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I breathe deeply and slowly, banishing the tickle, and hide my grin in Lysander’s back. Somehow, he makes me feel the most normal I’ve ever felt.

28

LYSANDER

Afew months ago, the encounter with the azeroths would have sent me spiraling in a bad way, but after coming face to face with my enemy, instead I’m revitalized. That’s not to say I wasn’t scared. I was terrified. But nothing happened to me — or Ezra — and the fear passed through me, and on the other side of it is a kind of calm I’ve never experienced.

The only explanation is that Ezra’s steadfast strength has infected me.

No one will tell me anything about Elsabeth, not Syril, not Owyn Maddox when he finally writes back, nor Ann, whom my letter doesn’t even reach. The pigeon returns it the same evening and leaves the letter in a pile of dust in the aviary.

I press Syril, but they only shake their head. “If Ann has decided to ally with your sister, this is a riigan matter now. I stay out of their business and so should you.”

I might be sheltered, but even I know Syril is right. The riiga are reclusive and mysterious, like many waterspirits, and they can be powerful allies or dangerous enemies. In the days when we lived in valleys and forests, if a riiga family built their den near your village, it could mean the start of all-out war ora centuries long friendship. The best policy when it comes to riigan business is not to interfere. If my sister has one on her side, it’s unquestionably a good thing. Someone like Ann will be more help to her than her flighty and fearful younger brother.

The club is filling up when I leave Syril’s office. Tonight won’t be a night where Ezra sits with me in a booth while the music weaves between us and his foot rests against mine. But I’ll get to see him when he comes upstairs for the night.

Before I can slide up to the bar, Orion hooks me around the elbow with a shadow and drags me into a corner.

“Something’s up with Ezra,” he hisses.

I frown and extract myself before my magic can do any damage. “I haven’t noticed anything.”

“Well, you’ve been a bit busy, what with the reappearance of your deadly nemesis and the princess going missing again, haven’t you?” Orion jerks his chin at the bar. “Just look at him.”

I follow his gaze. Ezra stands at the bar, his shoulders moving as he chops something. At first he just looks the same as ever.

But no. After a few minutes of chopping he stops, and his back slumps. His shoulders heave and a now-familiar sound spills out of him.

A sneeze.

“He’s been bringing the mood down all night,” Orion huffs.

“I don’t know what could be wrong,” I tell him helplessly.

“Well, find out and fix it. Your Highness. You’re the expert.”

AmI the expert?

Ezra crawls into my bed later that night and drapes his arms around me. “Not up for much today,” he mumbles into my wings. “I hope that’s alright.”

“Of course.” I squeeze his arms.

He’s hotter than usual, and occasionally another sneeze shakes him. I wrack my head, but I just can’t figure out what I’m missing, and before I can find a new angle I fall asleep.

Somehow, our positions are reversed in the night. I wake with his broad, muscular back against me. My heart flutters. I smooth my hands over the ridges of his ribs and up across the swell of muscle, and he twitches in his sleep. He’s so solid. He makes being strong look easy. But something’s bothering him, and it’s not just the sneezing that makes me think so. There were other signs — I just let him brush me off last time.

Unlike Ezra, I’m riddled with weaknesses. Darkness, deep water, leaving the safety of The Sanctum. Disappointing the people I care about. Accidentally poisoning someone with my touch. Losing my only remaining family. The list is long, frivolous fears and real fears intertwining until I can’t tell them apart.

What if Ezra’s fears also haunt him? And what if being strong and competent and easygoing makes him feel like he can’t speak about it?

The next evening Ezra is supposed to work, but he’s nowhere to be found. Worry gnaws me. The bar is so busy I don’t have a chance to ask Plato. By the time morning comes, I’ve made up my mind.

I march downstairs.

“Where does he live?”

Orion jumps and whips around, a half-cracked egg in his hand. Yolk oozes from his shadowy fingers. “Jesus!”