“Storm.” Something in my chest clenches at the sound of my nickname on her lips. “Do you want her to fail?”

I could feed her a line and spin the narrative—I’ve made an art out of it. But I don’t lie to my Whisper.

I can’t help but stare at her, studying the stark lines of her features, the blade-slash of her cheekbones as she stares resolutely across the water. Wind catches in her hair, sending black strands dancing. Part of me wonders what she’d do if I reached for her. If I dragged my knuckles along her collarbone and buried my fingers in her wings. If I leaned close enough to steal the breath from her lungs.

But Zephyr is a fortress right now—all smooth, impenetrable walls and ramparts bristling with spikes. And I suspect I’ve already filled my quota of reckless idiocy for the day.

“I’m sure you remember what happened the last time an Eternal soulbonded with a human,” I say. “If that girl wants her Chosen, she needs to prove to me and every god in this realm that she’s worthy of him. That includes Severin. Let her see what it costs for a human to reach for power in Scillari.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. Do you want her to fail?”

Always pushing me, undaunted.

“She has to die,” I say. “Scillari won’t let the Wolf take his throne with a human by his side. I want him to see the girl give her life to let him rule.” I give her a wry smile. “Sacrifice is an act of love, isn’t it, Whisper?”

Her mouth flattens. She steps back, withdrawing into that wall of duty and careful distance. “Will there be anything else, my king?”

Like a door slamming shut. The same tired lines, wearing grooves into the space between us. I lost the right to her softness when she needed me and I left her with Calder, and now I’m always being split open by the blade of her indifference.

“Go to the palace,” I tell her, gaze fixed on a distant point beyond her shoulder. Letting the short distance between us expand and expand. I showed enough weakness during Aethertide. “Make sure the Wolf gets ready for the arena. I’d prefer not to have to kill another Eternal.”

She nods once, and then she’s gone in a whisper of wings.

I settle in to wait. Let’s see if the princess has what it takes to survive what’s coming.

Because that’s the thing about power—it always makes you bleed for it first.

OceanofPDF.com

51

BRYONY

THE BOAT ROCKS as if it’s trying to fling me into the sea.

Every wave that slaps against the hull sends another burst of icy water into my face. My hands are numb from gripping the sides of the boat. The wood is rotting and salt-stained—exactly the kind of vessel you’d expect from someone hoping you’ll drown before reaching shore.

Ahead, the walls of the Onyx Keep emerge from the fog. The building is hidden behind the high barrier, but the stonework is imposing. It looms. Back in Vartena, mothers used to frighten their children with tales of Nyholm and the Dark King’s wrath. How he decorates those walls with the bones of trespassers.

I never thought I’d be stupid enough to test those stories.

Another wave sends the boat lurching. I pull my coat tighter around my shoulders, but the cold suffusing my limbs has nothing to do with the frigid water.

No, this is the chill of primal terror. And I’d be lying if I said some part of me wasn’t tempted to spin this rickety death trap around to Asteria.

After a few more minutes, the boat hits the shallows, and I vault onto land. It takes every ounce of strength to drag the vessel onto the narrow strip of beach. By the time I wrestle it under a gnarled tree, my arms are trembling. It’s not the best hiding spot, but it’ll have to do. I can’t afford to waste more time.

I study the wall stretching up before me. The barrier juts out of the rocks in columns of quartz and basalt fitted together. Sea spray and dark lichen coat the stones, but where the dying light hits just right, the wall shimmers with an inner luminescence, as if someone bottled starlight and poured it into the rock.

That’s when I hear it—a flap of wings. Power rolls across the beach in a crackling tide of electricity.

I jerk my head up to see a demigod soldier emerging from the mist, wearing gleaming silver armor. His gray feathers spread wide as he veers sharply toward the keep. The air warps around him, sparking with his magic, the charged scent growing stronger.

“Shit, shit, shit.” I press deeper into the shadows under the branches.

They hung the bodies from the walls and let the birds pick them clean.

That’s what my governess told me about what the Dark King did to the last Devaliants who breached his borders.

My heart pounds so hard I’m sure the sound will give me away. But then the demigod vanishes behind a crumbling parapet.

I let out a relieved exhale. Right, then. Guard presence, unknown numbers, and clearly on edge.

This is fine. Everything’s fine.

I eye the seawall again. It looks no less daunting on the second inspection—smooth as polished glass, without so much as a dead vine to offer purchase. But there’s an uneven ribbon of stairs hewn directly into the cliffside that might offer a better vantage.

Better than nothing.

Keeping low, I sprint across the beach, sticking to the deepest shadows at the base of the bluffs. My boots slip on wet rocks as I navigate the terrain. The path switches back and forth, the incline steep enough to make my already sore muscles scream in protest. But I grit my teeth and focus. One wrong step, one loose stone, and I might as well ring a dinner bell for the guards.

The distant crash and drag of the waves fade to a muted roar, replaced by the wind whipping itself into a gale—

A prickle dances across my nape. Then I hear the unmistakable crunch of boots over scree.

I don’t hesitate. I lunge for the shadowy cleft in the stones to my right, folding my body into the tight recess and wedging myself as far back as I can go. Trying to make myself small. Invisible.

A ball of light pierces the fog, the edges of the nimbus nearly licking the toes of my boots. A figure materializes from the mist with broad shoulders, soot-dark wings, and armor.

Another demigod sentry.

Fuck. I’m a hairsbreadth from discovery, and there’s nowhere left to run. My lungs turn to stone in my chest. Don’t breathe. Don’t blink. Don’t so much as twitch, or it’s all over.

The guard’s head cocks as he scents the air. An endless moment passes while I hold my breath.

Go. Please fly away. Please don’t scent anything mortal.

The wind shifts. A sudden gust drags in the noxious scent of rotted fish from the sea. The guard wrinkles his nose and scowls, then he launches himself into the air with a powerful flap of his wings, disappearing into the mists.

I sag against the stone. If that breeze hadn’t covered the scent of my mortality—

Move. Get inside before they double back.

I scan the seawall above for anywhere I might slip through, and… there—a fissure in the stone latticework, barely wider than my shoulders. The edges are crumbled and broken, and it’s a tight fit, but if I angle my body just so—

Power lashes across my senses a split second before the heavy thump of wingbeats sounds once more.

No. Not again.

I scramble up the sheer rock face, my fingers hooking into grooves and fissures. With a silent prayer to the stars, I heave my body into the narrow gap and wiggle through. For a breathless moment, I’m certain I’ll get stuck. Easy prey for Nyholm’s gods. But then I leverage myself with a grip on the rocks and fall on the other side.