“We both know it wasn’t,” he murmured, frowning.
Cassi scoffed, rolling her eyes. Her king lifted a single brow in response, making her pause, swallow, and remember which world she was in—which monarch stood beside her. “What else could it have been? Lyana’s birthday is only a fortnight away, and if she is who we think she is, it would be no surprise if the power started responding earlier than we thought.”
“It’s possible,” he said sternly as he crossed his arms and turned to the window, watching the clouds churn as though they were real, and as though they carried news. “But so are any number of other things. The magic binding the isles to the sky is not as strong as it once was, you and I both know that, and there’s no telling for sure what disturbed it. Not yet.”
Cassi bit her tongue.
“I received no word of a dragon responding to the call of the magic, and without that, there’s no way to know where the surge came from,” her king continued, just to press the point a little further. He studied her for a moment before taking a seat at the table. “Now, we have more important things to discuss. You have updates for me, I assume?”
“I do,” Cassi responded, emptying her voice of personality as she tried to focus on the business at hand.
With a simple thought, the dream shifted. Two quills and sheets of paper appeared, some blank, some filled with the parts of the plan they’d already figured out. Cassi dipped her feather into a pot of ink and began to scrawl as she described what she’d learned on her many midnight adventures, but only half of her mind was paying attention.
The other half was in her own dreams, not his. Because the earthquake had to have been Lyana. Cassi’s lonely heart couldn’t accept the idea of it coming from anyone else. Her friend was the queen who was prophesized. And in two weeks, Cassi was bringing Lyana beneath the mist. There would be no more lies. No more secrets. No more half-lives. They would walk across the wet wooden planks of the floating cities together. Cassi would show Lyana her power, would show Lyana that magic was to be treasured, not despised. That it was beautiful. That the people who wielded it were beautiful too. And that the life her friend had always been aching for, of adventure and travel and choice, could be hers—could be theirs.
As she bid her king goodbye, other thoughts filtered in.
That she would meet him, see him, touch him.
That in two weeks, she would no longer be the figment of his imagination, the invisible spirit in the night, but a girl, flesh and blood, made of magic and wings. He would see the real her, no more hiding, and she would see the real him.
Malek.
Adult. And grown. And tangible.
By the time Cassi returned to her body, she was wide awake. No matter how hard she rolled from one side to the other to get some sleep—some real sleep—her eyes remained resolutely open. So, she slipped out of bed and went to the balcony to sit with her feet dangling over the edge as a cool breeze brushed against her cheeks and ruffled her feathers, wrapping her in a loving embrace. She leaned forward, resting her brow against the rail, hands gripping the spindles as her gaze landed on the moon, creamy, glowing, and so familiar.
It looked so much like her mother’s eyes.
Two weeks, Cassi thought one final time.
Then she’d be home—wrapped in his arms, surrounded by the scent of salty air made sweet with magic, a thing she’d tried to recreate in the dreams but always failed to reproduce. Because even magic had its limits, and there were some things that just weren’t the same unless they were tangible and physical and real.
Cassi was so lost in the moon and her memories, she hardly even noticed the little white dart flashing across her vision, a shooting star passing through the night, there and gone in one fleeting moment. It was only much later that she realized it had been Lyana, getting herself into trouble once more.
47
Lyana
Lyana stood on the balcony, peeking through the curtains at the raven sprawled across his bed, repeating to herself, This is a bad idea. This is a bad idea. This is a bad idea. The last time they’d spoken, he’d yelled at her to leave his room, a room with crystal walls that was hundreds of miles away, and yet could have been this one. He’d said they weren’t friends. He’d said he was leaving all memory of her behind. He’d said all those things, and yet today in the square, as the stones had fallen and his body was all that had kept her safe, he’d said something else.
I’ve got you.
Lyana stepped out of the shadows and into the soft light of the lantern by his bed, low on oil but still burning, bright enough for her to see the grooves of his face, relaxed in sleep but not peaceful. She wasn’t sure she had ever seen him look truly at ease—it was as if he lived his whole life teetering on an edge—but tonight, she knew the cause of his distress, the broken bends in his hollow bones, the blood still caked across his feathers. And this? This at least she knew how to fix, whether he wanted her to or not.
Lyana knelt beside the mattress, leaning over his bare shoulders so she could gently graze the top sides of his feathers with her fingers, magic already prickling to life beneath her skin.
Rafe sighed.
For a moment, the wrinkles on the bridge of his nose disappeared, then he blinked. Lyana watched the sleep leave his eyes, and the contentment too, as his vision cleared and recognition sparked.
“What are—”
“Stay still,” Lyana softly commanded, pressing her palms against a broken part of his wings, hearing him hiss. She didn't relent.
“I’m fine,” he protested.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“You shouldn’t have come,” he grunted. One side of her lips tugged into the smallest smile at the words, because they were empty of everything except stubborn pride. His muscles were loose and he surrendered to her touch as her magic intensified. Even though his expression remained obstinate, his body relaxed as her power shot over his skin. “I don’t need your help.”
“Whether you need it or not is irrelevant. I’m giving it regardless,” Lyana countered. “So be quiet and accept it, because unlike all the bodies I saw piled in the square, and all the children who were crushed, and all the people who went to sleep tonight not sure if they’d wake up, you—” She paused to compose herself, realizing the word had come out like snarl. “You, I can help.”
He winced, closing his eyes. “Thank you.”
The words were so quiet she almost didn’t hear them. And though a snappy retort was always on the tip of her tongue whenever she was around him, Lyana sighed instead. “Thank you. I would’ve— I should’ve—” The memory flashed clear as day—an avalanche falling toward her, one split second from sending her to the grave. A shiver crept up her spine. “You saved my life.”
“It was no big deal,” he murmured lamely, eyes darting every which way before landing back on her face, deep and rich and full of much more feeling than his words.
Lyana held his gaze and pointedly lifted her brows.
“You’re my brother’s mate,” he offered as an explanation, though it sounded more like a reminder—to her, to him, to both.
“Did you know you’d survive?” she asked.