“You’re not an assassin, Kasiandra,” he said evenly as golden flecks sputtered to life around his hands. A fist closed around her heart, one she couldn’t see, but the viselike grip was more real than any touch she’d ever shared with him before. Her king stepped closer, so close he towered over her, his power pulsing through the air, making her feel small. “You are a weapon. My weapon. To be wielded any way I choose.”
“I won’t—”
He cut her off, “You will, because the cause we fight for is greater than you or me or any one person. Our lives don’t matter. Our souls don’t matter. We’re the casualties of a war we have no choice but to win. You will do this last thing, and then finally, you’ll come home.” He paused—another silent challenge for her to refuse him. When nothing came, his posture eased. “You should wash in one of the rivers before you return to the castle. You look a fright.”
Without another word, he left, disappearing in the depths of the metal boat.
But a piece of him remained.
His magic wrapped around her legs, binding them together, gluing the bottoms of her feet to the ground, creating roots so deep she had no hope to pull them free. Cassi beat her wings, pushed and flapped and fought with all her might, but there was nothing she could do.
Her king had stolen her sky.
No. Not my king. Malek. She shook her head, realization like the blow of the sharpest blade. King. Malek. They were one and the same. The boy she loved, the boy of magic and wonder, he was gone. Dead. Reborn into a man she didn’t recognize. And she could no longer fool herself into believing anything else.
Malek has stolen my sky.
Something within her unraveled. A bitter, angry laugh seeped from her lips as the metal boat glowed with the olive spark of earth magic. A gust of yellow wind whipped through the forest, diving beneath the vessel and lifting it from the ground.
I won’t, she thought, watching the magic gather. I won’t and from so far away there’s no way you can make me. I won’t. I won’t.
“I won’t!” she screamed, refusal cutting its way out of her throat like the edge of a blade. “I won’t, Malek! I won’t!”
Again and again.
Each time more broken than the last.
Until his name held no more power.
Until the magic binding her to the dirt disappeared.
Until the ship blinked out of sight.
Cassi leapt into the sky, her wings defiant. And that was when she saw the orange glow at the edge of the horizon, growing larger—a dragon, lured to the world above by the irresistible scent of Lyana’s magic.
66
The Captain
The day was eerily silent, nothing but the slapping of waves on wood, the creaking groan of a ship long past its prime, the gentle flapping of loose canvas in the breeze. The crew sat alert but scattered across the main deck, attention on a thick fog so bright it burned the eyes. They were waiting, an ominous pastime for a group that had run to the seas to escape its enemies, some real, some imagined.
Then she felt him.
The mist was nearly opaque, but her magic stretched wide, flying with the breeze. His body was like a dagger cutting through the wind, heavy and piercing.
“He’s here! Starboard side, raise the anchor, loosen the sails!”
They jumped into action immediately.
She closed her eyes, confident her crew would handle their part, and pushed back her single wing, letting her muscles flex and feathers rustle as she tightened her hands on the wheel. The canvases snapped and a squall rushed across the deck, magic and air crashing in a wild torrent that brought a smile to her lips. She lived in that tornado, letting it whip her clothes and her hair, basking in that brief moment when the ground fell away and the sky held her in its arms and she almost, almost felt as though she were flying.
She opened her eyes and threw the breeze back across the sea.
The fog dispersed. White tendrils drew shapes in the air as the gusts swirled and twirled around a single falling figure. The blast formed a cyclone to slow the rapid descent, air turning into a cushion, a loving embrace that held him as he dropped gently through the haze. By the time they reached him, he was hovering in midair, a peaceful moment at the center of a storm.
“Ready?” she called.
The crew grunted.
She pulled the magic back beneath her skin. The wind died away. The boy dropped…and smacked against the moist wooden planks of the ship.
“Ten sailors and not a single one of you thought to catch him?” she shouted with a sneer, jumping over the rail of the quarterdeck and landing hard enough to make them flinch. What a bunch of no-good sluggards! “Look alive! Fresh water, bandages, and for the love of all the magic in the world, somebody fetch me a bottle of dragon’s breath.”
They scattered, which was good, because she didn’t want her crew to see the way her fingers trembled as she rolled the boy over and pressed her fingers against the bloody wounds on his back, silver magic flickering beneath his gnarled skin.
Her own scars burned.
The memory flashed like lightning, the sort of pain and terror no time would ever erase. The slash of the knife. The white-hot searing. The scream that couldn’t possibly have come from her own throat. The echo of boots as her mother and father walked away without so much as a goodbye. The kick to her back that sent her teetering over the edge. And the never-ending fall, which still gave her the sweats in the dead of night.
Her shoulders writhed.
Her single wing folded around him, half-hiding them both from view. She brushed the hair from his cheek, revealing smooth ivory skin and a jawline that would make the handful of girls in her crew swoon, and hell, some of the men too. But she was sure of one more thing.
“This will not defeat you,” she whispered. “It will not define you.”
The curved edge of a glass bottle nudged her shoulder. She turned to meet the concerned gaze of her first mate. He’d been with her a long time, long enough to understand the turmoil churning in her icy eyes.
Captain Audezia’d’Rokaro snatched the bottle and took a long sip, shaking her head as the fire poured down the back of her throat. It settled like a flame in her stomach, shocking her system back to life. Dragon’s breath, indeed. She stood and stepped to the side, letting the crew take over. They cleaned the boy's wounds and wrapped him in bandages.
While they worked, her first mate leaned over, arms crossed, focus on the murky fog. “I got news of an attack on the floating city of Ga’bret. A whole district was burned, Zia. Could be the beast we’ve been tracking.”
The edge of her lip perked. “Then by all means, old friend, take the wheel.”
67
The King
He cut the necklace of onyx feathers from around her throat and tugged it gently away before running his gaze over the edge of her ivory wing. Unable to stop his fingers from inching forward, he ran them along the graceful curve, her plumes like living silk beneath his skin. Her eyes were closed. Her features relaxed, serene.
Like an angel from the myths of old, he thought, putting his hand to her cheek, holding her the way he did so often in the dreams that Kasiandra didn’t spin.