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J ade forced herself to keep her gaze locked with Librus’s—if he was looking at her, he wouldn’t be looking at Arden. She flew up the aisle, sidestepping fleeing citizens, agonized priests, and her own king—and brother-in-law, apparently—always keeping her eyes on Librus.

She prayed with every step that he would see only what he needed to see. That he wouldn’t be able to tell the truth in a glance. That somehow, this would work.

But the dome. It was creaking, groaning, splintering. She heard bits of it crash down outside, heard the subsequent screaming from the streets.

No water gushing in though. No air belching out. They were holding it—for now. But how long could that last?

She flew up the stairs and around the altar, registering only vaguely how strange that felt. To approach without a genuflection or a bow, to focus her eyes not on the symbols of faith, but on the man trying so hard to steal power that rightfully belonged only to the Triada.

She knew the Triada would forgive her for the oversight.

She knew Librus would not forgive the betrayal she was about to perform.

“Librus.” Yes, her voice sounded breathy and wavering, but that was to be expected.

He held out an arm toward her, his nostrils flaring. “Help me, my love. Please.”

“How?”

“Put your hands here with mine on the blade. Together, I think we can lower it. Then we can focus on saving the dome, if we can.”

He had some trick in mind—that she knew, even as she recognized which of the plans Electra had guessed at had been his actual one.

He wanted to be heralded as a savior, not the destroyer.

Another manipulation. Another deception.

But she also knew she had no power to add to his, nothing that would help him.

So she did exactly what he asked. She gripped his hand between both of hers. And lowered it.

He let it fall. Let the blade clatter to the ground. He even went so far as to pull her against him and press his lips to hers.

She wouldn’t call it a kiss. It was a power struggle, nothing more. No different from what Finn had given her. So, so different from Storm’s sweet embrace. She stood there, not fighting but not responding. Letting him realize. Letting him see that he’d put all his hopes in a regular girl.

When he pulled away, his eyes flashed a million questions. Accusations.

She smirked. “You showed me a little more than you meant to, Librus. Time for me to show you something.” She turned toward the pews. Toward where Arden was even then joining her hand to her husband’s.

She watched the way the king reacted to her sister’s touch.

The way his face tilted down to hers. The way the water soaking the room leapt up and danced, the way the air twirled and breezed.

King Seidon leaned a few inches to his left.

Arden leaned a few inches to her right. Their lips met in what they likely thought could be their last kiss.

She saw what they wouldn’t, as their eyes slid closed. But what they surely felt. The way blue light pulsed from them, where their hands joined.

Jade turned her gaze back to her captor. “Allow me to introduce my sister. Queen Arden of Daryatla. I believe you already know her husband.”

Librus cursed. Lunged. Jade realized a second too late what he was doing, but even had she known, she wouldn’t have run.

If she had, he would have chased her, he’d have caught her, and he likely wouldn’t have just run her through with the blade, not after that little trick—he’d have called water enough to drown her, or something else equally horrible.

Instead she held out her arms, like Electra had done when Arden showed up. She met his furious gaze with her own, calm and still. “Will you kill me, Librus? For not being what you hoped? Is that what the One would desire?”

“What the One desires,” he said slowly, drawing the sword up again, “is to be renewed in the eyes of his people. Something no Sael will ever allow.” He whipped the sword out to his side, horizontal with the ground, sending a bolt of blue from the tip.

Jade screamed, lurched, grabbed at his arm, even when she saw it wasn’t her sister he was aiming at—it was the three royals she’d never met in person, but who had been kneeling there before the front pew, much like King Seidon, trying to help hold up the weight of the sea.

Jade threw all her strength at his arm, and it was enough to pull it down, but too late.

The three Saels dropped to the ground, smoke rising from them.

“Librus!” He could kill her as easily, and she knew he would—though probably last, so she had to watch. Punishment for how she’d failed him, she’d bet.

“They served their purpose—they kept Finn calm enough to approach without suspicion. But they could not live or they would have picked up where their sister left off.”

Lies, more lies. She shook her head. “You really think the One approves of murder? You think he wants you to bring down this dome?”

“It was Mariana—”

“I saw you!” She shouted it far louder than necessary, loud enough to make even him pause. “In your own mind, Librus, I saw you. I didn’t know at first what it was—that it was your vision, your plan, not my own nightmare. But…I…saw…you. Whatever lie you think to sell to the mer, it won’t work.”

She saw the reaction from the other priests. The jolt, the disbelief that came over each of their faces. They had known about his plan to usurp the throne, she’d bet, and had backed him. But this? This went well beyond what they had signed up for.

She drew in a deep breath. “If you rule, it will be as a tyrant, not a king. And only until someone else comes to return the same violence you’ve given others. And the One?” She shook her head, still holding tight to the priest’s arm. “He has turned his face from you.”

“He has not!”

She could feel something building behind her, with her sister and the king. She didn’t know what it was, but it had the hair on her arms standing on end and lit a fuse of hope in her heart. They needed a bit more time. That was all—just a bit more time.

Jade sent another wild prayer up. Arden had always said Jade could convince anyone of anything.

That she could make a friend of a rock. If ever it had been true, she prayed it would be so now.

That she could get through to Librus, or at least hold his attention long enough for her sister to save them all.

She lifted one hand off his arm, but only so that she could settle it on his chest, over his heart.

He jolted at the touch, no doubt because it was unexpected.

Certainly not because they had the same sort of electricity pulsing between them that Arden and the king did.

“Librus,” she said again, more calmly now, voice barely above a whisper.

“You stand here today with life and death before you. Choose life. Choose blessing, not a curse. Choose the way of the One, not the dark path of power and corruption.” Because he leaned a bit closer, she slid her hand up the chest plate he wore, to the warm flesh of his neck.

“You wear the crown. However you gained it, it is yours now. You are king.”

His eyes found hers, clung there. “Yes. I am king.”

“Be a good one. Let your reign be marked by salvation, not vengeance. Bring peace to your people. Can you not see how desperately they crave it? Show them how to live in harmony—Awakened and Unawakened, mer and land-dweller. Forge new alliances. Build up. Don’t tear down.”

A ridiculous plea, given the pieces of dome still falling outside, the creaking of the spire above them—did it still burn? But perhaps he heard her. Perhaps somewhere inside, that was the kind of king he imagined himself. Perhaps he thought this was merely the cost of it.

His free arm came around her waist. His eyes were hard. “And you? Will you stay here with me if I agree? If I help them restore the dome? If I let your sister and her husband go?”

The hand still on his arm felt him tense, felt the muscles coil, ready to lift the sword again. Ready to send out that flood of power toward Arden and the king. Did they know it? Could they defend against it, with all their energy going toward the dome?

She pretended she couldn’t see the truth in his eyes.

Pretended she actually believed he’d make that trade.

Pretended that she felt something more than sorrow as she looked at him, as she reached for the hand resting on her waist, as she slid her palm between herself and his. Unmarked palm to marked.

His mark was already hot from all the power he’d been using. It scorched her skin, made her draw in a quick breath.

She could do this. Perhaps not normally—he’d always been the one to initiate a sharing—but he was already open, that channel of power from his palm to wherever it lived inside him. And she had learned the path well. So she followed it. Into his thoughts, into his dreams, into the seat of his magic.

She saw it all, bare and seething. And she tried something she never had dared to before.

She spoke to it.