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Chapter 27

Morgana

“W e have to go to Otscold. We have to save them.”

I ran to find Leon right away. Finding him in his cabin, I told him about the purge.

“If it’s common knowledge that the purge is coming, why don’t the young people simply leave before the cleavers arrive? Can’t they go into hiding?” he asks.

“The Temple would still hunt them down. People are terrified of getting caught up in purges, and some will sell out their own brothers just to protect themselves. Anything to avoid being branded as someone who collaborates with heretics. The whole village is probably frozen with fear right now. Which is why they need us to help them.”

We have to get there and get Tira out , along with anyone else we can save .

Leon looks at me for a long moment. Too long. My stomach drops right before he opens his mouth.

“I’m afraid we can’t do that, Ana.”

I stare at him, my heart thudding with denial. Once I was just a tool to him, a means for him to get safely to the border. I know I haven’t been that for a while, but I also thought we’d gone further—that we were close enough now for him to care about this, for my sake. I was wrong.

I watch as the dark shutters come down across his gray eyes. I’ve seen it before, the way he closes himself off, hardening himself to common decency.

“What do you mean, ‘can’t’?” I ask. “These are my friends we’re talking about. I grew up with these people.”

“And that’s precisely why it would be foolish to go,” he says. His voice is hard as stone. “Think about it. You just told me yourself purges are unusual—even the Trovians wouldn’t tolerate the Temple killing off their kids every other week—so isn’t it a startling coincidence that your village happened to be chosen for one?”

“Who cares if it’s a coincidence? The important thing is we know what’s coming, and we can help them.”

“There’ll be a bearer there, Ana. It’s a trap. Not for the people in your village. For you .”

“So what?” I want to scream. I want to kick something. Anything to break through the deadly calm of Leon’s attitude. “It’s still the people in my village who will have to pay the price, whether I’m there or not. Do you really expect me to stand by and just let that happen? We’ve taken on the cleavers before; why is this different?”

“Because our priority is getting to the border, and nothing can get in the way of that.”

“Unless you feel like taking a detour to Hallowbane,” I point out. “But that’s fine I suppose, because we were doing something actually important, right? Nothing pointless like saving the lives of some human peasants.”

“I didn’t say that,” Leon argues, but I can see my anger isn’t budging him an inch. He’s made up his mind, and I’m powerless to change it. My desperation spikes.

“You’re the Nightmare Prince, for gods’ sake,” I blurt out, tempted to beg. “Your unit are the most dangerous group of people I’ve ever seen! You could do this—you could help them.” My voice drops to a normal volume. “Please.”

Something flickers in his eyes, but he looks away from my face, rising to guide me toward the cabin door.

“We’re heading to the border. That’s final.”

A dozen different insults come to my mind. Mercenary . Heartless . Monster . But I keep them inside. Hurling them at this man wouldn’t make any difference. They don’t need to be said aloud for us to both know they’re true.

“Fine,” I say as we step out to where the other soldiers sit, talking and playing cards. “Then go to the border, and I’ll go to Otscold alone.”

Even on my own, I can still make a difference. If there’s even a shred of a chance I can help Tira, I’ll do what it takes.

Leon sighs, long and low, like he’s in pain.

“You won’t be going to Otscold either. I told you, it’s too dangerous.”

I wrench my arm away from his hand.

“You don’t need me anymore. I can go where I want.”

“I need you alive ,” he says. At last, some emotion burns in his eyes, intense and inflexible. “I didn’t save you from that palace, didn’t train you up these last few weeks, for you to throw your life away. You’ll come with us to the border, and then you’ll go somewhere safe. That’s all.”

Rage boils in my veins. I could burn through this whole ship if I let myself. He knows what Tira means to me—he’s been in my head, seen how she’s practically a sister to me—and he doesn’t care.

Damia was right. She tried to warn me, and I didn’t listen to her.

I hate him. And hate myself for ever thinking he was something other than a ruthless soldier who cared about nothing but his own agenda. Isn’t that what won him the war? Isn’t that what makes him the man they whisper about in horror stories? I shake my head now, amazed at everything I closed my eyes to when I climbed into a killer’s bed.

Leon keeps going on about letting go. But though I’m burning with anger, I don’t release it. Just like I used to, I school my features into a peaceful mask, locking my true feelings away. I need to help Tira; that’s my focus now, and this will help me do it.

“Fine,” I say.

“Fine?” Leon repeats, suspicious. He looks around at his soldiers, like he’s checking he heard right.

“Yes, fine. I can’t fight you and all your soldiers combined, so if you won’t let me go to Otscold, what choice do I have?” I let some of the frustration creep into my voice, some of the fear and dejection I feel beneath my anger—just enough to make it believable that I’m giving in under duress.

Except he doesn’t buy it. Leon’s eyes narrow.

“I know you, princess. You’re brewing something up. But you’d better give it up now.” He gestures to Hyllus and Eryx. “Have her stay in one of the cabins, and watch the doors. She’s not to leave.”

That’s it. Lock me up, just like the others. Tell me it’s for my own good.

But what Leon doesn’t realize is that I’ve changed since Gallawing. He helped me learn I am strong, that I am powerful enough to fight back. And I’ll find a way to do it now if it kills me.

They shut me in the cabin I’d been sharing with Phaia and Damia. Eryx seems as grumpy as ever, but Hyllus throws me an apologetic look as he closes the door. It’s still dark through the small porthole window, an incendi lamp illuminating the cabin.

Of course, I could burn my way out of here with my sun beams, but I don’t want to take the boat down with me. Besides, I don’t like my chances swimming to shore in the dark. I need a better plan.

I peer out through the porthole, wondering how long it will be until the sun’s up. There’s no telling how close the cleavers are to Otscold. Every hour counts.

I’m coming, Tira.

I unlatch the porthole and ease it open. I reckon with some wriggling I could ease my way through here—but where would I go from there?

I wait, counting the minutes in a torturous game of patience. Eventually, there’s enough of an orange glow on the horizon that I can at least see the riverbank, moving in an unending stream of long grasses and fields beyond. I pray to Ralus, to his queen Lusteris, to all the gods, seeing as each of them has a place in the celestial kingdom and can guide my fate.

Finally, they answer. I see a bend in the river where the waterway narrows, and on the curve there’s a break in the reeds lining the shore. There, jutting out into the water, is a small jetty with a rowboat tethered to it.

I’ve never orbited anything that big before, but I don’t need to lift the whole thing into the air, just pull it toward me across the water. I think I can do it. I have to.

I focus, finding my power within me, reminding myself what the dryad in Hallowbane told me: I have deep wells of power. I’m strong enough to do this. I just need to think of what’s pulling me the most—and in this moment, it’s my friends in Otscold.

It’s certainly more effort than floating some cards. But eventually, I get the boat to move, bobbing further out into the water until its rope is straining.

I wipe my sweating brow and take a deep breath. I know I’ll have to throw even more power behind it to get that rope to snap, but it gets easier as the smugglers’ riverboat gets closer to the jetty. I wait until we’re as close to it as I think we’ll get, and I hurl a wall of magic at the rowboat, yanking it toward me. The rope strains and creaks, then recoils with a satisfying snap, sending the little boat adrift.

After that, it’s easy to guide it up to the riverboat, position it beneath the porthole, and keep it there, moving alongside the larger vessel. The sun is truly rising now, and I’ll need to hurry. I can’t risk one of the smugglers spotting me as I row to shore.

I dart around the cabin, grabbing my traveling cloak and searching through Phaia and Damia’s things. With a mental apology, I steal a full water flask from Phaia and a bag of coins from Damia’s pack. Then I ease myself out of the porthole.

The thud as I drop down is louder than I’d like, but I waste no time grabbing the oars at the bottom of the boat and starting to row back toward the jetty. Where there’s a jetty, there’ll be a house—and probably more civilization beyond—somewhere I can get a horse; I can’t waste time walking to Otscold.

Orbiting the boat took a lot of power, and I feel the strain of it in my muscles as I start to move the oars, swinging them back and down through the water. Luckily, it’s a clear day. As the sun’s light finally hits me, I tilt my head back to soak up its rays, letting them give me strength for the task ahead.