Page 68 of Greed of Giants

“According to the tale then, the sea is all that is good and beautiful?” She turned it over slowly, mistrust in her tone. “But what of the tales of sea monsters? When I was in Vold, I heard music coming from below, and we were attacked . . .” She trailed off.

I glanced up, wishing Prince Castor hadn’t gone so quickly. Using his wings and wind, he’d blown the Sky Kingdom over the shore and dropped us here, then left to hold back the Four and the Unmaking. A near impossible task for one so young. I was grateful for his help. It gave me hope, and even that hope made me aware I had no right to stand procrastinating on the shore. Something waited underneath. I had to face it.

“Unblemished, unmarred,” I repeated, quieter this time. “Until the fallen walk within it. Then what lives inside tries to claim them.” I felt the truth of it settle in my chest, old knowledge, stories passed from tongue to tongue, not written in scrolls. “We have never truly known what lies at the bottom, only that it remembers everything that enteredit.” I looked at her then. “The music you heard in Vold, you weren’t imagining it.”

She hugged her arms to her chest, but I caught the faint tremor in her hands. “The villagers were afraid. They told me never to set foot in the water at night. As though I might be taken. Claimed. I thought it was because of the Great Sundering, some magic left over from the age of giants. I wasn’t sure it would be a monster, but it didn’t feel good.”

“We cannot tell whether something is good or bad based on feelings. It is natural to have fear in the face of something powerful, to feel awe and want to escape from what we don’t understand. Even if it will not harm us, there has to be respect for the old and the ancient.”

“That kind of respect, that awe, has long left the land of the mortals,” Ilaris said. “Often it felt as though scholars were the only ones left who still held that profound knowledge, that intense respect for the old ways, for the ancient and arcane, for immense power beyond what we can understand. I understand why we never walked into the waters. We mastered sailing, but never swimming, never holding our breath and sinking into the depths.” She looked at me then, fear laid bare in her eyes. “Killian. I’m frightened.”

I held her then. Not because I needed an excuse, but because there was no other answer. I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her tight against my chest, pressing my lips to the top of her head as I breathed in the salt-tang air.

Stop delaying.Jasper complained. He sat on the shore, the bags around him, Ilaris’s armor piled up beside him.

I don’t know where the currents will take us. I can’t promise that we’ll return.

Don’t start being sentimental. Not yet.

I shifted my attention back to Ilaris, wanting to comfort her, but what could I say? The truth was that I didn’t know what lay ahead, and I had nothing to protect her, to protect us.

So I guided her out into the waters. Hand in hand we walked until the waves churned around our calves, then up to our waists, then reached her chest. She stopped and closed her eyes, and the words from the scroll rolled off her tongue.

We’d agreed, ahead of time, that she should speak them before we dove. I’d never been to the Sunken Kingdom, never wished to spend time in the depths, even though I’d grown up playing with the sea creatures. I’d ridden on the backs of dolphins, raced seahorses, and had contests with my brothers. I knew the sea by its surface, sea and sand and salt, of long days fighting against its power.

Out here was majestic, the blue-green waters swirling around us as Ilaris spoke, then funneling into a vortex so quickly I did not have time to react. It sucked us under, spinning us through a shell of colors, dragging us down into gray, then ink-black depths, where the song of the sea was at its loudest.

A mournful tune rolled out from the depths, a blend of a voice calling, the sound of a flute, and the crash of the waves. It was haunting and beautiful, and made my chest tight. Ilaris was beside me, and it was a moment before I realized we weren’t standing anymore, but lying on a soft bed of what felt like stone and sand.

I stood, helping Ilaris to her feet. My clothes were damp, but I could breathe, even though it was clear we were underwater, in some kind of cave with walls as clear as glass. On the other side, coral reefs blazed with color, and colorful fish swam around them.

The music rose and fell, and a shape moved in the darkness beyond. A shadow rippled toward us with the body of a giant eel. I hated how vulnerable I felt in that moment, the lack of heat, the damp air around me, the scent of brine and fish filling my senses. It wasn’t that, but knowing what awaited.

The shape neared. Shifted. Shadow became flesh, and the giant was before us. It was less of seeing and more of an awareness of an immense, ancient presence. Numen. He was no prince of the giants. He was the one, the only, the giant who had ruled the sea for as long as time would have him. I felt his age, the weight of his presence as it surrounded us, reading our minds, baring our souls. It was impossible to see him fully, a suggestion of a long beard, a hint of a three-pronged weapon, the shiny green scales of armor covering his body.

A pale, silvery light grew, not to display the presence of Numen, but to illuminate the vault. A sunken hall that dwarfed cathedrals, stone walls rising beyond sight. And there, at its center, a gray cornerstone covered in script. The Stone.

Numen knew why we’d come. He revealed it, simply, easily, letting us know he understood. But there would be cost.

Blood for blood. Mortal for immortal. Life for life.

The voice boomed around me, resonating from bothwithin me and outside of me at the same time. Ilaris stiffened, pressing her lips together, hard. She, too, felt the weight of this power, the enormity of this being. He was less like a giant and more akin to a god, he could kill us with the very breath from his nostrils.

“What tribute will you accept?” I asked, keeping my head bowed.

You carry the guilt with you, as though you still carry the door. You know what I require. Your confession.

A great pressure came. I lowered myself to my knees, humbled before the power of the giant, ready to confess in front of the mortal I loved—uncertain what would be gained from it, but certain I had no right to withhold. I thought of what I’d done. Of how I’d framed it in my mind, again and again, the corruption of my people, the greed of the age, the pressure from other kingdoms, the weight I’d placed on my own shoulders to make something of myself. I was not only a prince, I was a fire giant with a gift, and what good was a gift if nothing was done with it.

“It was my fault,” I admitted. “I was the leader, the one who gave commands. The project was my idea, I was in charge and there is no one to blame but me. It was my arrogance, my selfishness that brought wrath upon my people. I saw the door, and I knew what was behind it might be unsavory, but I wanted to be the one to open it, to let out the horrors and see what might be done. I regret my hotheadedness, that I didn’t make a different choice. That my actions caused so much death and devastation. . .” I trailed off.

Those were the words, bold and true. The confession that made me feel lower than any creature that had walkedthe black pit of the sea. Admitting it to Numen felt like reliving it, the horror, the brokenness, realizing that the door I’d opened could not be fully shut, and resorting to anger was the only thing that kept me from shattering under the weight of what I’d done.

The truth was simple and terrible. I was the one person with power, who could have chosen differently and given my people a bright future instead of this. I should have looked away from digging for treasure, for gleaning knowledge and faced my own inadequacy instead of hoping to fill the holes in my soul and give myself purpose with the pursuit of more. I had wanted the recognition. The glory. My name praised. My statue standing in the king’s hall. I had wanted the fame, the glory, the wealth, the power. I craved it all, and that selfishness had been the tipping point.

A pressure came to rest on my head, light and comforting. The gnawing guilt lifted, and the voice came again.You were chosen, given a second chance. Only you can choose, which choice will you make this time?

I nodded in understanding, my words lost, because the choice was clear. I could repeat the actions of the past, and this time, condemn the mortals to death. Or I could make a better choice, seal the door and give hope to the living.