"That's not how it works," she said, tired of only being heard when it was convenient for him. "The day we met, you said you trusted only yourself. Maybe that's the problem. Even if I master my magic, we'll never save the world, Malek. Not like this. If you can't learn to trust me, then all of this is moot. I'm not the only one who has some learning to do. You need to listen to me. You might not always agree, but you need to let me have a voice. Part of being a king or a queen is being a leader, and if we can't come together, then our people never will. I don’t want to save one world only to destroy another."
"Lyana—"
"I don't want an answer now," she said, finally the one to cut their argument short. The sound of shuffling feet and clanking metal announced their arrival at the castle. At any moment the boat would come to a stop. "I wouldn't believe it. Like you said, pretty words are useless. Practice trusting me like I practice my magic. Let it build bit by bit over time. Come to my room tomorrow. Let's see if I can touch the rift. And we'll take the rest from there."
They stared at each other across what seemed an impassable divide.
With a sigh, he turned and left. The door closed behind him, and she listened to the pounding of his boots as he strode across the deck and disembarked. Only when it was quiet did Lyana finally stand and lift her arms over her head, stretching both her body and her wings, easing the last of the aches away. Her ivory feathers were the tiniest bit longer than earlier that day, a side effect of sitting so long in Malek's magic.
Rebellion drifted across her thoughts like a long-lost friend. After a quick glance at the door, she gave in to that purring call and flapped her wings. A wind swirled, rustling her feathers as they caught the air. Her body rose, one slow inch at a time, until only her toes grazed the floor, then higher still, so that for a brief glorious moment she was flying.
It ended far too soon.
Her wings gave out and she dropped back to the ground. But as she slid her jacket around her shoulders and smoothed the fabric with her palms, a grin widened her lips, one no amount of control could stifle. When Malek had brought her to his world, he'd clipped more than just her wings—he'd clipped her spirit. And with each passing day, she was relieved to find they were both coming back.
There was still so much to learn about her magic that she didn't want to go, but she would if she had to. She refused to be controlled. She refused to be silenced. Maybe she was being emotional, but so was he. His way wasn't the only way, and she wouldn't let the fate of the world be determined by his pride. If leaving was the only way to make him understand, to make him see her as his equal, as his partner, well then, to steal his words, so be it.
30
Rafe
As dawn stirred, Rafe woke expecting more of the same. They'd been at the rift for days, and so far it seemed a lot like the middle of nowhere. There was no difference between this and any other unnamed spot in the foggy sea aside from the subtle current of magic in the air like a constant prickling against the skin.
This morning, however, was different.
He woke to a warmth against his cheeks as light penetrated the darkness behind his closed eyes. A familiar scent filled the air, one that haunted him. For a moment he thought it was the sun, and he was in the sky, and she was there—that maybe these past few weeks had been nothing but a hideous dream. Heart thumping, he tore his eyes open and rolled over, further knotting the sheets around his legs, but Lyana wasn't there. The spot beside him was empty. The walls around him were not made of stone but of wood, and the air was heavy and damp, not light and inviting. Most of all, there was no ebony wing he could fold over his shoulder to cocoon under in an attempt to block out the day.
The day?
Eyes narrowing, he paused. A subtle golden sheen lit the air, warm and radiant, but it couldn't be the sun, not here within the mist. He spun again and kicked the sheets away, disentangling himself from the bed as he lurched to his feet.
Ana.
It was crazy. It was impossible. They were in the middle of the ocean, nowhere close to land, but somehow she was there. He could feel her in the air as surely as if she were standing beside him, her magic like a piece of her soul whispering in his ear, I'm here. I haven't forgotten about you.
He wanted to shake the words from his head but he couldn't. They'd spent more time apart than together. Weeks upon weeks had passed since their brief hours in the dark, weeks she'd spent with another man in a new life, weeks he'd spent trying to piece together the shambles of his. They were two different people by now, he was sure. Still, the subtlest hint of her presence sent him reeling back to those nights in Pylaeon when they’d walked the city streets under the stars, and she'd taught him a lesson no one else possibly could—that magic was a beautiful blessing, not a curse. It had been the first time in his life when he'd thought maybe, just maybe, the gods had chosen him for something more. Then Cassi had carved the thought from his mind just as thoroughly as she'd removed his wings. Lately, though, he was slowly gaining it back.
A pounding at the door startled him from his thoughts. "Rafe, come on or you'll miss all the fun."
"Fun?" he asked as he yanked open the door.
Brighty immediately grabbed him by the arm and started tugging him toward the staircase. She was small, but surprisingly strong when she wanted to be. "Don't you feel it?"
"The only thing I feel is your nails digging into my arm."
"Oh, I'm sorry." She wrenched them in deeper. "Am I hurting you?"
He peeled her fingers away. "I'm not even dressed."
Brighty refocused her eyes, as though noticing his bare chest for the first time, then shrugged. "Clothes won't stop a dragon anyway."
"A dragon?"
"Magic alive, Rafe, haven’t you been paying attention? The king is calling one out for us. Don't you feel his magic?"
"His…" He shook his head. "What?"
"Can't you feel the aethi'kine power in the air? It's the king—it has to be. He's poking the rift and hoping the dragons will poke back."
"You still haven’t deigned to tell me what this blasted rift even is."
She stared at him with a frown across her round face and shook her head. "Just throw on a shirt and meet me on deck. Captain's waiting."
Not glancing back, Brighty scurried up the steps and rushed out the door.
As he watched her go, he couldn't help but note she was wrong—it wasn't the king's magic. It was Lyana's. Rafe would have bet his life on it. For some reason, that difference gave him an impossible hope. Maybe somehow she'd learned of his deal with the king. Maybe she knew he was out here waiting. Maybe she was trying to help him get back his wings.
The chance was small, but the fact that it was even there was all the motivation he needed. Rafe ran back to his room and yanked a shirt over his head, not bothering to tuck it in before he jammed his feet into boots and tossed his scabbards over his shoulders. Still securing the buckles, he stumbled out into the hall and hustled up the stairs.
By the time he spilled onto the deck, the crew was in full swing. Pyro stood at the bow, a flame burning above her fingers as she studied the misty air. Brighty stood by her side, her palms glowing so ivory that a mere peek her way left spots in his vision. The wind was eerily still, as though waiting for some invisible current to stir it back to life. Squirrel sat in the crow's nest, gaze sharper than his young age should allow. Archer, Jolt, Spout, Leech, and Shadow all stood by the rails, power simmering at the ready. Cook was the only one below deck, though Rafe hardly saw the man outside of the kitchen or the storerooms. And he knew Captain was at the wheel with Patch by her side even before her voice carried to his ear.