Then she was gone. Brighty grabbed one of the ropes attached to the mast and launched herself off the platform, looping her foot in such a way as to slow her fall so she landed easily on the deck. Rafe scrambled down the net to follow.
"Where?" Captain Rokaro shouted.
"Port side," Pyro answered.
The ship heaved, and Rafe flew backward as the mast tilted with the sharp turn, leaving nothing below him but the choppy sea. One of his feet lost its grip. He snaked his elbows through the net and hugged it to his chest as he dangled, afraid he might lose his breakfast. The wind changed direction, air flecked with yellow sparks of magic, and the ship righted itself. Rafe held tightly to the ropes, not yet willing to move as they raced forward. On deck, Brighty was already by Pyro's side with her fingers raised.
A white light shot through the fog, so brilliant it made his own vision spot. Brighty stood at its center, a black figure silhouetted by the glow. Pyro had turned away, holding her forearm to cover her face. Rafe wanted to watch, but he couldn't stand the burn. Instead, he found the captain, staring ahead with a wild look in her eyes. She kept her focus on Brighty—the only one on the ship who seemed to do so. He waited until the white gleam in her pupils faded before spinning back around.
The mist was gone.
Not all of it, of course, but it looked as though a tunnel had been carved through the gray, revealing an endless stretch of choppy ocean waves, the blue of the sea almost as vivid as the sky with the ivory glow of Brighty's magic still clinging to the air.
She had burned the fog away.
"Do you see anything?" Captain shouted.
"No!" Brighty called back.
"Do it again!"
This time, Rafe turned before she fired her magic, noticing how the sails caught her light first, then the mast, then the nets and the ropes and the rails. Where before there had been a dull sort of shine from the shrouded sky, leaving everything muddled, now the deck was marked by shadows, dark lines cutting across the wood and drawing patterns. The grains were a rich cedar, more vibrant than he'd ever seen them. And the captain's single wing, arched back like a falcon's on the hunt, shone caramel in the glow.
As quickly as it came, it faded.
Rafe flipped his head around to find another tunnel carved through the mist, the first one nearly gone by its side as the fog rolled back in. But unlike the last time, at the very end he caught sight of something black and sharp, gliding through the fog and emitting a subtle orange hue. It took another second before he realized what it was—the tip of a wing.
"Dragon!" Captain Rokaro shouted as a blistering gust rolled over the ship, snapping the sails so tight he feared they might tear. "All right, you lazy sluggards, let's move!"
10
Lyana
A knock sounded at the door and Lyana turned from the window, swallowing a groan. Using her sweetest voice, she chimed, "Come in."
Malek strode inside, amusement twisting his normally stern features. "You sound cheerful."
"Do I?"
"Excited for our lessons?"
Lyana dropped her gaze to the bowls resting on the table, unmoved from the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that, on and on for she didn’t know how long. She'd lost count. Her mouth curled before she could stop it, and something sounding strangely like a laugh escaped Malek's lips.
"You look at them as though they might bite."
"I almost wish they would," she mused, unsure how to read his expression. "At least then something interesting would happen."
"Are you bored?"
"Aren't you?"
He sighed, the small hint of humor leaving his face. "These lessons might be tedious, but until you can master your magic, we've no hope of seeing the prophecy through. And the first lesson you must learn is control."
"I know, Malek," she cut in, uninterested in another lecture. He so loved doling them out. She needed to practice her magic. She needed to control her magic. According to him, she needed to do so many things, but leaving this room to enjoy the fresh air wasn't one of them. "I know."
He frowned but let it go. "As it happens, you're in luck."
"What do you mean?"
"I didn't come here for a lesson. I came to tell you we're arriving at my home."
A thrill raced through her. "Your home?"
"Meet me on deck as soon as you're dressed."
"What is it? Where are we? What's it called?"
He shut the door in her face, effectively ending her stream of questions, but Lyana was too excited to care. Finally, she was going to see more of this world than the endless curtain of gray always stretched across her window. What would it be like? Would there be people? Would they have magic?
With haste, she dug through the trunk of clothes Malek had left her, searching for something to wear. Back home, she would have been draped in jewels, her dress so complicated it required the help of servants to secure, her hair so intricately designed she would need Cassi's assistance to later undo it. Visits to foreign palaces were no small thing. But here, she would have to make do with clean leather trousers and slightly worn boots. The jacket she finally pulled from the bottom of the trunk was a rich jade to match her eyes, embroidered with golden threads reminiscent of her magic. Lyana secured the buttons, admiring how the silk cinched her waist only to flare around her hips like a skirt. On her way out the door, she grabbed a few of the pearl-studded pins left over from her mating day and threaded them through her hair.
Malek was waiting for her at the bow of the ship, his gaze on the mist. As she took the spot by his side, he spared a glance her way. For better or worse, he didn’t comment on her appearance, a fact which didn't surprise her. He rarely said anything without a purpose behind the words, and a statement as frivolous as you look beautiful would sound almost silly spilling from his lips. After a few moments, he pointed into the gray.
"There. Do you see it?"
Lyana squinted and leaned over the rail, as though the few inches might make all the difference. She saw nothing.
"That bit of shadow," Malek murmured, his eyes now expectantly on her. He always looked at her like that, as though wanting more. She worried he would forever be kept waiting, needing something she didn’t know how to give.
The thought fled when an outline of dark gray emerged from the haze, expansive and wide, far larger than a castle. "It's a city!"
His lips twitched with a grin. "It's Da'Kin."
"Da'Kin," she repeated, playing with the word as the view sharpened, ship masts and wooden spires becoming more visible through the fog, dreary yet dazzling to her eyes. Something new. Something unlike anything else she'd ever seen. A city that floated on water instead of on air. "What does it mean?"
"Most people call it the King's City, though that's not quite the translation from the old tongue. Kin has multiple meanings. Some believe it was a precursor to the word king. Others think it means family. More believe it used to be kine or mage. Da'Kin—the city of the king, the city of the people, the city of magic. All three apply here."
The city emerged from the mist as though from a dream, gray giving way to wooden buildings, carved bridges, gliding boats, and most of all, people. Hundreds stood in wait, their eyes on the ship sailing toward them. Some stood on decks, many on floating walkways, others poking their heads through the windows of their homes. Nerves swarmed in Lyana's stomach like a flock unleashed. Were they all there waiting for her?