to mend the damage that had been done.

“Travion, don’t do anything foolish.”

He barked a laugh. “That is rich, coming from you, Zryan.” But his brother’s face scrunched into an expression of frustration. “I will be with Sereia’s crew, and you know she wouldn’t let me do anything—”

“Sereia?” Zryan’s tone lightened. He drew closer to the water and grinned. “Well, well, look what the tide brought in for you, brother. A lady of the sea.” He nodded. “I feel better knowing she’s accompanying you, considering she’d flay someone like a fish for looking at you sideways. And did she honestly call Eden a harlot?”

Travion rapped his fingers against the basin and ground his teeth together. “I’m so pleased to know your nerves are soothed, but I have a lot more to do than simply gossip.” He paused, glancing up at the ceiling, wondering if she actually had said that. But judging by the murderous look on Draven’s face, it was true. “Just send Kian at once. If he leaves within the hour, he’ll be here at sunset.”

“Very well. Give my regards to Sereia.” Zryan lifted his brows and winked.

Not wishing to endure his antics any longer, Travion dashed his hand through the water, severing the connection of the basin.

Travion was already outside, pacing the courtyard, when Kian’s gold-maned griffin landed on the grassy hillside. Long black talons scraped against the earth, digging it up. And as the wind blew, it ruffled the beast’s feathers. It must have been annoyed, for its lion’s tail lashed out behind it.

The gold of his nephew’s arm gleamed in the fading sunlight as he dismounted, and he smirked as he sauntered forward. “Uncle, it’s been far too long.”

Travion chuckled and gripped his hand, shaking it firmly. “Far too long, indeed.” At this rate, his nephew may as well have just remained in Midniva. “I hope you’re not too tired to rule in my stead.”

Kian pulled him into a half-embrace and pounded his back “Surely you jest,” he said as he withdrew. The breeze ruffled his dark brown hair. “We won our last battle, and you know how my parents get. Their sounds of celebration echo in the halls. It’s impossible not to hear.” He motioned to the castle, toward where the kingdom lay. “This is my reprieve.”

Oh, did Travion ever. Zryan and Alessia were riotous with their sexual endeavors, indifferent to any that may hear or catch them in the act. It was the only time Alessia cared to entertain her husband, not that Travion could blame her. Zryan’s eyes wandered too much, and he had strayed from his wife countless times—it was a wonder Alessia even let him touch her any longer. But who was Travion to judge, when the female he loved couldn’t endure his presence for too long? And the idea of remaining with him drove her away.

He grimaced. “My apologies, then.” Turning away from Kian, he motioned for him to follow. “Supper is ready for us, and while you know the gist of what is happening, there are some new developments.”

Over the course of the evening, Travion enjoyed the company of his nephew while he relayed the new information. In truth, he hadn’t a clue when he’d return to Midniva, which was likely not the answer Kian wanted, but it was the only one he had.

Eventually, sleep called to Travion, and he knew he needed the rest. It wasn’t likely he’d get any while he was out at sea.

Gulls flew above the masts, chattering to one another in annoyance as the wind worked against them. They circled the deep red sails as if they yearned to perch, in hopes of replaceing scraps to eat. The Saorsa wouldn’t be the wisest place for them to land. Neither would HMS Speedwell, which rode in the wake of the red-sailed ship.

Travion leaned against the railing on the quarterdeck, peering down as a vibrant hippocampus surfaced and shook its frilled head. Velox, his beast of the sea, looked no different than a horse as far as his face went. Full, rounded cheeks puffed as he drew in air, and the gills behind his cheeks puffed wildly. Then his face tapered as his muzzle drew down toward a pair of nostrils. From his chin, two long whiskers resembling a catfish’s dangled into the choppy water. Instead of a thick mane of hair, he possessed frills that looked more like seaweed than not. Velox was an impressive creature of muscle. His tail looked like a whale’s, and his front legs were that of a horse until they morphed into streamlined fins, made to better cut through the rough sea.

Words were not needed to communicate with Velox. They spoke through images and feelings, which Travion did to warn him, then to pass it on to those who also lurked beneath the sea. The last thing he wanted was for his companion to fall because he yearned to follow him.

At last, when the very last image filtered into Travion’s head—dark, tumultuous water—Velox shot a mouthful of liquid at him. He didn’t have time to duck out of the way and wound up with a face drenched by seawater. Grumbling, Travion pulled a cloth from his back pocket and wiped it away.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have warned you,” he muttered and wiped his face off. “Before you leave, can you and your pod be on the lookout for monsters?” Travion relayed the urgency by projecting imagery of a kraken and a whale.

Velox whistled his agreement, then shook his head in what Travion assumed was his version of a shudder. A moment later, Velox dove beneath the water, but Travion was wise to his tricks and shoved away from the rail before a wave crashed onto the deck.

“Ingrate,” Travion spat before he hopped down the stairs toward the captain’s quarters. Down below, lamps were lit to offer extra light. His interest wasn’t in the table with the map rolled out onto it but the woman bent over with her brow furrowed in concentration. Sun-kissed brunette locks tumbled down her shoulders, spilling onto the table before her. A small, slightly turned-up nose scrunched in annoyance as she shoved a scrap of parchment away, but it was the woman’s eyes as she flicked them up to gaze at him that always undid him. A blue so deep it rivaled the sea’s glittering hue.

“Why are you wet?” Sereia narrowed her eyes as she inspected the front of his shirt.

“A foul creature sprayed me.”

Understanding softened her expression. Her fingers toyed with the golden compass on the table.

Travion sat across from her, bent on having something akin to a normal conversation. There, of course, was nothing wrong with heated kisses or gasps of pleasure, but they had done little conversing since the night of the party.

As a pen rolled toward him, he stopped it with a slender finger. “You know, I never did ask . . .”

“What?” Sereia folded her arms and leaned on the table.

“What exactly did you say about Eden the other night? It’s been ages since I’ve seen Draven so furious.” He chuckled.

Sereia, to her credit, had the grace to look apologetic. Travion surmised it wasn’t at all because she’d offended Draven but because of how her words might have hurt Eden.

“I happened to call her a harlot, a wench, and a brat barely out of the cradle.”

Travion let the pen tumble from his fingers in response. “Well, thank the sea he didn’t haul you off to the afterlife on the spot. Draven isn’t fond of you on a good day, let alone when you’re insulting his wife.”

She shrugged. “I care little for what he thinks of me. Still, I cannot believe someone chose to be with him.”

Travion arched a brow. “No?” He glanced up at the lantern as it swayed with the gentle rocking of the sea. Although he knew Sereia wasn’t likely to change her mind, just as it was unlikely Draven would change his, Sereia didn’t know his brother—not for who he was or his truth. Perhaps if she knew how his companionship in the dark cell had kept Travion sane, or how the rough squeezing of his hand reminded him that he wasn’t alone, she would see past the scowls.

The taste of the cell threatened to choke him. Damp, foul, and stale. He could almost hear the barking of orders from down the way, signaling that the worst was yet to come with a visit from their father.

Ludari always came with the intent to inspect them, as if to see if he’d made the right decision, his visits full of taunts and mistreatment. Draven, of course, tried to spare Travion the worst of it, but as both grew, it didn’t matter.

“Trav?” Sereia grabbed ahold of his hand and held it between both of hers. “Are you all right?”

Her voice brought him back to the present, chasing away the stale air and the bite of iron in his flesh. “I’m fine.” He lifted her hands to his lips and placed a kiss on her knuckles. “One day, I hope you’ll see how and why someone would choose my brother.” Travion couldn’t bring himself to look into her eyes, knowing full well that the demons were clawing their way through his memories, his mind, and if she took one look at him, she would see them.

If Sereia couldn’t fathom why anyone would choose Draven, it was no wonder she couldn’t remain with him in Midniva. No, he wasn’t as severe as his brother, but he was more like him than not. The idea that her distaste ran so deeply left a bitter taste in his mouth.

With a sigh, he released his hold on her hands. He didn’t want to dwell on his tormented past, but Sereia, in all their years of on-again, off-again, he’d never asked what she had been up to while out at sea.

Part of him didn’t want to know, because he still clung on to hope that the same Sereia Ferox he’d first met was in there too. Travion wasn’t daft, though; he knew she’d made a name for herself, just not the extent.

“Tell me, what fresh hell have you been wreaking on the sea as of late?” A small twitch of a smile touched the corner of his lips.

Sereia’s shoulders fell ever so slightly, as if perhaps she’d been waiting for a different slew of words to tumble from his mouth. “First of all, you assume it’s hell, but in fact, I’ve been aiding those in need.”

Travion’s hands opened with his palms facing upward as he rocked back in surprise. “Is that so? I’m listening.” He chuckled, tucking loose strands of his hair behind his ear. The image of Sereia aiding someone wasn’t so far-fetched, but it was the how Travion wanted to hear. He didn’t picture her cradling someone on their deathbed or immersing herself in a sick house to take care of orphans, so her explanation of aid would no doubt be a good one.

“I’ve spent the last few years balancing the scales on the water. You have no idea how many greedy merchants pollute the sea, or what ill they inflict on the less fortunate.” She paused only when Travion lifted an eyebrow as if to say Is that so? Sereia continued on, her face lighting with a familiar passion he knew all too well. She grew animated with her hands and even the shift of her body as she submerged herself in her element. At peace and truly happy. It was selfish of him to even think it, but he wished he could bring the same light to her eyes as the sea did.

“Thanks to The Saorsa, there are less than there were. We’ve taken back what should belong to the poor merchants and fishermen.”

Travion’s good sense disagreed with the notion. There was a way to go about exacting fairness, and stealing or destroying another’s property wasn’t it. Nevertheless, he didn’t exactly disagree with the sentiment, and he’d be lying if he said the impassioned look on Sereia’s face didn’t make him want to join her efforts. Alas, he was King of Midniva, and he was to lead by example.

“And here I thought you’d lived a dull life until now. What was I thinking?” Travion slid his palms along the smooth surface of the table. The light flickered in the quarters as the ship rocked more. He felt the crackle in his veins, the unfurling of an impending storm.

A knock came at the door, snapping them from the moment. It was something Travion was used to, but Sereia looked annoyed. Her full lips pressed together as she tilted her head toward the door. “What is it?”

Adrik’s tan face peeked in first, then the rest of his body followed. “There is a storm ahead, and it looks bad.”

Travion didn’t turn to face Adrik, he only stared down at his hands. The electric current of the storm swirled around him, and he could nearly pluck the strands from the air. They didn’t have time to be slowed by an inconvenience.

“Lightning every few seconds and black clouds. It’s going to get even choppier the farther we head into it.”

“We can’t afford to anchor and just ride it out.” Sereia glanced toward the window across the cabin.

Travion curled his lip in annoyance. “No, we can’t.” His weight shifted on the chair, then he stood up and quickly shoved past Adrik, ignoring the grumble that followed him.

Sure enough, the sky on the horizon was nearly black. The clouds above them had turned an unwelcoming gray, but it was the erratic streaks of purple darting across the sky and dancing along the water that grated on Travion’s nerves. If only it were Zryan playing games—but this was no trick, and his brother was far from the sea.

Sereia burst from the cabin, holding her hands out to the side as she approached him. He twisted at the waist to glance at her. “Would you mind telling me what that was about?”

Time wasn’t on their side. Each passing moment was precious, and it was possible more lives would be lost. “Everyone is in agreement that we can’t waste time by anchoring, so someone has to do something about it.”

She gawked at him. “Like what? Talk the clouds into obedience? Shame the sky for storming?”

Travion rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. His face crumpled in discontent, furrowing his brow and pinching his lips. “Well, when you put it like that, it sounds rather silly. You don’t discipline a force of nature, but you can persuade it.” He licked his lips, then smirked as she folded her arms.

It would take a great deal of his energy to command the weather, but he could do it. In his lifetime, there hadn’t been much need outside of ensuring a day of sailing went as planned, or to bless someone’s wedding with sunshine instead of rain. There had been the need to try to pull the clouds from the sun during the attack on Lucem, but with a spell repelling his attempts, it’d been futile.

“What are you doing?” Sereia’s voice sounded so far away already. “Travion!”

Travion closed his eyes, homing in on the tug of the air and the electricity pulsing within, then reached out for it with his magic. Once, he’d been told it looked as though the sea churned within his blue depths when he called to the sky, to the earth, and that it was unsettling.

The ship rocked in the uneasy waves, but Travion tuned out the sounds of the crew and of Sereia hissing at him until she swatted at his shoulder. His hand darted out, caught her wrist, and he tugged her closer. When he opened his eyes, she sucked in a breath but said nothing more.

The wind whispered through his hair, humming with a life of its own, and he pushed it back. But it wailed in fury, longing to rage over the sea. Travion glared at the sky, the horizon, the water, and with every ounce of determination he possessed, he pushed the storm away. It wasn’t instant, but it slowly rolled back in the direction it came from. Little by little, the sky brightened, the sea calmed, and the wind steadied.

When it was done, his shoulders sagged, and he drew in a deep breath. In comparison, it felt as though he’d swum laps for an hour. His limbs felt fatigued, his mind hazy.

“What in the great depths was that?” Sereia slammed a hand against his shoulder once, then again. “After . . . after all these years! Your ship in that storm . . . You could have stopped it.”

Travion relinquished his hold on her and narrowed his eyes. “You knew I could control the weather.” He tore his gaze from her and surveyed the crew, who were studiously looking anywhere except for them.

“Yes, Travion, I did. Clearing a drizzly day, blowing a cloud or two from the sky, but this?” She motioned toward the sky. “You stilled the sky, the wind . . .”

He sighed tiredly. “That ship was a nice one, but by the sea! Forget it.”

Sereia’s eyes remained wide. A hint of betrayal melded with the surprise written across her face. “We’re not done here,” she muttered.

He arched a lone brow and shook his head. “I’m too exhausted to have this conversation right now.”

Sereia swore before advancing on him. “We are not done. Can we stop and talk about how you glared a storm into submission?”

“It’s a familial trait—glaring something into submitting. But it doesn’t always work.” He raised his brows pointedly as he stared at her.

“That’s not funny.”

But it was true.