They'd been clipped.
The pearlescent plumes at the far ends of her wings, her gorgeous primary feathers, were gone. The people surrounding him probably didn't even notice—hers might have been the only wings they'd ever seen—but Rafe did. He recognized the abnormality in an instant. Just as quickly, the confusion and despair flooding his veins ignited, turning to fury instead. The king had done this to her. Rafe knew it. With Cassi's help, he'd grounded her. She was as much a prisoner of this world as Rafe was, and he was just as determined to set her free.
"Lyana!"
His shout was lost to the din of the crowd as the disk carrying them touched down in the center of the courtyard. The golden flecks in the air brightened, magic stretching and strengthening with their nearness.
"Lyana!"
Rafe shoved people aside, uncaring, all his focus on the tips of her ivory wings, which were still visible above the masses. She and the king were moving. The crowd seemed to part before them and meld behind them, as though a bubble encircled them, allowing people to get close but not too close, a strange sort of magic.
"Lyana! Lyana!"
He was only a few bodies away now. Through a break, her face flashed, something in her expression so drained it made him wish he could bear the silent burden for her. Digging his shoulder into another man, Rafe pushed past. Two or three more people and he'd be there, beside her. He was close, so close, so—
Rafe froze.
Invisible binds fastened around him, as though a hundred hands held every inch of his body, keeping him still. No one else moved. The magic in the air sharpened, wrapping around the crowd like gilded chains. He tried to shout, but no sound passed through his lips. His jaw didn’t even open. No matter how hard he fought to take a step, to reach out, he was trapped where he stood. Lyana came closer, and closer, only a few feet away.
See me, he silently willed, pushing the thought out like a prayer. Please, Ana. Hear me. See me. If you ever loved me, please don't walk away.
Her feathers bristled.
Her movement slowed.
She paused, and the whole world seemed to pause with her.
19
Lyana
The back of her neck tingled. Lyana stopped, turning to the crowd as the sensation slipped down the length of her spine, making her stand tall. There was something undeniably familiar about one of the spirits grasping for her magic, something recognizable about the deep-rooted pain aching to be healed, its touch and taste and feel like a phantom haunting her thoughts.
Rafe?
She narrowed her eyes, scanning the faces all around her.
Rafe?
It felt so much like him, that gently throbbing ache her magic had never been able to heal, not in the cave as she'd fixed the burns covering his body, not in his room when she'd repaired the broken bones of his wings, not even later, when she'd tried using her lips instead. There had been a moment as they'd lain entangled in each other's arms, his wings a warm blanket, her breath against his chest, their hearts beating as one, when she thought maybe his pain had gone. A peace had settled over him, over them both—a serenity the rising dawn had shattered.
Where had he gone after she'd left his room?
Was it possible he'd come here?
Her heart convulsed. Lyana scanned the fog for the telltale flash of onyx wings, hope a painful beast inside her chest. There was nothing, just thick gray mixed with the glimmer of magic, most of it Malek's. Every spot of ebony along the rooftops made her nerves flutter, but no raven lurked in the shadows. If anyone in the surrounding crowd had wings, she would have seen them from atop the wall. Still, it felt so much like him.
Rafe?
The thought had a little less conviction this time, a little less certainty. Maybe her mind was playing tricks on her. In his presence, she'd always felt as though she could do anything. He’d always made her feel strong. With the weight of so many pleading souls pressing in on her, it was only natural she wished he were there.
But he wasn't.
In the lands above, she was Xander's mate. Down here, she was Malek's queen. There was no place in the world where she and Rafe would ever be anything more than a memory, and she had to remember that.
"We should go," Malek murmured into her ear, his lips so close she felt his breath on her neck as he squeezed her fingers. "We shouldn't linger."
When she turned to face him, a flash of black hair caught her eye, the short strands ruffling in the breeze. Lyana froze, willing the crowd to part. If she could just get one look, one glance, one—
"Lyana." At the commanding tone, she flinched. "If you want to visit the infirmary, we need to keep moving before you burn out."
He was right. Already, the small bit of power she was using threatened to overwhelm, her control a precarious thing. Thoughts of Rafe had opened her heart, and she had to fight to shut down her emotions, to keep them contained, lest her magic overpower her again. Surrounded by so many people, she couldn't afford to let their aching souls inside. The maelstrom would consume her, and she was eager to get to the infirmary. As part of their newfound compromise, Malek had promised to let her practice her healing magic on his people, a way to endear her to them, but also to boost her confidence by using a power she already knew how to wield. This entire outing was a favor to her, and the least she could do was respect this one request.
"Of course."
He put his hand to the small of her back, easing her forward. Lyana searched one last time for the wisp of onyx, but whatever she thought she'd seen was gone.
Forcing her face and her thoughts ahead, she followed Malek's lead, fortifying her walls and separating her magic from her heart the way he'd taught her. As they made their way down crowded city streets, she couldn't help but marvel at his control, his precision, his apparent effortlessness. He moved the crowd around them, wrapping the people in his golden magic and forcing them aside, so no one got close enough to touch her or blocked their path. Yet no one shouted. No one complained. The only looks she saw were of devotion, as though his magic, even when used to restrain them, were a precious gift.
Part of her was envious—of his expertise, of their love for him, of the idea that if she'd been born to this world, maybe her magic would flow just as easily, just as freely, since she never would have had to hide.
Another part of her was wary—reverence such as this should be aimed only at the gods. Normally, she basked in attention, but this made her skin crawl. She was just a woman. Malek was just a man. What if they weren't the king and queen these people hoped for? What if, in the end, they couldn't give the people what they needed?
Nausea coiled like a snake in her gut.
It took a moment for Lyana to realize it wasn't her own. The air was sick, and as they turned a corner she knew why.
The infirmary loomed before her. Even though she'd never set eyes on the building, there was no mistaking it. Unlike every island sector they'd crossed before, this one had no paths, no walkways, no open bridges waiting for pedestrians to cross. The building was a fortress, its wooden walls slick and lacking handholds, and the windows mere slits with iron bars across them. There were no balconies and no doors. The sides sank straight into the canal, and the only way over the water surrounding it was the drawbridge being lowered in anticipation of their arrival. The people of the city kept their distance, the crowd around them thinning as the foot of the bridge drew near.