Page 97

R yton held on to one of the crystal spikes on the back of the dragon—Nix, they called her—as the group flew toward the Lost Valley. Every inch of his skin crawled. How could he ride a dragon after all they’d taken from his kynd?

Something the land kynd called sweat rolled off his body as he gritted his teeth, wishing his coral spear was strapped to his back instead of to the elf’s.

The Elven King rode behind Vahly on the enormous gryphon, a creature from Ryton’s childhood nightmares.

That thing could take his head off with one easy bite.

But the worst that Ryton had experienced since coming onto land was the moment he’d finally seen Matriarch Amona, the evil dragon queen who’d killed Selene.

His fingers shook and his knuckles went white.

He’d thought his rage had fallen away with his hope to return to the sea, but it lived, bright and fierce inside his veins, stirred back to life by Amona’s calm demeanor and the way she acted like a mother to the Earth Queen. How could anyone take comfort from that beast?

He wanted her dead.

The sound of waves crashed in his ears, and a tingling spread from his heart to his limbs. Swallowing, he loosened his grip on the dragon’s spike.

His magic did not want Amona dead.

But how could that be? She was the enemy of the ocean, and water magic was born of the sea. It made no sense.

It was one thing for both his magic and the memory of his curious, merciful sister to stay his hand when it came to the young Earth Queen, one who wished to balance the world.

Perhaps she would be good and show kindness and only seek to defeat Astraea instead of wiping the salt water from the world completely as he’d feared for so long.

But Amona? There was no reason for his water magic to restrain him with regard to her safety. She had to die for what she’d done.

Magic rushed up his neck, gagging him.

No. It couldn’t be. But there was no denying it. The power of the ocean wanted him to aid Vahly, not to focus on finding a way to murder Amona.

He shut his eyes, feeling the raw air peeling away his sea kynd ways. Tears threatened, but he fought them and won, opening his eyes only when the dragon began her descent.

They alighted gently, about twenty feet from the lapping waves of the Lost Valley, the last place human kynd had lived.

The dragon shifted form, then began to dress, mumbling to herself.

“Sea germs all over me. When did I sign up for this job?” Then her bright eyes narrowed at Ryton.

“You were certainly tense up there, General. Better stay in line with our plans, or you’ll find out how quickly I can burn you alive in my human form.

The Elven King is fond of experiments, and I think he’d appreciate that one. ”

“I’m not killing anyone. My magic won’t allow it.” The dragon language tasted foul on his tongue.

Vahly approached, the gryphon in her wake. “What was that about your magic?”

Her face was impassive, unreadable. He wished she weren’t so good at hiding her feelings.

“I was telling Nix that my magic urges me to aid you.” They didn’t need to know everything. If he could find a way to kill Amona without injuring himself or damaging his magic, he would. He wouldn’t give up on it yet. But even as he thought about the killing, his chest tightened uncomfortably.

“Is the beast bothering you?” Vahly jabbed her chin in the direction of the black creature on Ryton’s back.

“Always,” he said, allowing her mistaken guess to hide his truth.

It wasn’t as if the creature didn’t bother him.

It did, every single second of every single day.

He felt like his skin had been peeled away and his heart beat on the outside of his body, like he should have been dead long ago and this creature had kept him from death for some sick feeding of its desire.

“I honestly don’t know how to use you in this quest, General Ryton.” Vahly scratched her head as Arcturus headed toward them, away from where he’d been studying the water.

“The currents flow east, then south,” the Elven King said. His face was full of power and a frightening calm that reminded Ryton of Amona. Did these land kynd not show their emotions? They were such cold beings. “I can work my magic on you again,” the elf said to Vahly.

Nix nudged Arcturus’s head with a wingtip. “I bet you could.” She winked.

The corner of Vahly’s mouth lifted, but she paced, her mind obviously elsewhere. “I have to take Kyril, but I don’t know that he can swim.”

“I’d say he’d be able to,” Arcturus replied. “Though he’ll probably hate it.”

Vahly shrugged and petted the gryphon’s leg. “We’ll give it a try, all right?”

Kyril squawked, and they walked toward the edge of the water.

“I’ll fly high and keep an eye out,” Nix said. She flew into the sky, and Ryton wondered if she knew his kynd would see her from a good mile off if they were looking.

The Elven King stood closer to Ryton, removing the coral spear and whispering an elvish spell over it. “And I’ll remain here with Ryton in case he comes up with a way to help.”

Anger burned its way across Ryton’s chest. “Please do not bespell my personal weapon, elf.”

“Desperate times, General. Forgive the disrespect, but I must ensure my queen’s safety as best as I am able.”

“She is not your queen.” Ryton felt powerless, like he was swimming right into the main western current with no hope of breaking through the ocean’s tug toward the empty sea.

He wanted to strike back somehow, to hurt someone, to feel something else.

So he hit low, right where it would injure this proud land kynd. “You have no queen.”

Arcturus’s lips parted and a breath left him like Ryton had thrust his spear through his gut. Then the elf straightened and locked gazes with Ryton. A deep and aged power swirled in the depths of the Elven King’s eyes.

“You will never speak of my kin again,” the elf whispered, following the phrase with a loud elvish spell. The king’s hands moved, the brightness of noonday and the black of night tracing their shape.

Air magic blew across Ryton’s flesh. Ryton froze, and the sound of wind rushing above water deafened him. Heat sparked across his mouth and traveled down his throat. He gripped his neck, desperate to breathe, wishing his gills would work here, longing for the water.

Finally, the spell relented. Ryton sagged, going to his knees. “What did you do to me?”

“As I said, you will not speak of them again. Ever. You are unable.”

Ryton wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of trying.

Vahly’s voice called from the shoreline. “What are you two doing?”

“Come,” Arcturus ordered Ryton.

Ryton had little choice but to obey even though every bit of him fought the situation, his mind splashing through idea after idea. He was at war with himself. Wanting to help the Earth Queen but also wanting to spare Lilia and Echo and the other good ones of his kynd.

The Elven King worked his air magic, mixed with some blood sorcery. With his long fingers, he painted Vahly and her gryphon familiar with sparking light, squid-ink darkness, and his bitter-scented royal blood.

Vahly and the gryphon were set to travel into the flooded valley.

“Perhaps I am meant to go with her?” Ryton asked, his voice weak from whatever Arcturus had done to him.

Vahly faced him, blood staining her eyelids, forehead, and cheeks. “Not yet. I don’t trust you in your own element. If I get desperate, I’ll let you know.”

Ryton’s heart cinched at the blend of ferocity and innocence in her eyes, so much like Selene’s.

How did one manage innocence when one had been to war and killed?

It was another kind of magic, a perpetual cleansing of the soul, some nightly ritual only a few had the power to enact.

“If you see long fish with yellow and black markings, hold very still. They will pass if they don’t see you move. ”

Vahly blinked and rubbed a bit of dirt from her chin. “And if they do?”

“They swarm and you both die. Their teeth hold a venom that not even I can withstand.”

With a curt nod, Vahly turned away. Then she and the gryphon dove, and Ryton remained on the land, drying out like a fish left for the birds.