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Only a moron would push against his chest or fight the cage of his arms, but her mind has parted ways with reason; it responds only to the call of blood now. She cannot shut it off.

“Dawsyn! Listen to me, please. Stop!” His hand grasps both of hers and holds them to her chest, wrestling them to stillness. “I’m sorry,” he says over and over. “I’m sorry.”

Vaguely, she wonders why he would apologize to a woman trying pointlessly to beat him, but then she registers a sound woven into the wind, and she guesses it comes from her – a burning anguish.

Ryon banks, and they are suddenly dropping toward the ground. The land below gives way to the break of sand and sea, and not even the azure sparkle of light on the waves can turn Dawsyn away from the ache of rage.

The sea spreads even wider than the land does, but Dawsyn barely notices. Ryon lands on the craggy hills above the beach, where the grass reaches his knees.

He places her feet onto the ground and vanishes his wings. His hands slide over her upper arms in an attempt to soothe; he even brushes her hair away, though sea gusts fight valiantly to shroud her eyes. It is tender, as though he has the right to touch her, as though he isn’t as bad as the rest… or worse.

She has not a morsel of patience to spare. Dawsyn bellows. She brings up both hands and shoves Ryon in the chest again and again. She pushes him until his feet meet the precipice of a steep incline, the stones clattering off the edges and rolling to the beach, and then she hits him. She throws her whole weight into a bone-splitting punch that lands on his jaw and throws his head to the side. He groans deeply.

Heaving, sobbing, Dawsyn backs away. “You knew who I was! You knew my name! That’s why you helped me on the slopes.”

He meets her eyes as he answers, that damnable stare penetrating hers. “I knew,” he says softly.

Dawsyn laughs manically. “I searched for all the ways you mightuseme. I knew there was something, some reason why you wouldbotherto take me with you.”

“That wasn’t the reason–”

“What did you hope for, Ryon? Did you hope to show up with the rightful heir to the crown? Did you hope I’d overthrow the Queen? And then what? That I’d assist you in your crusade to take Glacia? What would you have had me do? Give you an army?”

“I told you on the mountain, Dawsyn, I had no use for you.”

“Liar!”

“I am not lying, girl. I knew your grandmother’s name. I learned what had happened to the crown during my runs to Terrsaw, but I did not plan to steal you away from the slopes. I did not plan to use you for anything.”

“What good luck that a damned descendant of Terrsaw royalty crossed your path then, Glacian? You must have thanked your lucky stars. Someone you could befriend, manipulate, and then use to ally a whole kingdom. You could custom-make your own Queen to do your bidding.”

“Do you not know me, Dawsyn? Have I ever said anything to sway you to me? Have I done anything at all but try to protect you?”

Dawsyn pants, bitter tears slipping over her nose, off her chin. “I didn’t need your fuckingprotection. I needed to trust someone!”

Like a child, she takes a stone from the ground and throws it at his face. He has to raise his arm to deflect it.

“And you kept me from knowing the truth. Does Salem know? Did Esra and Baltisse hear my name and know what it meant?”

He nods warily, slowly. “Yes.”

“And you asked them to stay quiet? To tell me nothing? Why?”

He hesitates.

“TELL ME WHY!” she roars, bent double with the effort of her scream.

He looks pityingly at her, his hands raised as though to calm a wild thing. Dawsyn scoops as many stones as her hands can grasp and hurls them at him.

“STOP!Damn it!Have you considered that I said nothing so that you would notstoneme to death? I did not tell you because it was no place of mine! It was something I had no need to burden you with while you were still finding your way. What sense was there in hitting you with that blow? You would find out soon enough on your own. At the time, it seemed kinder to leave you be.”

“My own grandmother… why did she not tell me?” But Dawsyn might as well scream it into the abyss for all the answers Ryon can give her. She paces upon the loose pebbles, black strands of her hair whipping wildly.

Of all the stories she shared, Valma failed to give her something as important as this.

Her knees sink to the ground, and she screams into her hands, for her grandmother, for Briar, for her father and sister. For the ones on the Ledge. For the ones who never left the Fallen Village. And then she screams for herself, for a fate never meant for her.

For the first time since touching true ground, she wishes she were back on the Ledge, where the rules were simple, behaviors predictable, intentions plain. Murderers murdered, thieves stole, lovers fucked, and no one flourished more than the other.