"Time to make our arrival," he said with a sigh that sounded weary in a way she didn't quite understand. "Please, Lyana, don’t use your magic. Your control has improved, but the open ocean is much different from the concentrated quarters of the city. Look with your spirit eyes if you'd like, but don't touch the power, not until I tell you. You'll understand soon, I promise."
He offered his hand, waiting.
She took it with a nod.
Raising their joined palms overhead, Malek released a wave of spirit magic. The golden power arched across the sea to settle over the crowd at the nearest edge of the docks. A cheer emerged, cries and screams mixing as the masses turned into his power, soaking it in like the rays of the sun, their cheeks upturned to bask in the might of their king. Lyana watched through her spirit eyes, the world a swirling rainbow of light and magic. He was healing them, she realized quickly, the prickle of power so familiar yet so foreign. Restorative waves of magic sank into their bodies, not as concentrated as the magic she'd once poured into Rafe's wings and Xander's chest, but a more diluted form that gave off the sense of vitality without its force.
"Can they all see it?" she asked, so used to magic being her dirty secret.
"Most can't," he said, still letting his power flood across the water and crash over his people. "But even those without magic themselves can feel my touch, and that's why they cheer. For the promise of our power, for the hope it brings."
As they neared, more magic lit the skies, so dazzling her only wish was for Rafe to be there and see it. Nearly all the sailors on the surrounding ships sent shimmering swirls into the air—blues and greens and yellows and reds exploding in celebration. Among the crowd, there were far fewer displays of power, but the occasional spark of color flared. Even the swathes of people without magic looked on with awe. Their faces held no fear, only joy. No hesitation, only pride. Glistening cheeks caught the light. Tears of happiness. Sobs of relief. Every eye seemed turned on her with that same expression Malek always held—as though waiting for more. They wanted their Queen Bred of Snow. They wanted someone she wasn't sure she knew how to be, but beneath the weight of their stares, she needed to do something. Guided by instinct, Lyana flared her wings as wide as they could go, her white feathers bright against the dreary gray.
The crowd roared.
Malek squeezed her fingers in silent approval, a gleam in his eyes unlike any she'd seen before. Despite the strain of his magic, he was content. For the first time since she'd met him, there was a hint of satisfaction woven through his spirit, a sense of peace.
The ship came to a halt by the mouth of a canal. A richly painted boat bobbed in the middle of the water with two gilded thrones resting at its center. Lyana couldn’t for the life of her see a pathway through the crowd, a means of getting to the spot. But Malek seemed unbothered. He cleared his throat as the din quieted. Shouts gave way to soft weeping, which gave way to nothing but the gentle slap of waves, the creak of wood, and the subtle howl of wind.
"People of Da'Kin," he said, no strain in his voice. Magic followed his words, carrying the sound on the wind so all those gathered could hear. "I, King Malek'da'Nerri, the King Born in Fire, present to you Queen Lyana Aethionus, our long-awaited Queen Bred of Snow. For generations, we have suffered, but the time of the prophecy is finally upon us. Together, we will see the dragons defeated and our people liberated. Together, we will see the world healed."
A flurry stirred in her chest, making her dizzy.
She wasn't ready for this—ready for the hope in their eyes shining brighter than Malek's magic, the collective held breath of so many people waiting for her to speak, hanging on her every word, the weight of all their dreams settling like a plug in her throat. Malek had been right. The open ocean was different from the city. Out there, the prophecy seemed little more than words and myth, prattle she could ignore while she focused on learning to use her new power. Here, it seemed as real as her gods, as powerful as Aethios, as terrifying as Vesevios, as double-sided as Taetanos. Here, there was no escaping this destiny she wasn't ready to accept.
Lyana opened her lips, but no sound came. She inhaled sharply, throat dry, chest burning, eyes wide. A shout saved her.
"To the queen!"
"To the king!"
"To the prophecy!"
The words crashed over the crowd like a tidal wave, drowning out the stillness and leaving chaos in their wake. Malek leaned close, his nose brushing her cheek as his breath warmed her skin.
"Hold on."
Deep green magic peppered the air. She recognized it as ferro'kine power just as the metal disk they were standing on lifted free of the deck. Malek placed his arm around her waist and held her tightly to his chest, still pushing his healing force out into the crowd. Lyana wrapped her arms around him, not afraid per se, but aware of her clipped feathers and the very real possibility of falling. Out of habit, her wings adjusted to the slight undulations as they rose over the edge of the ship and above the crowd. Their destination was clearly the smaller boat bobbing in the canal, and as they neared, a circular cutout by the base of the thrones became clear. Malek waited until the metal disk sank fully into the spot before taking his seat. With a gulp, Lyana sat beside him, feeling more of a farce than ever as he rejoined their hands, continuing the illusion of their shared power.
The water in the canal moved with a current made of magic, pushing them deeper into the city. Not once did the crowd thin. The platforms to either side teemed with people. Every bridge they floated past groaned with the weight of moving bodies. At first, Lyana marveled at the architecture—the wooden docks, the elegantly carved rails, the endless canals, the boats of various shapes and sizes, also filled with people. Glowing orbs penetrated the haze, the same light magic she'd seen on the ship. As they drifted deeper into the city, spots of color emerged—islands filled with flowering trees, painted signs above shop doors, intricate designs along peaked rooflines, and windows made of saturated glass. The skies were gray, the hues drab, the air so wet every surface held a sheen, and yet, against all odds, Da'Kin oozed with life.
But as Lyana turned her attention to its citizens, she realized that wasn't quite true. Most of the children they passed were rail thin, their clothes hanging off their feeble forms. Most of the adults had shadows under their eyes, expressions drawn despite their joyous smiles. She'd grown up in a frozen tundra barren of life, the land too harsh for plants or animals, yet her people had never starved. They'd known hardship, but not like this. With its golden sunshine and diverse isles, the world above had been bountiful. Within the comfort of shared peace, all the houses had prospered. The world below was made of little more than ocean and mist.
Questions came unbidden as she forced a smile to her lips, looking everywhere yet nowhere, unable to meet the eyes surrounding her on all sides. What did they eat besides fish? How did they grow crops without sun? How did they find so much wood with no trees? How did they drink when their only water came from the sea? There were so many things she'd taken for granted growing up in her crystal palace—food appearing every night, endless water for baths, all the weapons she could want, all the dresses, all the jewels. Knowing now what hid within the fog, she almost felt greedy, a new sort of shame burning in her chest. All her life she'd yearned for nothing more than adventure—the childish dream of a princess unaware of her own privilege, which she'd given up the moment she and Xander had walked into the sacred nest to make their vows. She'd been prepared to be his queen, with all the responsibility it entailed.