20. Sharks

Four guards in the Tintarian black stood, two on either side of the doors.

“You are expected to enter when you arrive,”

one said to Zinnia, but his tone was less ordering and more deferential.

We had spent our morning with a higher-ranking member of the keep’s staff.

The four guards pushed the white doors inward and we walked inside, to the throne room, in the hall of the Shark King.

It occurred to me that this room was like our scriptorium only ten times the size and two stories tall.

It was closer to the outer side of the bluff, six of the narrow windows providing gray sunlight streaming down on the people and furniture inside.

And the monumental collection of shark bones.

Their bones and their teeth, some the size of a fist, were everywhere.

They were fused together into their original alignments, turned into grisly, unlit chandeliers strung from the ceiling, looking as if they were swimming in the air above.

Full skeletons, articulated and assembled with copious copper wires, sat on plinths of white rock all around the room.

Some of them were as big as two men and some were as big as a cottage.

I had never seen such a large animal in my life, let alone a living shark, outside of drawings in books.

I could sense the shock of the other women.

Looking around, I realized the walls in here were not just gray and blue but peeling with a moldy wallpapering, which only added to the grotesque atmosphere.

From where we stood, I thought they were strips of chipping paint, twisting in the breeze.

Ten rows of benches and desks, made up of the same pale rock as the plinths, lined either side of an aisle, much like, I thought, our scriptorium.

Each row sat five to six men, all well-dressed with papers and maps strewn in front of them.

At the end of the aisle sat two high tables with four figures sitting at each.

The four figures to the left each wore an elaborate open robe over the black cotton.

One man had short white hair and milky eyes, his robe a cool green the same color as the wall sconces.

One man’s robe was red and orange.

A third man with silvery blond hair, younger than the other two men, wore a robe of browns and warm greens.

At the end of the table, an old woman, tall and regal in her high-backed seat was clad in a robe of cerulean blue.

At the table to the right, sat four men, all in the black Tintarian armor, the one closest to the throne, younger and handsome, the others older and more seasoned-looking men.

In the center, behind the tables, on a dais, sat the legendary Shark King, his highness, Hinnom the First.

River had been right.

His throne did sit in the center of an open shark’s jaw, the teeth, which were the size of melons, still intact in the bone.

He would have had to step over them to the throne inside, also made of fused together bones, these smaller and shaped to accommodate a human seat.

Zinnia had led us down the aisle to the end of the rows of desks, standing before the two high tables.

To the right, near the table of men in armor, stood Alric, Thatcher and Perch, agleam in polished black armor, this time with chainmail beneath it, with even more weaponry on them, their shields strapped to their backs giving their heads that same black half-moon backdrop as when they had stormed into our chapel.

All three of them stared at us and I met Alric’s gaze, questions on my face.

I looked back to the shark’s jaw and the throne within.

The man on the throne stood.

He was tall, perhaps a whole hand taller than Perch, who was quite tall.

He stepped over the jaw’s teeth and walked down the steps to stand between the two tables.

He could have been forty winters or seventy.

His hair was long and pitch black over his shoulders, but his beard was short and trimmed.

His face was nearly gaunt, the hollows of his cheeks making him appear not quite royal, too savage, too wild to be a king.

His eyes and brows were also dark.

His hands were devoid of jewelry and rested on his arms as he had now crossed them.

His dress was no more fine than his soldiers, all in black and leather, but without their armor.

He tilted his head towards Zinnia and she and her women gently pushed the nine of us forward so that the rows of men were behind us.

“Zinnia,”

said Hinnom the First, eyes glittering as he assessed us.

“You may go.”

Behind us, I heard her and her women leave, the creak of those large white doors opening inward and then again, closing behind them.

“Alric,”

said the Shark King, walking away from the steps that led up to the dais of his throne and drawing nearer to us.

“I asked you for ten men.

You bring me nine women.

I’m sorry—”

and here he interrupted himself.

He stopped and turned towards the three Procurers.

“Nine priestesses.”

I thought I saw the captain swallow.

Hinnom turned back to us.

“And one of you is the leader, I take it?”

I could feel the fullness of my bladder from the water I had drunk with our luncheon.

“Well!”

shouted Hinnom, but his shout was not angry, only impatient.

“Which one of you Ecclestonians hypnotized my best men? Step forward!”

We all stayed where we stood.

Alric raised his brows at me, as if to say, you must.

I do not remember exactly how I propelled myself forward but I did.

That was the repeated refrain of this entire journey, putting one foot in front of the other, taking one step, a second step and so on.

Stupid and blind, unsure of our future, we had endured days under the sun in that pig’s wagon, then on horseback without the comfort of saddles, sleeping rough, eating one meal a day, pissing in the wild, tearing our clothes to rags for our courses.

Perhaps that is why I eventually stepped forward, because I was used to the practice.

“Ah!”

cried the Shark King.

“You’re the one, the Saint Agnes devotee. Closer.”

I took two steps closer, again wondering how long my bladder could hold.

Why does one always want to piss oneself when in fear?

He circled me, eyes alert on every part of me, but it was not a licentious appraisal, more so curious.

He reached out and lifted up my left hand, bringing it closer to his face to better see the ranunculus tattoo.

His skin was like ice in winter against my own hot palm.

Then, abruptly, he dropped my hand.

Returning back to his stance between the tables, he stood with his legs apart, hands now clasped one on top of the other.

“Again, Alric.

I asked you for ten men.

You bring me nine women.

What am I to make of this?”

“May I speak, sire?”

a grizzled man in armor said standing from one of the tables, the one closest to the three Procurers.

“Jeremanthy!”

crowed Hinnom, as if pleased by the interruption.

“I always want my chief man of my infantry to speak, my wise, brave general! Speak! Speak to the room!”

My gods, I thought, the man was insane.

He seemed intimidating and was, but there was a derangement to his mannerisms and speech, as if, on a whim, he could caress your cheek or plunge one of his shark’s teeth into your eye.

I stood, eyes leaping between the king and his general.

Jeremanthy, the older man in Tintarian black, bowed towards Hinnom.

“I thank you, sire.

In defense of Captain Angler, the men on the Council of Ten were nowhere to be found.

And our spies had detailed descriptions for each.”

“I see,”

said Hinnom.

“They knew of their impending invasion.

They had to.

They broke my trade agreements and cut us off from their ore.”

“I believe it to be so,”

answered the general.

“Alas,”

said Hinnom, unclasping his hands and bringing them together in a clap that thundered throughout the throne room.

Everyone but the king flinched.

“Twas still a victorious invasion,”

continued the king, pacing towards the table where the general sat and the Procurers stood.

“I just wonder and I really do— I really do wonder, Alric, how you, a man such as yourself, nay, a soldier such as yourself could fall for this?”

The king spun, walking back towards me and brought his face within a breath of mine.

“Was it her beauty? I have not known you to be so susceptible in the past.”

A lump in my throat expanded and I did not know whether I would scream, cry or vomit into the face of maybe the most powerful man on the continent.

Hinnom continued, his face bent to my level, his breath sharp like camphor, his scent that of salt and soap.

“It must be.

It has to be, because, and we can all us agree, men, can’t we? We can all agree and we all know Eccleston to be a godless city.”

He looked over at the other women.

“I mean no offense.

But it is true.

There is no worship of any god or any goddess.

The temples of Saint Agnes are kept open via taxes, they are employment offices.

We know this to be true!”

The volume and pitch of his voice rose and a grin crawled across his face.

“There are no priestesses of Agnes.”

The king walked back to his original standing between the tables.

And then, in an eruption of almost jollity, he shouted, “who are you women? Really?”

He was perhaps the most terrifying man I had ever seen.

Behind me, I heard the whimpering of some of the women.

“What is your name, leader?”

Hinnom said, gaze back on me.

“Edie,”

I said, my name a croak in my mouth.

“Priestess Edie!”

said Hinnom, a look of mock fascination on his face.

Or was it real? There was no way of knowing.

“Priestess Edie, did you bewitch the captain of my Procurers with your face and figure?”

Silence echoed throughout the chamber.

Outside, the waves slapped against the bluffs, an eternal kiss between rock and sea.

“I asked a question!”

shouted Hinnom, giving another clap.

I gave a start and then said, “no.

I did not bewitch anyone, sire.”

“Are you quite sure?”

asked the king, his tone mocking again.

“Are you quite sure you did not set out to mesmerize my champion Procurer? Are you quite sure you were not attempting to seduce Captain Angler? Are you certain?”

Out of the corner of my right eye, I could see Alric shift his weight, the movement nearly invisible, but I had been watching him for weeks.

I may have been quaking in my boots before a king and his court, but a part of me was just perturbed.

I closed my eyes and replied, “I would not know how to even begin such an endeavor. Sire.”

His laughter was a short bark, but he was delighted at my reply.

“Yes, I agree.

He is a resolute one, Lady Edie.

Dauntless.

Mysterious, even, our captain.

I do not know that women have much of an effect on Alric. But,”

the king continued his speculation, “did you bewitch him and not even know that which you were about? The enticement of a man, even one as coldblooded as my captain, can be accomplished with the right woman.

Are you, Lady Edie, that woman?”

My eyes went to my right and I noticed how still Alric was.

“Brother,”

said the young man seated at the table on the right, next to the older general, who was yet standing.

The man had spoken without asking.

He was lean of face, like Hinnom, but his features were arranged more pleasingly.

He was also much younger than the king.

“What, Peregrine?”

groaned Hinnom in a false tone of annoyance, though his face was almost generous towards the younger man.

The prince came out from around the table to stand next to the king.

“You are scaring them, Hinnom.

They are not used to your dramatics.”

“Dramatic, am I?”

asked the king, demonstrating his brother’s words.

“I asked the best of my men, the slickest thieves, the fastest runners, the hardest riders, best in bow, sword, fists, best in all, to bring me the Council of Ten and slaughter any Ecclestonian governors alongside their fellow troops, but, no, they bring me these useless women!”

Now he seemed angry and my heart fell in my chest.

We could not persuade mercy from this man.

“Sire.

They’re in hiding,”

interjected the general.

“They have gone underground in recent weeks.

They feared an invasion.

Alric did his best to look for them and I sent out some of my men to help.

They were not to be found anywhere in that city.”

“So, why bring me these women?”

asked the king.

The prince tried again.

“Brother, an explanation will present itself if you—”

“Shut your fucking mouth, Peregrine!”

Hinnom hollered.