The Lighthouse at the
      End of the World

After the skies cleared to reveal a bright, mocking sun, Mailes was still alone.

Throughout the clashing storms, he had been trapped and transfixed in his tower, watching the Leviathan, the ghost ships, and Iyomelka. The sight filled him with simultaneous hope and horror. Even amid the churning waves and winds, with sorcery being hurled back and forth, he felt his heart split open like a chrysalis. Iyomelka! A flood of sweet memories came back to him.

She had returned, but she was in terrible danger. And he was cursed to do nothing but observe.

From the top of the turret, the magical lighthouse beacon continued to shine out into the water. Even through the downpour, Iyomelka must have seen the lighthouse and remembered him. Mailes had not forgotten a moment of their time together, even after so many centuries.

So few of their people remained…so few choices to love. Passionate and imaginative, Iyomelka had been the perfect consort for Ondun, leader of them all. His was the most powerful magic, but mastery of the powers innate in the world was not the same thing as love; Ondun had taken Iyomelka for granted, taken the world for granted…and Mailes had truly loved her. How could the two of them possibly hide their romance from one who claimed to be all-seeing?

A disaster, a tragedy…and they had expected nothing less. A jealous Ondun had forced Iyomelka to watch as he imposed eternal exile on the other man who had dared to love his wife. And after doing that to Iyomelka, Ondun expected her to forgive him. How could he understand so little?

In the centuries since then, Mailes had written countless volumes of love poems pining for the woman he had lost. Though no one would ever read the stanzas, Mailes wrote, and wrote, and wrote. What did it matter if anyone—even Ondun—ever found them?

During the night, he had peered through the magical lens, staring at the face he had loved so much and so long ago. He hoped she might look up at the lighthouse, but even with her powers, Iyomelka couldn’t possibly see him waiting for her in his distant tower.…

And then he had watched her die.

The awful monster, maddened by loneliness, had attacked Ondun’s wife, taken out its anger on her. Mailes had been helpless to do anything.…

Now her ship was destroyed, her body lost amid the wreckage—and Ondun’s crystal coffin, no doubt, gone with her. Now the earlier pain of heartache seemed as nothing. Mailes would never be freed of his curse. He would never leave this lighthouse island, and most agonizing of all, he would never have Iyomelka back.

It was too much pain for even a demigod to bear.…

When the waters calmed, Mailes managed to scrape enough strength from the bottom of his despair. He emerged from his tower, went down to the rocks at the waterline where he kept a small boat—even though he had nowhere to go. He took up the oars and pushed away from the islet.

It didn’t matter how long it would take. Mailes rowed and rowed until he reached the flinders of Iyomelka’s ship. Flotsam and jetsam drifted about, rotted wood from a sunken vessel she had resurrected from beneath the waves.

Her journey had brought her back here after all, but not to happiness.

The carcass of the Leviathan floated atop the water like an enormous dead whale. Its body was scored with numerous wounds; the tough hide had been ripped apart by weapons and lightning strikes. The creature drifted, its eye gouged out, its lax tentacles hanging like strands of seaweed. Seagulls wheeled above, already attracted by the foul-smelling feast. They landed and fed, then flew again, shrieking insults to one another before returning to tear off more strips of pale flesh.

Mailes didn’t care about the Leviathan. This monster had killed the woman that he once—and still—loved. He rowed and searched through the debris, his heart aching, until he finally located what he sought. He trapped the moan of despair in his throat.

Iyomelka floated facedown, her skin pale, her hair drifting in the water. He pulled his small boat closer and leaned over the side to touch her, remembering all the times he had touched her when she was warm and alive. But she was cold now and unresponsive.

He pulled her body close, tore away the remaining splinters from the spar that had impaled her. With tears pouring down his cheeks, Mailes hauled her out of the water and placed her carefully in the boat.

Unable to express his grief, he rowed Iyomelka back to the lighthouse.