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Calysian knows what it is. And despite his insistence that he’s anhonorableman, he’s not here to keep me alive. He’s here because he wants it.

Betrayal. The feeling is intimately familiar. And yet I’m somehow always surprised by it.

“No.”

His shoulders slump. Likely in relief. He believes I’ll be easier to manipulate if I don’t know he wants whatever it is I’m supposed to protect. My teeth clench.

“Who is Regner?”

He sighs. “A king. He enslaved a continent and used religion to manipulate humans into giving up their power in a war against the fae. He told them they were sacrificing their magic to the gods in exchange for protection from fae invaders—all while hoarding that power for himself. Hybrids like you couldn’t be stripped of your power. So they were branded ascorruptand hunted and killed. But your people rallied behind the hybrid queen.”

Prisca. The hybrid queen is Prisca. And her face flickers in my mind once more, this time with a crown on her head. A crown I helped put there.

My heart thuds against my ribs. It’s coming back. But…

If I helped her, why did she never help me? Why did she leave me in that tower, trapped and alone?

Because no one can be trusted. If you want to survive, you’ll have to do it alone.

The thought is depressing, even as it rings with truth.

Whatever it is that I’m protecting, I gave three years of my life to keep it safe. I voluntarily went with Kyldare and refused to give him its location—even through his worst torture. I trust my past self enough to know that I wouldn’t have suffered Kyldare’s attentions if it wasn’t critically important.

So no. I will not be leading Calysian directly to whatever it is he wants.

In fact, I believe it’s time to head in the opposite direction.

Madinia

Time turns slow and sluggish.

The weather becomes slightly warmer as we travel east toward Langshire—the coastal city that was our destination before Kyldare took me. Memories of Daharak and the others have slipped into my mind as we rode, although I still can’t recall much before the days leading up to Kyldare’s appearance.

Still, it’s something. As soon as we get to Langshire, I’ll quietly begin asking the locals if anyone remembers Daharak’s ship docking.

Three years ago.

Hopelessness swamps me, but I refuse to give into it.

I refuse to believe they’re dead.

Calysian has begun brooding. When he’s not sulking in his saddle, he’s sending suspicious looks my way. Today while we picked up supplies at a small village, he shadowed me relentlessly, ensuring I was never more than two footspans from his hulking body.

His suspicion means it’s time to strike.

I pretend not to notice his dark mood as we set up camp. When he disappears toward the river to bathe, I take the soldier’s jacket and place it behind the tree next to Calysian’s sleeping mat. And then I hurry back toward the road where I spotted the moonshade weed.

It’s my turn to cook. The activity doesn’t come naturally to me, but by the time Calysian returns, I’ve poured the stew into the small wooden bowls we bought when we stopped for supplies.

Calysian is silent as we eat. It’s not until we’re finished that he leans against the tree.

“We’re traveling in the wrong direction. Aren’t we?”

My eyes fly to his. They’re heavy lidded and just a little blurred.

Kyldare’s witch inadvertently taught me everything I needed to know about poisons.

I shuffle over to him. He watches me distrustfully, but when I throw one leg over his thighs, his eyes turn hot and wild. His hands clamp down on my ass, drawing me closer.