Veritas

  Veritas

  Kelly St. Clare

  Contents

  Exosian Realm

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Thank you for reading

  Acknowledgments

  About Kelly St. Clare

  Also by Kelly St. Clare

  Fantasy of Frost

  Veritas

  by Kelly St. Clare

  Copyright © 2019 Kelly St. Clare

  All rights reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, media, and incidents are either products of the authors’ imagination, or are used fictitiously.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.

  Edited by Melissa Scott and Robin Schroffel

  Cover illustration and design by Amalia Chitulescu Digital Art

  Map Art © 2018 by Laura Diehl, www.LDiehl.com

  All rights reserved.

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by fines and federal imprisonment

  Exosian Realm

  To accepting the truth—no matter how foreign, hurtful, or unexpected.

  One

  “Just keep her away from grog,” Ebba-Viva Fairisles hollered, hanging over the port bulwark. “And if she ain’t drinkin’, keep her away from wood. She chews it sumpin’ fierce.”

  The queen of the wind sprites had switched one bad habit for another when the purgium cured her of alcoholism.

  Sally, or Queen Saliha as she was actually called, waved from the middle of her minions. Or flipped Ebba off. That was very possible.

  Stubby rested a hand on her arm. “They’ll be takin’ care o’ her, lass. And ye know she can hold her own.”

  After her mother had died, Sal decided to take a holiday. That holiday turned into an alcohol-fueled bender. But now, she was finally listening to the call of duty to her people. The sprites would go back to their kingdom by Charybdis, the great whirlpool.

  “Aye, don’t worry over her, little nymph,” Plank said. “She has fierce sharp teeth.” He rubbed his forearm where the queen had bitten him just that morning.

  Ebba sniffed and dashed a stained sleeve over her eyes.

  She cast another look at her tiny flying friend, now a speck in the distance, and then glanced behind at her six fathers, Jagger, and Prince Caspian.

  “Why are ye all loungin’ about?” she snapped. “We’ve got sails to furl and . . . and . . . lots o’ other stuff. Get to it.”

  Edging closer, Peg-leg patted her shoulder. “Aye, lass. We’ll get to work.” He hobbled away with the signature tap-tap-tap of his wooden peg.

  Her lower lip trembled.

  Barrels adjusted his cravat and reached forward to squeeze her hand. “I’ll see to the sheets with Plank.”

  “Good,” she replied hoarsely. “They ain’t tight enough.”

  Considering the sails weren’t raised, that was a given. Stubby and Plank glanced at the bare mast but, very wisely, didn’t voice their thoughts.

  Locks disappeared after her other fathers, shooting a small smile her way.

  Grubby stepped forward. He twisted his Monmouth cap in white-knuckled hands. The cap had frayed along the edges from the regular abuse and probably wouldn’t last until they were back in the Caspian Sea.

  If they got back. That was a real concern—especially as the only immortal being in their company had just flown away.

  Grubby inched closer, and Ebba blinked furiously to keep her tears at bay. The youngest of her fathers, just forty-six, quit his cap-twisting and wrapped both arms around her. He rested his head atop hers.

  “It’s okay to be sad about yer friend leavin’,” he said. “I was sad to leave my selkie kin behind.”

  Ebba swallowed several times, panic rising in her throat as she began to lose the battle to not cry. She whispered, “But ye can talk to them when ye’re in the water.”

  “Not now we be in the Dynami Sea,” he said, rubbing her back. “Too far away. Or maybe it be because the water here is full o’ magic creatures.”

  Or maybe the taint had spread through the sea in the Exosian Realm, and Grubby’s kin no longer possessed their will. Though Grubby’s octopi still traveled between Zol and Felicity to bring messages, so Ebba’s home seas couldn’t be completely taken over.

  She buried her face in Grubby’s chest, using his stained tunic to wipe away the few tears that had escaped her iron grip.

  He pulled back. “Ye’ll see her again.”

  Grubby made for the bow, and Ebba turned to face the sea, her face wet. Jagger and Caspian still lingered, and out of the whole crew, they were the people she least wanted to see her cry.

  “Someone will need to. . . .” She trailed off.

  Sod it, Ebba couldn’t think of a single thing to order them about with.

  A large warm hand rested between her shoulder blades. She took a shaking breath, knowing that if she lifted a hand to dry her tears, the game would be up.

  . . . Though maybe she’d already failed at that.

  Caspian stood close, just behind her. “Mistress Pirate, it’s okay to cry.”

  Ebba sighed. “Caspian, ye ain’t supposed to say someone be cryin’ if they’re tryin’ to hide it.”

  He paused, and she could practically hear the rum in his skull sloshing about as he pondered that comment.

  “That’s a pirate truth, I gather?” the prince said.

  Well, he was less a prince and more of a king shoved out of his kingdom by the most powerful evil force of all time. The pillars of six ruled and resided on his throne, enslaving his people, but Ebba wasn’t about to point that out. Everyone knew not to point out such things. Apart from him, obviously.

  “Aye, pirate truths are the only truths worth knowin’,” she answered flippantly.

  His teeth clicked as he snapped his mouth shut.

  Granted, pirates pretended not to see the truth an awful lot. But that was the essence of a pirate truth—only seeing the truths needed for survival. Of course, Ebba now believed some truth might be a necessary evil. The question was: How much truth was enough? And how much was too much?

  Those answers were as yet unclear, and she wanted to make an informed choice about this whole truth business.

  Caspian’s hand still rested on her back. Warm. “What do you need me to do?” he asked.

  Ebba quickly dried her face. “Nothin’. Just go and see if the ship be ready.”

  He dropped his hand but hovered for several more seconds. Enough to make her feel bad because she’d once badgered the prince not to shut her out. After losing his left arm, he sank into himself for a good, long time.

  “You’re sure?” he murmured in a low voice that made her shiver.

  Ebba would be lying—to herself, which she was trying not to do anymore—if she didn’t confess that their recent conversation about deeper regard had made the prince even more caring and bright-eyed than usual. Ever since she’d told him she wanted to explore the waters between them, Caspian stood close
r and touched her in small ways—like the hand-on-her-upper-back thing.

  Ebba didn’t mind it.

  She often found those small touches exciting. But not right this moment.

  Not with Jagger standing there.

  His silver eyes scorched into the back of her skull as he most likely judged her. If he wasn’t there, Ebba might have leaned back against the prince and talked of how sad she was that the only other female on Felicity had left. She might have spoken about how people leaving her never felt right. Her fathers leaving tore her apart inside, but even when friends left, their absence played constantly in the back of her skull. She might have said all that if the flaxen-haired pirate wasn’t lingering—likely for nefarious reasons—to eavesdrop on their conversation.

  After the Medusa run-in, Ebba decided to trust Jagger, but he’d always put her on edge, and that hadn’t changed; that puzzle remained unsolved.

  “I be sure,” she replied.

  Caspian moved away, leaving her back cold.

  Ebba shivered again. The Dynami Sea was a far cry from the cerulean tropical sea they’d left—black water, frigid air, dark skies, and a constant rolling swell that would only be experienced during the start of a storm back home. This sea was every bit as dreary as Plank had recited in his tales of old magic. She couldn’t wait to be back in the Caspian Sea, safely anchored at their sacred haven at Zol. But for that to happen, Zol had to be a safe haven. So first, they needed to form the root of magic by finding the remaining two parts. And somehow defeat the six pillars to save everyone in the realm.

  No problem.

  She shook her head. Luck had to be a big part of winning because Davy Jones knew there was no planning of any sort happening on their end. All their crew knew was that Ebba, Caspian, and Jagger were the three watchers—mortals who brought balance to the presence of immortalkind in the realm by regulating the root of magic. And that Jagger was an immune—resistant to magical influence. As for Ebba’s and Caspian’s role? Nothing. No notion.

  “I’m goin’ to climb to the crow’s nest,” Jagger said.

  Ebba wrenched her thoughts back to the present. She whirled from the bulwark as Jagger strode past her.

  “What did ye say?” she called.

  The oversized pirate didn’t stop but glanced over his shoulder. “I’m goin’ to climb the shrouds.”

  Ebba dashed a sleeve over her face and scowled at him. “Nay. That be my job.”

  She ran across the deck after him and grabbed his arm. He slowly turned, and Ebba tipped her head back, and then back some more. Definitely oversized for a pirate.

  “Ye seem content to be gazin’ out at the water and orderin’ others about, so I’ll be takin’ it upon myself to do the job,” he said.

  He didn’t even bother to sneer anymore. Not like before when he was part of Malice’s crew. Now, he looked at her without expression, as though he couldn’t be bothered with the effort to arrange his facial features into disdain. Only very occasionally could she glean his true thoughts. Was the impassive mask a step up or a step down?

  He pulled free of her grip and continued striding toward the rigging.

  “Nay,” Ebba said, walking quickly to catch up.

  His hip bumped hers. On purpose. She bumped him right back.

  They lunged for the rigging at the same time.

  “Aye,” he told her.

  “Nay,” she hissed, flinging an arm out to whack his thieving hands away from the ropes.

  Her fingers touched his bare skin, and she hurriedly wiped them off against her slops. His scraggly flaxen hair swung forward as he watched her, jaw clenched.

  Jagger had a natural resistance to magic; however, he’d sailed aboard Malice for two years. In time, he’d throw off any remaining taint, but having been victim to the taint herself, Ebba wasn’t about to risk catching it again. His eyes weren’t flooded black. That meant he wasn’t contagious. But none of the crew was taking any chances. She’d keep wiping her hands, just in case.

  His eyes bore into hers. “Ye only want to go to the crow’s nest because I said I’m goin’. Or is that it, Viva? If ye want to spend time with me in close quarters, ye just have to say the word.”

  What word? Her mind stuttered. How did they get on to this subject? She narrowed her eyes, realizing Jagger was attempting to unsettle her.

  Heat crept up her neck, and Ebba leaned in, opening her mouth.

  Peg-leg’s wooden peg tapped in rapid staccato, interrupting her thoughts. Ebba blinked. Sink her, when had she and Jagger drawn so close?

  She leaned back slightly, but Jagger crowded her so they remained nose-to-nose. A twinge of alarm coursed through her as his mouth drew within a finger-width of hers—not quite touching.

  “Ye’re still a spoilt princess,” Jagger declared.

  Ebba was a princess. Not that being tribal royalty meant a whole bunch to her. She objected to the first part. “I ain’t so spoilt.” Anymore.

  It was mostly true.

  “Aye, yer fathers cater to yer moods.”

  Her moods were Peg-leg’s fault. He taught her that. And anyway, there were some perks to having six fathers that she wasn’t willing to part with.

  Jagger was a bloody pain in her hull.

  Heat crept from her neck into her jaw. The moods she could blame on Peg-leg. Her temper was all Locks.

  “Has anyone ever told ye that ye’re an annoyin’ shite?” she shot at him, fists clenching.

  “One coin for the swear jar, my dear,” Barrels sang, ambling over with the rest of her fathers.

  Ebba waved a hand, not breaking the stare-off with Jagger. She hated paying the coin jar. Which was Barrels’ fault. He was tight with his coin and had instilled such principles in her. “I only said it because it be true. And . . . I was upset about Sal leavin’.”

  Locks clucked sympathetically. “Aye, true enough. We’ll let her off this once, lads.”

  “Only ’cause yer heart be hurtin’,” Plank agreed.

  Jagger whispered low. “See? Spoilt.”

  The heat flooded her face. Ebba shoved him away and whirled for the rigging.

  He was back beside her in a flash.

  “Get off my riggin’,” she hissed at him.

  “That be enough o’ that, children,” Stubby said, joining them from the helm.

  Jagger stilled and drew himself tall as he turned.

  Stubby lifted his gray brows. “That’s right. Ye’re actin’ like a child, too, Jagger.”

  “Ha!” Ebba shot him a triumphant look through her thick black lashes. Then frowned. “Hey.”

  She wasn’t acting like a child. Much.

  Surprisingly, Jagger didn’t seem angered by her father’s comment. A small smile curved his lips, and Ebba studied him with no small amount of suspicion.

  What was he playing at?

  “Now, ye both need to. . . .” Stubby’s voice took on a droning quality.

  Babies with shark’s teeth, he was settling into a lecture.

  Ebba stopped listening and let her gaze drift out over the ship’s side again. She sighed. The sprites were completely gone from sight, as though they’d never been here. Deep down, a part of her had held hope Sally would change her mind and come back.

  Jagger dug his elbow into her gut.

  “Ouch,” she exclaimed, more from shock than actual pain. “Why’d ye do that, ye flaxen bastard?”

  “Ebba-Viva Fairisles,” Stubby said in a quelling tone. “Mind yer tongue. Are ye even listenin’ to a word I be sayin’?”

  Her spine snapped straight, and her face dropped. “He dug his elbow in my gut.”

  “How old are ye, Ebba-Viva?” her father demanded.

  “Eighteen and a bit,” she muttered.

  Stubby shifted his firm gaze to Jagger.

  “Twenty,” the pirate supplied without prompt. His eyes slid to her, and he added, “And a bit.”

  “Ye had a birthday?” She turned to him, cutting off her father. “When?”

&n
bsp; Jagger folded his arms, glancing away. “A week ago. Not long after yers.”

  They’d missed it. Not that she should feel bad when he’d kept it a secret like he did everything. “Well, Stubby be right. Ye should act yer age. Ye’re in yer twenties and should know better than me.”

  “Ye both need to act yer age,” Stubby boomed.

  Where was this coming from? She never had to act her age. Ebba cast a woeful look at her father, and Stubby’s expression faltered. She watched as Plank grabbed the back of Grubby’s belt to stop him approaching.

  “Ebba’s sad,” Grubby whined.

  Plank grunted, visibly digging his heels in. “She ain’t sad, matey. We be tellin’ her off. This be disc’pline.”

  Stubby’s tone had softened when he spoke again. “What I was sayin’ is that we need the three o’ ye to focus and find out where we be headed next.”

  She was still attuned to Jagger’s buzzing presence next to her and snuck a look up at the crow’s nest. There was no way Jagger was reaching the shrouds before her. He’d become too comfortable in her territory and it had to stop.

  Ebba prepared to jump onto the bulwark. “I’ll just—”

  “Nay, ye won’t. Neither o’ ye will,” Stubby snarled.

  She scanned the faces of her fathers, searching for the weak link. Grubby was restrained. Barrels, avoiding her eyes. Yet one of them held a particular softness for the heights of the nest.

  Her eyes sought out Peg-leg.

  He wasn’t avoiding her, and he stared for a long beat before saying, “I know why ye want to go up there, lass.”

  Ebba’s eyes began to burn again. His comment stole her voice for a scant second, long enough that she couldn’t come up with a quip in return. His assumption was correct. There were few places aboard a ship to have a good cry. Below deck echoed. There was the tip of the bowsprit, but Ebba wasn’t sure she wanted to perch over the black Dynami Sea as she tended to do in the safer waters of the Caspian. According to Grubby, there were a whole heap of things under the surface that gave him the willies. Then there was the crow’s nest.