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“Faster, peasants! We’re already late as it is!”
A whip cracked overhead, or maybe that was the thunder. He couldn’t tell, and it didn’t matter. He pushed harder, keeping pace with the rowing calls, trying to cut through the worst of the storm. Water pelted them all, filling the space beneath their feet. He was glad he’d decided on sandals for his homecoming, though he wished he’d had better clothes. The tunic and cloak she had sent him off with had long since been lost or torn to shreds.
He wondered if she still had the dress she’d been wearing that day. It seemed unlikely. He’d seen depictions of her mother and her aunts had all been tall, curvy women, molded of deep brown skin that sung in the sun.
Soon.
He’d see her for real, not in dreams or memories. He’d feel her in his arms, smell the rich oil of her hair and armor, behold her in all of her lovely glory. He didn’t care how he had to get there. He’d never been so close to Caelthos as he was right now. So close to her. If the ship capsized, he’d swim the rest of the way. He’d fly. They were close enough, but he didn’t want that.
Not much further.
He looked through the pelting rain to the almost glowing palace settled on the scenic island. The first time he came to Caelthos, it had been through a storm like this. Shipped from the mainland along with many others, the Empire had decided were better served as gifts for bloodsports, not understanding the path he’d been set on.
He gritted his teeth as another sickening wave of agony cut through him, pulsing and ripping through his chest. The curse would be the death of him, but he couldn’t give in to it yet. The ship rocked, tossing the crew back and forth, but he planted his feet, leaning into the rocking, and kept rowing.
“Push, men! We are not drowning here! Think of the wine! Think of the riches!”
Most of the men gave an answering cry that was swallowed up into the storm.
He rowed harder, breathing one deep, burning breath after the other, blocking out the pain that had been a constant for years, tugging, pulling, and tearing at the tether he had to Caelthos. The curse devoured his magical reserves greedily, battering the bond that held them together and bonded him to the island.
If he could get his helm, it would destroy the last vestiges of the curses. Then, he’d paint the palace floors in blood as tribute and apology.
He could see her standing on the dock, watching him drift away on that ship that had carried him away fifteen years ago. Her father, a smug figure behind her with malice in his eyes.
He should have never left. He should have run that son of a bitch through before he left, but he hadn’t understood then what the island was trying to tell him. He glanced down at the tremor in his hand. It wouldn't be long before his body gave out, but as soon as he was in range, he was going to fire an arrow straight through the man’s face.
The little ship broke through the rain into choppy waters that pushed them toward the shore. The clouds advancing over the island filtered sunlight over the shining, golden stone. The steps of the palace flashed in the light.
He could almost see her the way she had stood on the docks all those years ago.
“Wow… It’s really made of gold…” A man gasped beside him. “Never thought I’d ever make it to Aureo Island…”
Aureo was what the mainland called it after an old story about a cursed man. Penelope had found the story hilarious and had not faulted him for being ignorant.
It only appears to be gold because of the concentration of magic. She chuckled. You would be hard pressed to remove even a thumbnail-sized stone from the island.
“Just one brick, and I’d be set for life!”
“Maybe you will be if King Naos likes your service!” The captain laughed. “Let’s get into hardor, eh?”
“Is it true that the women are—”
Another man laughed. “Heathen women—a lot freer than imperial. More lucious, too.”
Leandros swallowed the urge to ram his fist through the man’s face for the disrespect, but made a note to kill most, if not all, of the crew before they had a chance to even look at a Caelthos woman. He scanned the docks, the steps, the palace, everywhere for her. He could hear the welcoming herald starting, growing louder as they drew closer to shore.
Surely, she’d heard it, so where was she? He scanned further down the dock. Where was anyone who would know that sound? His stomach clenched. His hands twitched with irritation.
Something wasn’t right.
The boat drifted to the dock, searching for a place to anchor.
“What’s that sound?”
“Probably a welcome for the king.”
“Where are all the women?” A man groaned. “My balls ache. I thought the whole island was full of them. I haven’t seen a single one yet!”
“Probably inside,” someone said. “Relax. Don’t be so desperate. There will be plenty of—”
A sharp wave shoved them from the shore as they were pushed back.
“Focus, you numb skulls, or I’ll cut your balls off and you’ll be a woman.”
Someone laughed, but they rowed onward toward the extended section of the dock that was all shallow water and sand. As soon as they had hit the sand, four men jumped out and helped drag the boat onto shore. Leandros was the last to disembark, barely listening to the men’s chatter.
If he were armed, he’d have murdered them all here in the sand and let the ocean carry their bodies. As it stood, he climbed out and followed. His shoulders relaxed as his feet hit the soft sand. He felt the whole island trembling with his return, reaching out to him, passing secrets and information through the air in whispers. He filed it all away to parse through after they’d reached the main hall, and maybe he’d managed to eat something.
The men ahead of him gabbed, running their hands over the smooth gold-stone of the steps leading from the sand to the pier. He caught sight of a statue of the goddess, draped in black stone, carrying her shining sword, with burning blue fire in her eyes. She watched the group, and he bowed his head in greeting and respect.
The leader whistled and approached.
“What a woman,” he groaned. “Can’t wait to get a taste—”
She moved with such precision and speed. He smiled as she skewered the man on her sword, lifting his body up so rivers of red ran down the gold stone of her arms and the black stone of her dress. He bowed his head in respect as the men panicked, drawing what weapons they had and trying to attack.
Leandro continued up the stairs to the sound of their dying screams and the splatters of blood on the sand.
My love, I’m home.