"Dead," her first mate answered.
Captain Rokaro cursed.
Rafe's senses were not dulled enough to prevent the shock from coursing through his system. "You wanted it alive?"
She ignored him. "How much damage?"
"I'm holding off water from both sides of the hull," Spout answered, then sneezed. A splash lapped over the side of the railing. "Bloody dragons."
"She's allergic," Brighty whispered. "To everything."
"I'm not—" Spout broke off to suck in a wobbling breath, fighting off another bout as the blue surrounding her fingertips sparked. "It’s something about the scales. I can’t be around snakes either."
"Or cats," Brighty muttered, making Rafe's mouth twitch with amusement. His body grew more relaxed as the drugs sank into his system. "Or dust. Or flowers in the spring."
"Enough," Captain barked, shutting them both up. "Spout, downstairs now and keep the water from leaking into the ship as best as possible until Leech can repair it. Archer, go with her and use some metal sheets to temporarily seal the holes. Pyro, put out the fires. Jolt, take Squirrel with you, and go find the backup sails—"
"We burned those two months ago," Patch interjected.
"What about the backup, backup sails?"
"Last year."
Captain wrinkled her nose. "The sheets then! I don't give a damn what it is as long as the wind will catch it. What's the nearest city?"
"Da'Kin," the first mate replied, finding Captain's eyes. Something passed between them, something Rafe didn’t quite understand, but the world was becoming fuzzy around the edges, colors turning brighter and sounds growing duller. "We need supplies."
"I'll speak to the king."
"The king?" Rafe said. Or tried to say. His tongue felt fat and his eyes heavy. They began to slip closed, the world falling away, blissfully taking his pain with it. He rushed to finish, aware the words came out as nothing more than a garbled slur. "I want to speak with the king. You promised after the dragon you'd take me to the king."
"If you can walk by then, I will."
12
Lyana
Lyana stood on the balcony, staring out over the sleeping city. She'd awoken a few hours ago and had done little else but walk across her richly adorned room to stand in the damp air and think. Afternoon gave way to evening, the fog shifting from a downy gray like that of her brother's wings to the deep black of night. White lights bobbed, undulating with the tides, casting an almost eerie glow through the mist. Nothing was still in this world except the castle beneath her feet, sitting heavy on the rocks, an anchor keeping an entire populace from drifting out to sea.
"You missed dinner."
She didn't turn to greet Malek. "I'm not hungry."
"I brought food anyway," he said, the gentle clink of a tray being set down on wood following his words. Soft footsteps sounded, subtle on the rug and shifting to a scuff as his boots brushed against stone. He came to a stop beside her, placing his hands on the rail, close enough for her to feel the heat of his skin but not so close that they touched. "You should eat something, to preserve your strength."
She didn't say anything, instead keeping her focus on Da'Kin. He scanned her face, his gaze as tangible as any touch while the silence stretched between them.
"Lyana—"
"Is it always like that?"
Malek sighed, a heavy sound with more weight than air had any right to hold. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on the rail, his body collapsing beneath the invisible burden. A lock of blond hair fell over his brow as he turned toward the city.
"Yes," he said, his voice edging on hollow, surprisingly vulnerable. "Yes, it's always like that."
"So much suffering, so much pain."
"There's joy too, but it's harder to feel. We're healers. The hurt calls to us—the bruised, the broken, yearning to be saved. With time, it will become easier to manage. I can teach you how to guard yourself against it, to put a wall between your magic and your heart, so the wave won't pull you under as it did today."
"I want to help them," she whispered, throat clogged with the memory of their pain. "I want to heal them."
"You will—"
"No," she interrupted, blinking so that her spirit vision took over. The shades of black-and-white, of night and fog and rolling light, gave way to brilliant color, every element coming alive in her eyes, the yellows of the wind, the greens of the wood, the soft blues of mist and sea. But what shone brightest of all were all the souls spread like a carpet of golden starbursts, visible in her mind's eye even if they were hidden behind walls and rocks and shadow. But her magic stayed beneath her skin as it tickled the underside of her palm, longing to be used. "I want to do something now. First, you kept me stuck on that ship. Now, you keep me locked in this castle. I want to go out into the city. I want to—"
"You can't."
She blinked her magic eyes away and turned to him. "Malek—"
"Listen to me," he said, taking her hand in his, willing her to hear him. "I know how you feel. Trust me, I understand. And there was a time when I thought if I just used my magic swiftly enough, I could heal them all. But you can't, Lyana. And you never will. Even if you knock on every door in this city and cure every wound, come morning, there will be more. Humans are fragile creatures. We fracture easily, and there are some pains even magic can’t heal. Broken hearts. Empty bellies. Lost dreams. The only way to help them is to spend your time learning to control your magic, so one day soon we can stop the source of their suffering together."
"And what's that?"
"The mist. The dragons. Our divided worlds."
"The prophecy."
He nodded.
"I've been thinking on that, too."
She hadn’t asked him much about the poem that claimed to seal their fates. Perhaps it seemed blasphemous to believe human words could carry the weight of divine proclamations, an affront to her gods. Instead, her time on the ship had been spent preoccupied with magic—what had seemed a more immediate concern, and one she was sure Aethios approved. He had gifted her this power, after all. Now her curiosity beckoned.
Beasts will emerge, filled with fury and scorn, she thought, replaying the line from the prophecy. Fighting to recover what from their claws we have torn.
"What did we take from them?" she asked on instinct. "The dragons, I mean. And how do they plan to get it back?"
He let go of her fingers. "I don’t know."
"You must have suspicions."
"I'm not sure if you're ready to hear them."
His lips thinned and a distant look gathered in his eyes as he stared into the dark. The stern expression he usually wore had returned, as hard as the stone wall surrounding his castle, as impenetrable too. Luckily, getting past people's defenses was one of her specialties.
"That's a shame," Lyana commented softly. "Because my feathers will grow back eventually, Malek. And if we can't learn to trust each other, if you can’t learn to trust me, then I don’t see any reason to stick around once they do."