Page 6

When the king asked how my magic worked, I found it impossible to explain, but easy to demonstrate.

Over the years, I’d uncovered infidelity and political intrigue, threats to the king and the realm.

I’d convinced women to betray their lovers and men to confess their monstrous crimes.

But I’d also calmed the innocent with a mere thought.

How unfair was it now that I could not calm myself?

I sat on the wet wooden decking, wedged in the corner of the storeroom with my knees drawn up.

Water slid beneath the locked door, not deep but worrisome when I tasted saltwater and not pure rain.

What kept me on edge was the thudding churn of the ocean against the ship’s hull, reminding me of the treacherous reefs along the shore and the fragile nature of wood against jagged rocks.

Waves crested wildly. The ship rose, then dropped nauseatingly into the trench, sloshing the water everywhere. My gown was a cold rope around my legs. The wet veil made every breath watery, and when I bent forward, the prisoner snarled, “Don’t be sick. I’ve no desire to sit in the stink.”

I snapped upright, my voice tightening. “Hardly a bridegroom, with your concern. ”

He grunted in response. The shadows obscured the prisoner’s face, but I could still see the bulging muscles in his long legs. He’d dug his heels into the planking, and if he struggled against the constant movement the way I did, the effort hadn’t been enough to keep the mockery from his voice.

After a moment, he sneered, “Your hands are shaking.”

“At least they aren’t in shackles.” I was spiteful, even when it had no effect, and I shoved my fingers beneath my thighs.

Pressed hard against the wall. I sat with my back toward the interior of the ship.

He sat with his back against the hull, and I consoled myself with the idea that if that hull was breached, he’d drown before I did.

Unfortunately, other worries wouldn’t let me rest. I replayed the king’s last words before he sent me here. I’d put him in an awkward position. Failure was unacceptable because the prisoner was important. Nikki would suffer.

And he’d told Ildoran to wait a moment and “ then you’ll have her. ”

I locked my jaw to keep my teeth from chattering.

The king’s words turned ominous when I considered where I was now.

Trapped in a storeroom with this prisoner.

On the way to Deimos. And if Nikki would suffer—how long had my brother been spying with Vasari before he confessed to me?

Had Tarian’s guards noticed before I’d been sent to interrogate Sevyn?

Was the prisoner right, and the king doubted my loyalty?

But didn’t the prisoner want the advantage? Wasn’t he planting distrust in the king ?

I needed to be logical. If the storm blew in sooner than expected, the ship’s captain would have to sail or risk smashing into the pier and ruining the harbor.

There hadn’t been time to get me off the ship and back to the castle, and if Ildoran wanted revenge, he’d not send anyone with an explanation. He’d let me worry. Wonder.

Ildoran knew the king was angry, but Tarian had offered his protection for seven years. He’d forgiven me before with a pardon in a dank dungeon cell. He valued the gift that I had, and he was still counting on me.

I’d promised not to fail, and I would not fail Nikki.

I had to believe that, once we arrived at the demon isle, everything would be explained.

“Tell me your real name,” the prisoner said from the dark.

I pressed my chin hard against my knees. “Tell me yours.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

The floor rose, then fell. The water sliding beneath the door swished like a low wave across the sand, with foam leading the way, and I was lost in a pointless childhood memory.

A memory of the coast north of Thales. The black sand and steep rocky cliffs.

Small coves. Tiny orange crabs in a tidepool and the seabirds, screeching and fighting over the food I tossed.

The memory was…tender. I’d been happy that day, laughing with a child’s delight. Seeing the world through a hazy, innocent light.

“Why not remove the veil? You’ll breathe easier.”

The prisoner’s voice lulled in a way that made my eyes close with a longing to just…listen to him. To keep imagining my self on that beach. But I couldn’t give in, and I said, “No one sees me other than the king.”

“You can’t hide behind the fear forever.”

“Who says it’s fear?”

“What else could it be?” he chided.

“Maybe I’m hideous,” I challenged. “And I’ll hide as long as I’m alive just to spite you.”

“The red devils will see you soon enough.”

“I’ve never been disloyal.” More water sloshed, soaking my gown and his pants…but at least, with the wet material, the bloodstains looked more like water and I didn’t have to stare at them. “I’ve done everything the king has ever asked of me.”

“Have you?”

His doubt stung. Although—why should guilt plague me? I’d done what Tarian asked. Sevyn confessed, and now he was dead. The result was the same without the unnecessary pain. “The king needs what I can tell him.”

“And what can you tell him about me?” the prisoner taunted.

“You’re a rebel.”

“They’ve guessed that.”

“You wear a curse tablet, and you’re from the Faded Lands, which proves the Wall is weakening.”

“Didn’t information about the Wall kill the boy?”

And I’d confirmed it twice, once with Sevyn, and then with this rebel.

My pulse thudded hard in my throat. Silk wouldn’t fail. She would hide behind the veil, find the emotion, slip inside the prisoner’s mind. Dig into his thoughts. Uncover his secrets. Expose the truth and prove she was not disloyal.

Instead, I said, “I have people to protect.”

“The same people who handed you over to the red priests? Reevaluate your loyalty.”

The words jabbed. “What would you know about loyalty?”

“More than I wish to explain to you.”

“There are scars throughout my capital that your dragon lords put there,” I argued. “Your kind destroyed our world with those monsters and I’m glad they’re gone.”

“It is said that dragons could obliterate the blue rain.”

His voice was low and reasonable, and I countered, “Dragons are extinct, and even if they weren’t, we don’t need them. The mage masters learned how to shield the realm. We can protect ourselves.”

“Can you? When the magic is weakening?”

“So you say,” I snorted.

“I speak the truth. Thales will be vulnerable. And what of the people outside of Thales? Who will protect them if the magic fades?”

The ship creaked, rolled, and the prisoner groaned with the effort to hold himself still. The sound bothered me, but I shoved away the possibility that he cared about this realm. All he cared about was me believing him, with the criminal’s hope that the lies he told would save him.

The ache in my back grew worse. I hated the cold and the constant movement.

The mage lights had dimmed to a candle’s glow.

Magic fueled the lights, and that magic was now flowing toward keeping the ship steady in the storm.

But the deep shadows kept the prisoner’s face obscured and my nerves on edge.

“What?” he demanded. “No arguments?”

“You have enough delusions for both of us.”

“No delusions,” he said. “But with each Malice Moon, the Wall thins and shrinks farther into the Faded Lands. Will you destroy us again? Massacre the babies and the old ones?”

“Do you have no schools where you come from? Libraries? Scholars to tell you the truth?” I tugged at the dripping veil and envied his freedom to breathe without wet material sticking to his face. “There was a war. We won and your kind ran into the Faded Lands—”

“We were driven there.” His smile gleamed like a predator showing his teeth. “Should we sit back and let it happen again, with no right to defend ourselves?”

“You are insane.”

“You are ignorant, which is worse.” His hands jerked against the shackles; the magic sparked hard enough to move the air. “At least the insane man sees one reality, while the ignorant woman believes whatever she is told.”

“And what about you?” My lip curled. “On the way to Deimos.”

“As are you. They say the screams from the red city carry for miles.”

“You are the enemy,” I hissed.

“We both are.”

“But I’m not the one tied to the wall.” The taunt was bitter. “You are the rebel who agitates with hoaxes. Who leaves elephant bones in the dirt and calls them dragon bones to cause nightmares in the minds of children.”

“You’re the nightmare where I come from,” he answered. “What keeps us awake at night.”

Pain and anger marred his face, but then disappointment crept in, and I yanked at the gown tangled around my ankles. Thoughts of Deimos stopped the air moving in my throat. I had to cough to get it started again.

“Breathing will be easier without the veil,” the prisoner said.

I glared through the weave, even though he could not see my expression. “Nice try.”

“Tell me your name.”

“Silk.”

“Coward,” he sneered.

The floor tilted. My palms slapped against the wall. Icy water sloshed, but did nothing to numb the loathing in the prisoner’s tone.

The loathing hurt.

I wanted to throw up, but then, unexpected warmth brushed my cheek. The nausea subsided, and instead of needing to be sick, I needed to slide my foot forward and brace the prisoner. Steady him while the ship pitched. Not let him strangle.

With my leg stretched, I pressed bare toes to his boots—and heat raced through me, fire on fire, burning from the inside.

I arched backward, whipping my palms through the dirty water and sending fistfuls as hard as possible into his face .

“You have magic ,” I snarled, scrambling to my knees, capturing myself in the clammy dress. The veil twisted, and I ripped it from my head, threw the soggy mess at him in case the water hadn’t been enough.

The prisoner was laughing. Gods—that sound. It made me want to cry.

He shook his head, trying to dislodge the veil where it clung to his face, covering his eyes.

“You want my name?” It was a reckless question, but something inside me demanded the truth. I wanted him to know I wasn’t Silk , with her treacherous magic, hiding who she was, what she longed for and would never find.

“My name is Senaria Wraithion, not that you’ll live long enough to tell anyone.” My knife was in my hand, ready to press it to his throat if he laughed like that again.

“Pull your sopping veil from my face so I may meet you before I am murdered,” the prisoner said.

I yanked the veil aside, my hand shaking, my entire body trembling at the way his eyes widened. He drew in a slow breath, and I was drowning again in that starlight.

Then he said, “I am Kion Abaddon.”

His name…his last name. Abaddon.

It meant Angel of Death.

An ancient name.

A dragon lord’s name.

Old books told tales.

“Ah,” he murmured, those marvelous eyes going half closed. “You’ve heard that name before.”

“I… ”

The ship shuddered, screeching like a mortally wounded beast with the sounds of splintering wood and shouting men.

And the hissing explosion of fire.