Journeys by sea were never Jaredeth’s favourite. As a boy, he’d been prone to seasickness, and spent most trips such as these locked up in his room, drinking concoctions to calm his stomach. His father had told him he’d gain his sea legs soon, and while he'd outgrown his weak stomach, he hated the isolation he felt out to sea, hated the monotony of it all, hated the quietness of his room and the loudness of his thoughts.

Three days he’d been on the water, and he spent most of that time pouring over the proposals, or gazing out the porthole. Occasionally, he’d go up on the deck for fresh air, and to watch the landscape drift by. If he had his way, he’d be taking the trip by land, but it would take five times as long to travel around the gulf and over the mountains—on top of the netherborne’s presence making the journey life-threatening. Still, camping under the stars would be nicer than a swaying boat.

That afternoon, he’d stayed in and watched the sea go from calm and flat, to choppy and then angry. The Valkyrie rose and dived as she rode the violent surf. Rain pattered against the porthole, obscuring his view of the black water and the occasional streak of lightning shooting across the shore. Jaredeth wasn’t worried. He knew his father had braved even rougher seas aboard the Valkyrie.

A knock on his cabin door stirred him from his reverie. In walked one of his guards carrying a platter covered with a cloche. “Your dinner, your majesty.”

“Thank you,” He accepted the food with a smile and held the platter in place, lest it go flying off the table. Eating on rough seas was a battle of constantly counter balancing the platter against the sway of the ship, but he finished the roast and vegetables with minimal spillage.

There wasn’t much left for him to do except prepare for bed and pray to the gods for restful sleep. He tucked the platter and cutlery in the cabinet beneath the desk for the guard to fetch later. The room swayed, and not from the rough seas, and a loud ringing filled his ears. He reached blindly for purchase and found none. The world went sideways, and he hit the floor with a smack that reverberated through his body.

“Guards!” he called, but could raise his voice over a hoarse whisper. His heart roared in his ears, drowning out the droning rain and sharp claps of thunder. He dragged himself, arm over arm, towards his bed. Darkness crept in at the edge of his vision, and his body grew heavier with every movement. He just had to make it to the bed. He could pull his trunk down, make some noise, alert someone.

Just a little further. Jaredeth reached out and his hand brushed the bedding, but he couldn’t curl his fingers to grab it. “Damn it.” His vision faded in and out, and the sound of the rain on the boat blurred into a muted drone. Poison. He’d been poisoned. The realisation was a cold, paralysing fear deep in his bones.

Treason.

Jaredeth lied there on the floor of his room as his consciousness waxed and waned. His pleas for help came out as soft whimpers. Tears pricked his eyes, and he cursed his body for refusing to move. It felt as though an eternity had passed before something broke up the monotony—heavy footfalls. They thumped somewhere out of his line of sight.

A creak filled his ears, followed by the thumps again—louder this time. Something jabbed his side and force him on his back. The shadowy figure standing over him was more of a blur, but he made out enough to recognise who it was—the round shape, the bald head, the abyssal eyes.

Daniel grabbed Jaredeth’s wrists and wrapped them up in rope, then did the same with his feet. All the while, Jaredeth silently cursed both him and Lazarus. Those snakes. His mother was right. He never should’ve given them the benefit of the doubt, never should’ve trusted them.

Jaredeth tried to fight but could only manage small movements here and there. White-hot rage flooded his body and chased away his fear. How could they? After all his family had done for the Divine City. After the sacrifices they made to accommodate their Priests. All the land grants, the special permissions, the gestures of good faith. This was what it came to?

Daniel hoisted him up and over his shoulder like a sack of flour and took ambling steps out of the room. He paused just outside to kick something out of his way, and it wasn’t until he was halfway down the narrow hall, Jaredeth saw it was the limp body of one of his guards.

He thrashed harder, and while his body was more responsive this time, it wasn’t enough to jostle himself free. Daniel took the steps up to the deck where the sound of the rain and thunder was deafening. The occasional flash of lightning cut the silhouette of the mountains against the horizon.

Rain beat against Jaredeth’s skin as Daniel carried him across the deck to the port rail. Another flash of lightning illuminated the black water.

No. not like this. Time slowed to a crawl as Jaredeth was tossed over the rail. Head over heels, he fell, like a scrap of meat tossed to the mercy of a hungry predator. The darkness, the rain, and the lightning seemed to still in that moment, as though the storm had held its breath.

Jaredeth gathered the last of his wits and sucked in as much air as his lungs could hold just before he plunged into the sea. The frigid water shook off some of his grogginess and the current ripped him away. Like a stone, he sunk into the abyss, deeper and deeper until the water became almost still. Part of him wanted to give up, to let the sea swallow him. If the Divine City would go so far as to plot to kill him and succeed, perhaps he wasn’t fit to be king.

But then he thought of Jaliah, of her reaching out to him with her chubby little hands, her soft coos, and he couldn’t. He couldn’t die here like this. He promised Jaliah he’d come back. She needed him.

Jaredeth twisted his hands until he could feel the edge of his bracer, traced his finger along it until he found the button. The blade shot free, and he twisted and sawed until he could move his arms freely. His lungs were constricting, forcing air from his mouth, screaming for oxygen.

Just a little more. He bent his knees up to his chest and sawed at the ropes around his ankles. His consciousness was fading again, but he dug deep, his will to live trumping whatever poison coursed through him. The blade got through the ropes and he kicked his feet free.

Then came the hard part, the push to the surface. Jaredeth looked towards the streaks of light dancing on the gulf’s surface. To air. To life. He kicked his feet, swung his arms, propelled his body through the abyss. He wouldn’t die here. He’d fight.

He’d live.