Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

In the Lower Garden, Reid returned to a sense of comfort and normalcy at Vaasa’s side.

Vaasa led the small talk in a way Reid didn’t seem capable of and he filled in the gaps whenever she pressed his wrist beneath the table. To the people sitting across from them, they probably looked like lovers who couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

Marc of Mireh didn’t look a day over fifty, with his salt-and-pepper beard on deep, rich brown skin. Perhaps the taut nature of his face remained so youthful because he never gave any indication of emotion. Stoic as a statue, his features only lightened when he looked to the woman sitting at his right.

Isabel, his consort, had grown up in the home next door to him. A perfect other half, Isabel was boisterous and wild, her tumbling black hair framing a petite body that always seemed to be moving. The other two at the table were less welcoming than her—both councilors, both a little strange.

Kenen of Sigguth reminded Vaasa of a tree, with lengthy arms ending in long fingers that curled as Vaasa took note of them. He looked the sort to gamble, if assumptions could be made, with an ever-present mischievous glint in his narrow eyes. Vaasa pictured him swiping cards and turning coins between his fingers. Still, something about the tilt of his smile was reassuring.

Or perhaps difficult-to-read people didn’t confuse her the way the rest of these transparent Icrurians did.

Galen of Irhu, however, was the antithesis of his counterpart. Bulky like Reid and more of a boulder than Kenen’s swaying tree, Galen stood perceptibly closer than Kenen. Galen had the air of someone more self-important than the rest. He may have enjoyed a large party. He was, as the rest of them, transparent. She could picture big emotions in the wrinkles around his eyes. Most notably, she saw a faint distrust woven there. But just because she couldn’t see it in Kenen’s expression didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

Reid’s hand rested on her thigh, her own fingers wrapped around his wrist, and she tapped with her index each time she needed to. He listened as if he could read her thoughts.

Were they truly so capable of partnership?

For the first time since she’d been here, she wondered if three years would be so bad. Sure, she could survive them—she could survive anything—but perhaps it would be more than surviving. Maybe she and Reid of Mireh would fall into a comfortable friendship, one that served them both, like he had suggested.

Too soon to tell, yet not too soon to hope for.

Neil, a man she’d met a few weeks back on one of the many nights Reid had forced her to dine here with someone he considered important, came shuffling out of the kitchen and onto the stone veranda with a broad smile, his round belly almost preventing him from cutting between two tables. He squeezed through with a wooden tray firmly pressed to his palm. Wisdom and expertise shone as he served each order with perfection, winking at Reid as he glided to his side.

“I missed your cooking,” Isabel gushed as she dug into her fat, sauced chicken leg. Somehow, the bites didn’t smudge the deep red rouge on her lips.

Vaasa mimicked Isabel’s comfortable demeanor. “You two used to come here?”

“This is where Marc and I had our first true romantic outing,” Isabel confirmed.

Marc’s lips twitched for the second time that evening and Vaasa glanced through her peripheral vision at Reid. He was already looking at her, a wolfish grin on his face. “One of ours was here, too.”

Lies.

“Neil’s father used to own this place, and his father before him,” Marc said, dragging Vaasa’s attention from Reid.

“Oh?”

“We almost lost it last year during the food shortage,” Neil remarked with an obvious spin. “And we would have, had Reid not subsidized this business and many others along the Settara. I do believe he learned that strategy from you, Marc.”

Vaasa tapped Reid’s wrist—three times to disagree.

“Neil,” Reid scolded humorously. “You don’t need to sing my praises.”

“We already know why he was elected,” Isabel added, waving her fork. She pointed across the table at Galen and Kenen, grinning. “They do, too.”

Making assurances that forced the men to outwardly disagree, which placed the responsibility upon the two councilors to stir conflict if they wanted to correct her, was done so fluidly that someone raised with more integrity and righteousness might just think it harmless.

Vaasa was raised with neither of those things, so it didn’t look harmless at all.

The light above Isabel stirred, as if Vaasa was seeing her for the first time.

Isabel wanted something. To their luck, it seemed Reid earning Galen’s and Kenen’s votes was a piece of that puzzle.

“I don’t,” Vaasa suddenly interjected, taking the opportunity to lean forward and capitalize on this conversation. Reid didn’t look boastful, and she could still milk this for what it was worth. “What happened?”

“There was a particularly dry summer in the east,” Neil said, and Vaasa smoothly took bites of her chicken while she listened. “There was no way to trade meats and produce, not enough to keep us up and running. Reid tried to establish something with Zataar, but they levied such a tax that our businesses couldn’t manage. We’d have gone under if it hadn’t been for Reid. He gave quite the write-off to the salt lords for each shipment they sent to Zataar. Suddenly, our taxes lowered, and we withstood the shortage. Benefited every territory, not just our own.”

The way Neil boasted had Isabel laughing and Marc succumbing to at least a proud nod.

“It was well thought out,” Kenen commented. Those mischievous eyes danced to Vaasa, inspecting her as if she spoke a language only he understood.

Not to be underestimated , Vaasa thought. Apparently, he lived up to his whispered nickname: the Dagger of Sigguth.

“Had you gone under, that would have been a shame,” Vaasa said sincerely, gazing around at the stunning lantern-lit patio and the gorgeous view of the Settara. She found her own words to be honest, and suddenly she saw the reason Reid had been so successful in his role so far, and why they were as opposite as night and day. Reid didn’t see opportunity; he just saw people.

Vaasa felt a flicker of shame. For a moment, she thought she and Kenen did share a language, one she had never asked to learn.

“Which is why a partnership with Asterya is key to keeping food on our tables,” Marc finally interjected, eyeing Vaasa as Neil squeezed Reid’s shoulder and then darted back into the kitchens.

Taking a sip of her water, Vaasa leaned back a little and forced herself into the political angle she’d already considered for this conversation, though a deep-rooted lie. “I couldn’t agree more. I’ve only spent a few months here, but in doing so, I’ve seen plenty that would enrich the lives of the Asteryans. If my brother were to have ships built like the ones used to trade between the territories, perhaps he would be able to navigate the Loursevain Gap.”

This would provide a key contract for Sigguth and Irhu, one of greater economic possibility. If they were enlisted to build the ships and train the men who would navigate the terrifying river that passed through the Iron Peaks where Mek?s was built, they’d solidify their own importance on the continent.

“They say the Loursevain Gap is full of creatures,” Galen said.

“If it were, wouldn’t the Settara be as well? The Sanguine connects them,” Marc asked, and suddenly Vaasa and Isabel were on the outside of a political conversation among councilors, one Vaasa assumed they should be having behind closed doors in the capital. Her leg moved beneath the table and Reid’s fingers tightened.

Suddenly, she was more alert.

“Maybe those creatures are too large to fit through the passage of the Sanguine,” Kenen said. The Sanguine River wound through eastern Icruria until it broke the border of Asterya, then snaked down the continent all the way to Mek?s. The Sanguine was unnavigable for the Asteryans, though, with its labyrinthine curves and hundreds of fingers. It was part of what made western Icruria so impenetrable, and one of the only reasons Vaasa’s father had never been able to sustain a proper war. His legions and spies couldn’t make it past Wrultho and Hazut due to the treacherous waterways.

“I have never sailed the Loursevain Gap, nor would I like to,” Reid said confidently, securing his place in their discussion. He slipped into a tone of what Vaasa assumed a counselor or headman would sound like. “But Asteryan trade with Zaatar is impossible without Icrurian vessels, especially with the pirates who keep sacking their merchant ships. I believe offering a solution will be the key to solidifying our trade agreements.”

Whether they actually had that discussion with Dominik was an entirely different conversation. Still, she tapped his hand once to indicate a yes, a little praise that caused the edges of his lips to twitch.

“Which you intend to do, correct? The councilors have yet to hear word of Dominik’s intent to visit Mireh again,” Galen said.

Though her hand curled instinctually on top of Reid’s, Vaasa kept her face as smooth as Marc’s.

“Yes,” Reid said. Vaasa’s magic lurched at confirmation of a visit from her brother, but Reid slid his hand to the inside of her thigh, securing her leg in his grasp. “I thought we could discuss that tomorrow morning with my advisor, as he’s been maintaining frequent contact with Dominik’s advisor.”

Was it a lie? Had Mathjin been talking with Ozik? Vaasa couldn’t tell, but with the grip Reid maintained, she thought he might have realized what a suggestion like that could bring out in her.

“Perhaps,” Marc suggested, “if the goal is to save lives, we could end the constant warring with the east.”

Such a subtle veil of his opinion—that Galen’s and Kenen’s votes would be the difference between life and death. The territory of Wrultho was Reid’s greatest threat as of now. And given its proximity to the violence with Asterya, this entire election would be decided by this issue. War was likely profitable for the western ship makers; their votes were up for grabs.

Galen seemed noticeably irritated, but it was Kenen who said smoothly, “How rude we’re being to your consorts. We’ll save the rest of this discussion for where it belongs.”

Marc gritted his teeth, but Reid smoothly nodded.

Isabel and Vaasa met eyes across the table, and much to Vaasa’s confusion, Isabel winked.

On the smooth stone ground of the Lower Garden, Vaasa gazed with awe as Marc and Isabel lit up the bustling quad.

Everyone seemed to watch them. Plenty of people cheered and welcomed them home, vying for a chance to swing with Isabel’s gorgeous hips or fall into Marc’s arms. He was smooth and put together in the crowd, greeting each person with the same stoic nature that everyone seemed to remember fondly. The younger crowd furrowed their brows as they watched Reid and Vaasa, who kept to the side beneath one of the many dangling planters of wildflowers. Maybe they hadn’t been old enough to relate to Marc’s tenure; the foreman of their young adult lives was Reid.

Kenen approached and dipped his head at Vaasa, offering his hand. His long blond hair was tied behind his head much like Reid kept his, and out here in the dim light, he looked younger than he had in the restaurant. With a glance at Reid, she took off into the crowd with the councilor. Something she’d grown to love about Mireh was the way no one asked Reid if she could dance with them. Back in Asterya, they would have needed her father’s or brother’s permission.

Isabel bolted to them before more than casual conversation could be exchanged, and something about it felt intentional. Isabel showed Vaasa some of the steps she hadn’t been able to keep up with, the two gathering a crowd as the music changed, and Kenen scurried off with a stranger.

“I don’t know this one,” Vaasa admitted as she tried to bow out.

Isabel grabbed Vaasa’s wrist and pulled her back, brown eyes more full of life than any other moment thus far. “Come, we’ll teach you!”

“We?” Vaasa asked.

Three or four women surrounded them, and much to Vaasa’s surprise, one of them was Amalie. Fear and embarrassment washed over Vaasa as she considered how she’d left this afternoon, but when Amalie smiled with the light of a thousand lanterns, Vaasa’s own heart lurched. It wasn’t until that moment she’d realized how uncomfortable she’d become this evening. Amalie was the most familiar thing she knew.

Without a whisper of Vaasa’s unceremonious exit that afternoon, Amalie gripped Vaasa’s other hand and said, “Come on, this is my favorite song.”

And the group began to dance.

It took about three tries before Vaasa could successfully lift and switch her foot the way others did, but the moment she got it, they all cheered and circled, pulling her into their larger group. Seeing Kenen and Galen on the periphery, she wondered if they watched or if it was important at all if they did.

Everyone in the crowd seemed to move together. Isabel held one of her hands while Amalie held the other, as if the women had known Vaasa for more than just a few hours or months—like they had known her for a lifetime. The lines of people spun in interwoven circles, friends making room for anyone and everyone who wanted to join. Each time Vaasa fell off rhythm, Amalie would patiently show her how to dance, smiling with every note.

Vaasa had never danced like this, without a partner and just for the joy of movement—in a community —and it sank its claws into her chest and tugged. Gazing around as she made the foot switch successfully again, she threw her head back and laughed when Isabel cheered once more.

Was this what happy people did?

Was she one of those happy people? Had her great-grandmother been?

Her insides rumbled with the threat of today and she silenced the creature inside of her, refusing to allow it a single inch of space. Not now.

Spinning, she took in the entirety of the Lower Garden. The song started to shift as people paired off, Isabel running to her husband and tossing herself into his arms. Steel drums echoed around her and Amalie gripped her wrist, spinning her around so she flew to the left. She rammed into someone’s chest.

Reid.

He nodded a quiet appreciation to Amalie before she plunged back into the crowd. He held his hands on Vaasa’s upper arms and gazed down at her, smiling wider than she was. His dark hair fell in strands from his leather tie, the light of the fire bringing out the golden undertones of his brown skin peeking out from his disheveled drapes.

She lost her breath.

Dipping his mouth to her ear, he whispered, “The councilors will be won. Focus on me instead.”

Her lips parted. “I don’t know how.”

Warmth pressed to her cheek as his lips did. Low, he whispered, “Like lovers, remember?”

This time, the urge to smack him was faint. Instead, she felt bumps on her skin rise and lifted her hands, letting her fingers slide into his hair and curl.

And she tugged.

Throwing his head back, he roared with laughter and spun her for the crowd to see, hand gliding across her waist like he had the first time they’d danced. Taking her back in his arms, he fell into a step she did know. She lifted her eyes to his.

Real happiness spread across his face, and she realized she could tell the difference—it wasn’t that dripping amusement any longer, but a contentedness in the way both sides of his mouth lifted instead of just one.

And it was true. Thoughts of the councilors were lost.

This time, she turned herself and pressed her back to his chest, his hands gliding to her abdomen. Her heart raced as his fingers pressed into the tiny chains he’d tied around her. She felt the swing of his hips with her own, the music a chanting crowd of encouragement, and a foreign courage washed over her. Without reservation, her hands guided his downward, skimming over the tops of her thighs as she pressed back into him.

“Careful, Wild One,” he warned low and wicked, tugging lightly at those chains before swiping the tips of his fingers just under her waistline. “Don’t forget what you said about powerful men.”

Muscles in her stomach tightened and she told herself it was because everyone was watching. Because they were putting on a show and she was merely doing a fantastic job. “You’ll have to remind me.”

Reid stepped back just far enough to spin her around. To let his leg slip between hers as they faced each other once more. He dipped her back, not allowing any room between where their hips pressed, and then with the music, hauled her up to his chest so she had no choice but to breathe against him. No choice but to feel the press of his body each time she inhaled. His lips coasted over her neck, barely touching, until he reached the curve of her ear. “I believe you said a powerful man who has drunk wine all night and watched strangers dance with his wife will want her in his bed.”

Their eyes met, and he held her there for a moment, one hand in her hair and her heart in her throat.

And then he tossed her into the arms of one of those strangers, winking at her as he did so. The man, who was closer to Marc’s age, quickly tossed her off to another. She spun and smiled, eyes falling to Reid and finding him still watching every place someone put their hands upon her. Daring her to come back, his implication just hanging in the air of the Lower Garden.

Surely that was all for show. To make them look like Isabel and Marc, who were so desperately in love it leaked into the pulse of the night.

Isabel grabbed her hand, pulling her away to the edge of the dance floor, and Vaasa finally caught her breath. The crowd parted for them, and they stopped walking next to the little corner of the outdoor bar, shadows covering them. Alone. Raising her brows, Isabel said, “That husband of yours cannot keep his hands or his eyes off you.”

Warmth crept up Vaasa’s neck. Apparently, his acting was just as good as his tax code.

“I see you’ve become friends with the heir of Veragi,” Isabel continued, and Vaasa realized she was talking about Amalie.

Vaasa paused. How much did Isabel know? The existence of Veragi magic was no secret in Mireh, but Melisina had warned Vaasa not to speak too openly about their capabilities. Their mystery was half of their protection. Yet Isabel was married to a former foreman. By the looks of it, she probably knew more about Icruria than most of the councilors themselves; she had a keen familiarity about her, a talent for prying into the heart of people. “Yes,” Vaasa said instinctually, unsure how to fully incapsulate all the things Amalie was becoming, though certainly more than just the future high witch. “Though I wasn’t aware you knew of my magic.”

Isabel grinned like a fox. “It was one of Reid’s selling points on the marriage. He claimed to be bringing another Veragi bloodline back to Mireh, and who were the councilors to deny him that?”

For whatever reason, that small tidbit of information shocked Vaasa. She’d known, of course, that Reid recognized her magic. But he’d known about it from the very beginning? Had used it as a justification for his marriage to her?

He’d known of her magic as she climbed out that window?

Of course he had.

Her mother had been here. Had trained with Melisina for an entire summer.

Isabel pulled her from her rambling thoughts. “Your daughters will be prodigies, will they not?”

“I…” Vaasa paused. Swallowed. “I never thought about that.”

Everything she’d learned came roaring back. Reid could sire a Veragi witch without Vaasa, if the magic manifested from his mother’s side and if the goddess willed it. But combined with hers?

Prodigy was one word for it.

Would a daughter like that inherit the magic even before Vaasa passed? Would she earn it from Melisina instead? What would happen if she bore two daughters? Twins?

That moment she realized none of it mattered.

She would never give Reid children.

Isabel leaned against the bar top. “May we speak candidly?”

Was that not what they’d been doing? Vaasa nodded.

“I believe he will make a good headman. Marc believes so, too. They all do. The challenge lies with swinging Sigguth, which it always does. All of our ships are built there, and that makes them quite pompous on the Icrurian stage. Their self-importance is comical.”

“How is Wrultho a contender at all?” Vaasa inquired carefully. This she didn’t understand—the eastern territories were so racked with violence, why would anyone put the capital for the next decade in a place like that?

“The eastern city-states tend to take issue with us more… globally interested. But they do want war, and their entire campaign is built on the benefits of proximity.”

“There is no benefit to proximity.”

“It’ll be your job to prove that to Sigguth and Irhu. They are terrified of Asterya, have heard the stories of what your father—” She cut herself off, a bit of shame in her pursed lips. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t speak about your home in such a way.”

“Please don’t apologize.” Vaasa looked out at the quad once more, the events from today playing on a loop in her mind. “The truth is… Asterya did not feel so much like home.”

And she wasn’t the only one from her bloodline who had thought so. Something else existed inside of her that she hadn’t even known was there. And now that it had surfaced, she didn’t really know who she was at all.

Isabel gave a knowing grin. “I have learned that home is seldom a place; it is people, the most unexpected of them, that give us roots.”

Vaasa realized what Isabel thought—that as she gazed out at the groups of dancers, her eyes had been on Reid of Mireh instead of the complex horizon that suddenly looked so different through the lens of belonging.

It was best to let Isabel believe that.

“I would like us to do more than win this election,” Isabel suddenly said.

Their eyes met once more, and Vaasa furrowed her brow.

“I hope that we can be friends,” Isabel said. “I have not had many friends this past decade, and quite frankly, I’m sick of Dihrah. And as you ascend to high consort, you’ll want an advisor and ally.”

Vaasa’s chest tightened, and she felt an irrational part of her want to leap from her throat and say that she would love that, that she would need that, and it all played in the back of her mind. A life here with nights in the Lower Garden and days at the sodality.

A coven.

A home.

A place where she was worth the love of someone like Reid, where she could give him those two little girls with her raven hair and his golden eyes.

The other part of her—the one that knew the truth—told her to hush. To be realistic. To consider that fleeing was her only option, and Vaasa could never morally bring more Kozár heirs into the world. “I would like that,” Vaasa replied.

Not entirely a lie.

“Good,” Isabel said.

Turning back, Vaasa watched as Marc and Reid found them, parting the crowd like a sea and emerging more prominent than the rest of the world, if only in her eyes. But as the people behind them closed like a zipper, Galen and Kenen were entirely out of sight.

Out of earshot.

And suddenly, Isabel’s schemes played two roles. It was not just Vaasa she wanted to get alone; it was all of them.

Isabel might be the most strategic woman she’d ever met. Yet it seemed that her morals and actions were in the right place, which begged the question: Was it possible to have both?

“The other two seem content,” Isabel said to the men as they arrived. “You need them to be content, Reid, if you intend to swing their votes.”

“You believe their votes can be swung, then?” Reid asked outright, turning to Marc.

Yet the councilor didn’t stand with as much ease as Isabel. It was as if the entire conversation made him uncomfortable. He was clearly not the schemer in their relationship, and Isabel raised her brows at her husband.

“Nothing is certain until the votes are cast,” Marc said.

An air of awkwardness crawled over them all.

Reid nodded. “I apologize for my brazen question. I assumed you were here to provide guidance on the matter.”

Just as stoic as before, Marc blinked once before saying, “Do you feel you need guidance?”

Looking between the four of them, Reid leaned back against the bar and dropped his other hand to Vaasa’s, his fingers winding around hers and squeezing while the rest of him went lax. Pretending he was just as calm and assured as he always seemed to be, Reid said, “I think anyone in this position would need guidance…” He paused and looked to Vaasa for a moment, and then the corner of his mouth flicked up. “No man walks out of the position the same as he walked into it. To be the leader of anything can be a corrupting job.”

Her words to him, deep in the catacombs of the Library of Una, seemed to rattle around the space as his self-assured eyes held Marc’s.

He’d been listening, even through all that swagger.

Marc remained frozen for a moment. As if Reid had unlocked something in him, the councilor relaxed a bit. “I see you have remained too wise for your years.”

“It’s only been what, two years since you last visited?” Reid asked.

“I…” Marc looked down at Isabel and grinned, her mischievous brown eyes gazing up at him like the sun rose and set with that small crack of his composure. “I am very ready to come home.”

With a strong dip of his head, Reid agreed. “We are ready to have you home.”

That was a vote if Vaasa had ever seen one.

“Enough, enough.” Isabel broke the tension with that effortless grace of hers. “Take me back to the temple, Marc.”

Lust was the only undeniable emotion on Marc’s face the entire evening, and it split his lips into a wicked grin. “I can depend on you to get the other two back?” he asked Reid.

Reid nodded, trying desperately not to laugh.

Without another word, Marc hauled Isabel into the crowd and out of their sight.

Reid’s jaw dropped, though Vaasa only let out a breath she’d been holding. “He is, like most men, simpler than he seems,” Vaasa said.

The gold of Reid’s eyes turned to hers, the glitter of flames strung around them dancing in the depths as if they were catacombs. “I can’t say I disagree with his motivations.”

Her chest tightened, the heaviness of the day and the evening weighing more than she wanted to let on. She could see it there, the desire to be like them. To love like them. A craving for a soulmate seemed to make a home in him and, somehow, that was heavier than anything else she carried. “Go win your election,” she whispered.

Reid’s gaze stayed trained upon her for the length of a breath, but then he nodded sternly, determination still coating all of his mannerisms. Silently, she took his arm and let him lead her back through the crowd.

Galen and Kenen were waiting, and with a little coaxing, she managed to paste a smile upon her own face, too.

To push all of it away.

A serpent in chameleon’s skin.

Vaasa remained silent for the entire ride back to the villa, taking the winding streets upon Duch’s back without a single word.

But everything played like a carousel in her mind.

Back at the villa, the high of the evening seemed to close in on her and she hurried through the breezeway into Reid’s room, searching for a way to calm.

“Vaasa, we need to discuss something.” Reid spoke firmly, though with a strange nervous lilt at the back of his words. Her heart stuttered. “Marc and I spoke; he’s insisting that we invite Dominik once more. That we trade more than salt to prove our relationship is ongoing.”

Vaasa froze. “No.”

“Vaasa—”

“Reid, no. You can’t do that.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

Everything she and Isabel had spoken about rattled in her bones, and she felt nauseous.

Dominik, here. What would he do when he learned she still lived? When he saw her pretend to be in love with this man? Dominik systematically removed all threats to his reign—she would be no exception.

Her stomach dropped.

Would he simply choose to kill Reid instead?

Reid didn’t know the extent of the danger this would put them in.

“Why are you so afraid of him?” Reid finally asked.

She looked up at him and the words tingled on her tongue. She wanted to tell him. When had she let him get close enough for that?

He was willing to fake a marriage for this election. What else would he be willing to do?

As she stepped deeper into the room, the magic in her turned over like it could do flips. She balled her fists as she replayed each moment, choosing not to answer his question. “When will he be here?”

“I expect he’ll arrive in a few weeks.”

Her hands started to shake. The moment Dominik learned she had found control over this magic, had uncovered a semblance of happiness and potential…

Dancing. Laughing. Drinking.

Happiness.

That was what she had felt. That was how close to her Reid had gotten.

And how dare she? How stupid it was to like anything about this city. To bond herself to a single person.

Love is a useless thing.

Dominik’s baleful grin flashed behind her eyes and her breathing became uneven. Ozik stood next to him, laughing like he had expected this all along. Her father tsked, lips curved downward in perpetual disappointment. But her mother’s face was clearer than the others—now unreadable, foreign to her entirely. She had made a sacrifice for Vaasa to end up here.

It was about to be wasted. “Vaasa,” Reid said, brow furrowing as he watched her.

She met his eyes.

Which dipped to her hands.

Black mist swirled between her fingers and Vaasa hissed, stepping back while tears welled in her eyes. She shook her hands and cursed wickedly. Weeks. She hadn’t lost control in weeks, and she’d been able to keep it down all night and—

She spun.

Took in the view of the Settara coated in moonlight. The way it played upon the little waves and led the current. How it seemed to be born from that white tree at the top of the hill.

Her great-grandmother had lived here.

Had painted that very tree.

And yet she had no claim here. No claim of her own in Asterya, either. She had been born a pawn and it didn’t matter which man she told the truth to—they both would use her to get what they wanted.

The magic grew.

“Vaasa.” Reid started forward.

“Don’t,” she warned, frustration striking down her spine as she scuttled away from him and caught sight of the magic swirling up her arms. “Don’t follow me,” she gasped.

“Wait—”

Vaasa burst out the double doors and to the left of the veranda, diving into the dry grass and letting the steep hill guide her down. Consciously she knew it was treacherous to navigate at night, knew that any type of predator could be out here, but she needed to be away. Needed to be as far from this villa as she could before she lost control and brought it all down.

Faintly, she heard him following. Heard him calling for her. She turned and yelled, “I said don’t follow!” Desperately, she slid onto the flat shoreline and sprinted, breath coming in hot pants.

The snake in her gut was no longer a snake. No longer a fish, or some soft-bellied creature with only teeth and poison to its name.

It was a volcano, smoke rising, molten rock ready to burn.

“Vaasa—” Reid tried.

She spun. Locked eyes with him. “Don’t. Don’t come closer. I don’t want to hurt you, Reid, I don’t want to—”

“You won’t.”

“I will!” she screamed, arms flying up and tendrils of glittering mist bursting into the full-mooned sky. The anger and fear inside of her bubbled as the dancing and the music and the smiles played over and over again.

She couldn’t want this.

Dominik would smother the breath from the lungs of the city, would plunge a knife into the heart of the Lower Garden.

He would take this from her, too, just as everything else had been.

The magic in her crested, and this time she couldn’t swallow it. Couldn’t beat against it and win.

This time, it detonated.

Darkness shot out of her. Magic ripped through the air and slammed into knotted trees, leaves flying in every direction. A cracking boom burst through the small space and Vaasa could feel the edge of the tree, could sense like she was touching it all. The roughness of the bark, the delicate silk of the grass.

Reid.

She felt the magic touch him.

Felt the ripple of his hair and skin.

Such miserable panic sluiced through her.

She pulled it back as hard as she could.

It slammed into her chest, and she screamed .

The ground beneath her feet shook, black mist morphing into something she’d never seen it do before. It flew in every direction. Clattering louder than the scream ratcheting from her throat, the magic pierced the air and then dove down her throat and into every crevice of her body.

It grew into an arch and covered her with a dome, smooth curves banishing the moonlight and snuffing out everything else. Raw magic flowed out, climbing the walls and melding with them, adding to the void until there were no holes of scent or light or sound.

Black.

The void consumed her.

Vaasa sank to her knees, choking for a breath, but finding nothing but empty air. She burned. She burned and burned and burned and—

And then it stopped.

In the violence, there was peace.

The void swirled around her, and even though she couldn’t breathe or smell or taste or see, for the first time since she’d come here, everything was quiet.

Faintly, she felt hot tears sliding down her cheeks.

All around her was black, glittering with specks of blue and purple and white.

Beautiful.

And it kept everything else out.

No one could touch her. No one could see her. She was in a cage of her own making, and it kept her safe. The magic did not seek to harm her—it sought to protect her. It knew this outcome was far better than the assured death that would arrive on the Mirehan docks.

She didn’t care if she died here. She welcomed it. At least then it would not be by Dominik’s hand.

Her fingers dug into the cool grass and she closed her eyes.

Tears watered the grass below for minutes. Hours. A lifetime.

No breath. No life.

Slipping.

She heard it then, the sound of a voice, perhaps her own or perhaps someone else’s—Freya, or Esme, or her own mother.

Get up.

Get up.

Your life is still your own.

Something in her lurched and reached. The intimate caress of that voice fueled within her and then it burned . It burned and burned and burned—

The darkness she’d let out, the one that built into a home around her, leaked behind her eyes.

She swore she heard someone roaring her name. Swore that familiar accent cracked on desperation.

The last thing she remembered was the faint image of moonlight breaking through black and arms curling around her until her fingers unclenched the grass.