Venture to Uncertainty (#1)

32 | The Heartbreak of Uncertainty

PART II: THE KINGSLAND

Propaganda painted the Kingsland out to be a picture of hope and leadership, a land of incredible good fortune and leadership, with a grand king to oversee it all. New technology, the advance of the modern world, on and on. The Kingsland didn't fit the stories.

Archer wasn't sure what he expected. Maybe he'd been thinking it would be sunny, that golden rays would bounce off the cobalt water, vibrant colours reflecting culture. But as the Avourienne approached in the evening, right before it would become invisible under the guise of darkness, all they could see for miles was dark, cold sky and rain.

The Kingsland was something of an island, perhaps, but not quite. The castle itself was built on nothing more than rock, and the surrounding tiny village was constructed on smaller outcrops. The rest was all water—there were no streets or walking paths, for the most part. There were little boats resting against the rocks that were used to jump from place to place. The lack of a real town or roads was not the most unsettling thing about the Kingsland, not even close; that was the spires. Years and years ago, the King had men all over the Cobalts search for the biggest and tallest cliffside rocks they could find, then had them shaped into spires and embedded in the sand bar that surrounded the Kingsland. They were impossibly tall, mere inches apart and countless in total; there was very simply no way to get around them.

The only way to get in was the gate. It opened at dawn every day to let out the navy ships from the inner port and let in the navy ships from the second, outer port. Then it closed, firmly, every day at dusk.

Archer's fingers instinctively touched the Orphano chain around his neck as he leaned against the rail, the regression of a nervous habit. Just the thought of heading into that cold, dark place sent shivers down his spine, but he dropped the chain as soon as he realized he was doing it anxiously. It wasn't his protection anymore; the hope of one day giving it up in return for parents was long fizzled out.

He took a deep breath as he gazed at the great piece of land before him. It was dark out, now, allowing the Avourienne to sail close without repercussions. They were circling, and although the crew of the Avourienne were scurrying around quickly, Britter told Archer that they were just scouting, nothing else.

Archer knew he was being lied to. Earlier that day, Silta and Britter had been discussing things in the strategy room when he had walked in, and they'd immediately halted their conversation upon seeing him. Somebody was hiding something, but they were doing too good of a job of keeping him out of it. He considered asking Silta, but he hadn't got her alone in days, and he wasn't sure he could trust her to tell him the truth.

He wished she would've repeated the words that he'd told her, or at least let him say them at all. Perhaps, though, she was keeping them in for a reason; if she told him she loved him, he'd never leave.

He turned to the deck and took the stairs up to the strategy room. He pushed open the door, preparing for that awful feeling of the conversation cutting.

It didn't, not this time. As was customary, Britter was sitting at the table with the map, and Silta was laid out on the couch. Archer sat down next to her with a huff.

"So it's you and Archer, Lyra, Denver and Bardarian?" Britter asked.

"Yes," Silta said, spinning a knife in her hands.

"You're staying?" Archer asked Liam.

"Yeah," he said. "I'll do the dynamite."

"Dynamite?" Archer asked.

"Yeah," he said again. "We're planting the whole perimeter of the castle with dynamite. When the gates go up at dawn, the castle will blow to pieces. Everyone has to be out by then."