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Color rushed into her face. She’d used magic to control the situation. I didn’t blame her, but the black smoke in the distance was ominous and we didn’t have much time.

She pushed at her loose hair and stared at the signal fires, beacons to the hunters. “The king will understand what I did.”

“Will he?” My chest tightened. “You have more faith in him than he deserves.”

Still staring, still slowly breathing, she said, “Make your point.”

“The Davinicans are hunting for what they lost. They’ll work through the obvious, those”—I gestured with the knife—“signal fires. The sailors and drowned rats who made it to shore. Rebels too foolish to get off the beach. The priests will follow the smoke and find the survivors. But they won’t find you.

They won’t find me. So they’ll keep hunting. ”

She kicked at the driftwood until it scattered. “What do you suggest?”

“We get off the beach.”

“Because we’re not foolish rebels?”

“Because we don’t like the red priests,” I said dryly.

When she glared, she came alive, and I’d admit it. A man might react to a woman who looked at him like that, with fire in her eyes. He might want to pin her down with his body and discover what else burned beneath her skin .

I’d need to be careful. Keep her believing she was still in control. That I was still the prisoner and the mage shackles forced my compliance.

I pointed upward, toward the cliff. “Can you climb with bare feet?”

Her lips tightened, like her voice when she said, “I’m still not wearing a dead man’s shoes, so stop asking.”

Her choice. I rolled to my feet. Refused to allow the time to think or argue. I found the first rock crevice and heaved my weight upward.

Senaria hesitated, but I was the prisoner. It wasn’t in her to sit on the beach, waiting for rescue while I escaped. The climb wasn’t steep; when she’d been asleep, I’d climbed to the top, then down again, digging out hand-holds for her where they’d be needed.

The knife, lodged in my pant loop, was more bait, and Senaria didn’t disappoint. Her stare was intense as she worked through the options. Climb fast enough to snatch the weapon. Or wait until we reached the top.

But she did nothing more than stare before putting her toes where I’d set my boot. After a moment, she guessed that I’d made the climb easier, and anger pushed her breathing.

“Nothing’s changed. You’re still the prisoner and I’m still taking you to the king.”

I looked back at her and nodded. Sunlight warmed her cotton shift, highlighting the blue embroidered flowers decorating the neckline. Had she put those flowers there? Sitting near a mage light with her needle piercing the cloth? Wanting a bit of secret beauty in her life ?

The blue leggings provided modesty while the fan of hair across her face was another form of the veil. Was it because the only safe world for this woman was a world that couldn’t see her?

“How long have you worked for the king?” I asked.

“Seven years.”

“Since the last Malice Moon?”

“Yes.”

“How did he find you?”

She snorted. “I was in his dungeon.”

“What did you do?”

She readjusted her handhold, then probed with her bare foot for a crevice that would support her weight. I waited until she said, “I stole something.”

“What did you steal?”

“Apples.”

I’d read the report, how she’d been wandering through the market stalls when a shopkeeper took a broom to a young boy to punish him.

Senaria had grabbed the closest weapon—an apple—and threw it at the man.

Then she’d grabbed a second apple, the purpose undetermined, and a King’s Guard caught her in the act.

The guard claimed she was stealing. The shopkeeper said she wasn’t, although his story was vague enough to prove she’d gotten in his head and played with the memory.

No doubt, she’d stolen before—an orphaned girl living on the street with her younger brother.

Life had been hard in the capital. But she hadn’t been stealing that day—or at least, at that moment.

“Tarian offered me a deal,” she said .

“You call the king by his first name?”

“Not to his face.”

With effort, Senaria heaved herself upward and twisted around. The rock shelf where she sat had crevices padded with dried grass, feathers, and withered waterweed because the seabirds nested there.

She wasn’t moving. Instead, she stared at the broken eggshells. The blobs of whitish bird dung.

“What kind of deal?” I asked softly.

She moved her hand an inch. Pressed the rock edge with her fingers. “Ten years of service, doing what he asked me to do.”

“Ten years for a few apples doesn’t seem fair.”

“Better than a flogging or losing a hand.” The calm acceptance did not match the digging of her fingers. “The king offered my brother a chance. Tarian values the magic I have, but he also cares about me.”

“He wants to control you, Senaria. He won’t let you go when the ten years are up.”

“He promised.”

“And he’ll take back that promise with the same disregard he felt in giving you to the priests.”

Senaria pushed upright, dislodging bits of loose shale. They fell to the sand below. I frowned when she watched them fall.

“What if you had a better option?” I asked. “A choice that gave you what you wanted?”

“Can you return my brother to me?” Her voice was tight. “Can you get him out of the castle, offer him more than the King’s Guard? Can you keep him safe? Or would you entice him into rebellion and save him that way?”

The muscles in my back flexed. “Your mission is to destroy rebels because that keeps your brother safe?”

Her foot kicked the loose pebbles. “My mission is to destroy rebels because they spread rumors and create hoaxes.”

“You care about the wrong things.”

Hostility broke through and her lips drew back. “I care about a boy who was sold to the red priests so his family had food to eat,” she said, holding my hard gaze, something few men could do. “A boy who is probably dead now because of you.”

“That attack was my doing?” I scoffed. “When I’m the one in shackles?”

“You said rebels attacked.”

“Or pirates. Or other mages dressed up as the enemy.”

Her voice shook. “ You are the enemy.”

“So, what’s your plan now? How can you get back to Thales with the priests hunting you? Without the veil and gown, no one will believe you’re the justice speaker. They’ve never seen your face or learned your real name, so it won’t matter what you claim. You’ll never get close to the king.”

“I’ll use my gift to convince them.”

“See the reality, not the fantasy you’ve constructed in your head,” I said. “The priests will say you’re one more rebel screaming about innocence, and you’ll rot in the dungeons beside me. ”

She’d turned to restart the climb, but her foot slipped; blood smeared on the stone from a deep cut and she hissed, “The king will vouch for me.”

“Not if the priests find you first. And who will help your brother if you’re dead?”

The serious weight in my voice made her pause.

“You’re trying to frighten me.”

“Fear can be useful, Senaria.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“It’s your name. You aren’t Silk, the interrogator created by the king. But ignorance isn’t bliss. It isn’t safety. And it doesn’t mean you aren’t responsible for what you do.”

“Who is the prisoner here?” she snapped. “Aren’t you the rebel they captured on the frontier, where the worst of the worst try to hide?”

Her entire body trembled, and a bird screeched. Not the truant Bogo, but a mage-driven falcon, diving toward her head, talons ripping through the pale strands, leaving streaks of blood.

She flinched hard enough for her foot to slip again. I reached down and clasped her wrist while the mage shackles sizzled with energy.

“Move your feet,” I ordered. “There. Higher. Now settle your other hand.”

She clawed with bloody fingertips, doing as I asked, her jaw rigid. But at least she was climbing up and not down, as I’d feared .

“The bird.” I hoisted my weight up another foot, hoisting her with me, holding steady while she searched for another handhold. “A falcon guided by mage magic.”

“A spy.” She slipped again.

“They know where we are, Senaria, so decide how you want to get off this cliff—at the top or the bottom.”

“You want me to agree with you about the king when I can’t.”

“Make the choice,” I said. “But if you end up on the sand, waiting for rescue, you’ll die.”

“If I climb, I still might die.”

“At least dying will be on your terms.”

“What do you know of my terms,” she said, too furious to moderate her tone. But it was her expression I didn’t like. The flexing of her fingers against the rocks.

Strong men broke with that same contemplative flexing, the body revealing what lurked in the mind and the heart. Measuring which weight was heaviest.

As if giving up was easier than facing failure.

“What happens to your brother if you fall?” I taunted. “Will he be any better off if you let go?”

“I can’t climb any higher.”

“Yes, you can. Use your hate because you can’t admit I’m right.”

The sob that choked was for her brother, but we were wasting time I didn’t want to lose. I hauled her over the cliff top. She rolled to her back, her palms pressing hard against her eyes .

“Don’t rest for long.” No emotion. I’d allow no connection between us except what we were—prisoner and captor.

Senaria had to see Kion Abaddon, the brutal enemy from the Faded Lands. The prisoner she had to drag back to her king.

“You can cry,” I said. “Hate those who need to be hated. Hate me. But emotion cannot alter my decisions, nor should it alter yours. You must fight the fear.”

She pulled her hands down to study my face, then asked, “And what do you fear, Kion Abaddon?”

“You, Senaria.” I squatted down and slid the hair from her cheek. “That falcon will return with reinforcements. We need to move.”