You should go right, she thought as they reached the next fork in the street.
Rafe went left.
The bridge is two blocks in the opposite direction.
He kept going.
The rooftops are so much easier to navigate.
He remained firmly on the ground.
Aren't you a bird? Shouldn't you inherently know how to move north?
He went south, toward the docks, decidedly away from the castle, and ran into another dead end. A thin line of chain was all that kept him from toppling over the edge and into the canal.
"Rafe," she finally said, taking pity on him.
He spun, eyes blazing. "Brighty, how the gods do I find this bloody castle?"
A delighted gasp escaped her lips as she put her hand to her chest. "Rafe, you're talking like a sailor."
"Please." With a hasty step forward, he grabbed her hands. "Please, no more jokes. No more watching me run aimlessly through the streets with a smirk on your lips. No more games. You know where to go. Please, help me." He stared at her, the imploring expression nailing her to the spot and weighing her down with its familiarity. "Please, Brighty. I have to see her."
Just like that, she knew who he truly reminded her of—not the dog, but someone else, someone far more important. The memories of her were buried so deep it had taken Brighty a moment to realize it. Back in the square, when he'd first seen the queen, an emotion had filled his eyes, warm and burning, brighter than the light magic in her veins, more powerful too and edged with yearning. She'd seen that look before. It was the reason she'd decided to guard her heart, to stop caring about other people, to stop giving them the chance to hurt her.
That look had once destroyed her.
She didn’t want it to destroy him too.
"Rafe," she said softly. Hope pooled in his gaze, the sort of light she didn’t need her magic to see, yet it touched her just the same. Brighty mentally scolded herself. It's his heart he's playing with. His life. What's it to you? The answer should have been nothing, but it wasn't, and she didn't care to linger on why. Instead, she stifled every instinct screaming at her to return to the ship and said the very thing he wanted to hear. "Follow me, and I'll take you to the king."
This was his mistake to make.
Maybe the best thing she could do was to let him.
21
Rafe
With Brighty's help, he made it to the castle wall without mishap. She really did move like a spirit, shifting through the shadows as fluidly as a phantom, quick and lithe, so silent he almost wondered if there were magic involved. But there wasn't—he would have seen it. In fact, he might have even complimented her, if she weren't so frustrating. It was a shame, really, that her attitude surpassed even her skill.
"You're such an oaf," she muttered as they crossed the last set of rooftops, not a single of her steps out of place, while he clambered after, accidently kicking a shingle loose. They both winced when it crashed against the courtyard below. "Watch where you're going."
"I am," he grumbled. It was just, he was used to the sky, to the stealth of wings, the ease of them. He'd never had to climb anything in his life, not really.
"Watch harder."
Gritting his teeth against a reply, Rafe followed her to the edge of the roofline, nothing but open air between them and the looming wall, which stretched just high enough to block his view of the other side. The gods, what he would give for his wings. It would be so easy. A few quick pumps and he'd be over the edge, on the other side, and on his way to Lyana, to the king. The mere thought of the man made his blood boil.
"How do we get over it?"
"I said I'd get you to the castle." She shrugged. "I never said I could get you inside."
"Brighty!"
She remained unperturbed. Rafe rubbed his hand over his face and into his hair, grabbing the strands as though to yank them from his head. His instincts screamed at him to take action, to make a running leap and hope for the best. If he fell, well, he might break his legs, but they'd heal. If he made it…
Rafe shook his head.
That's a horrible plan. He frowned. I am an oaf.
What would Xander do? He'd come up with something. He'd reason it out. He'd use the knowledge from his books and his endless theories to put some semblance of a plan together. Of course, Rafe had little awareness of those books or theories. Still, he had his fight and his strength, and he'd spent enough time with his brother. Surely something must have rubbed off.
Think. Think.
"You look like you need to take a shit."
He glared at her. "You're not helping."
"Why would I, when this is so entertaining?"
Rafe ignored her, mumbling, "I guess I could—no. But maybe—no. What if—"
"Don't hurt yourself."
"Could you just, for once, not talk unless you have something useful to say?"
"Something like this?" Her tone was too cheerful by half. Rafe snapped his face to the side, surprised to find her standing there with a rope he'd never even noticed her holding. "It's not my first break-in. I grabbed this as soon as I saw it, about three islands back. Just stay here and I'll toss it to you."
"But how are you going to get to the top?"
She scoffed in response and disappeared over the edge of the roof. Rafe could do nothing but watch as she landed in the courtyard below and glided silently to the wall, the creak and groan of the city more than enough cover. Then she simply…climbed. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head as she scaled the wall, hands gripping invisible holds, feet somehow finding perches, moving as easily as a spider up its web. Before long, she vanished over the top, reappearing a moment later to toss him the rope.
Rafe caught it easily and jerked it once to test the weight. It wasn't long enough to reach the ground beneath them, so instead he jumped. Gripping the rope between his hands, Rafe careened toward the wall. Never since his first flight had he felt so precarious in the air, dangling like a fish on a hook as the rocks raced closer. At the last second, he lifted his feet, landing with an oof against the stone. As he climbed, he searched for the grooves Brighty had used, but for the life of him, he couldn’t find a single one.
"Took you long enough," she muttered as he pulled himself over the top.
His heart sank when he saw what waited on the other side—water. The castle was built into jagged cliffs, surrounded on all sides by a calm pool. In the darkness, there was no way to tell how deep it sank, no doubt too deep for a bird who'd never learned to swim. Across the way, a boat was anchored to a small wooden dock. A staircase had been carved into the rock, leading all the way up to what must be a door. If he could just reach it…
All he needed to do was keep his head above the surface.
Swimming couldn't be that hard.
Brighty read his mind. "Before you take a diving leap off the wall, can you please ask yourself one question—why has no one tried to stop us?"
"I don't care."
"Why not?"
"I just—" He squeezed his eyes shut, Lyana's face rising through the darkness. No one had ever looked at him the way she'd looked at him. No one had ever treated him the way she'd treated him. As an equal. As worthy. As someone to love. If she was hurt, if she was imprisoned, he had to help her, consequences be damned. She would do the same for him. He knew it in his bones. "I know it might be a trap," he finally said, his voice gritty. "I know this is probably idiotic. And I know there's a good chance it won't work. But I have to try. I have to. So, are you going to help me or not?"