But when it came to nights and mornings and the dreams between, Rhy and Kell had quickly developed a silent understanding. After a bad night, one would give the other a small, consoling look, but it seemed crucially important that nothing actually be said about the nightmares that plagued them both.

Rhy pressed his palm flat against his chest, lessening the pressure with the inhalation, increasing with the exhalation, just as Tieren had taught him to do years before, after he’d been taken by the Shadows. It wasn’t the abduction that gave him nightmares in the months that followed, but the sight of Kell crouched over him, eyes wide and skin pale, the knife in his hand and the rivers of blood streaming from his severed veins.

It’s all right, Rhy told himself now. You’re all right. Everything’s all right.

Feeling steadier, he threw off the sheets and stumbled up.

His hands itched to pour a drink, but he couldn’t bear the thought of going back to sleep. Besides, it was closer to dawn than dusk. Better to just wait it out.

Rhy pulled on a pair of silk trousers and a robe—the latter plush and heavy in a simple, comforting way—and threw open the balcony, letting the night’s icy chill dispel any dregs of sleep.

Below, the floating arenas were nothing more than shadows blotting out the river’s glow. The city was speckled here and there with lights, but his attention drifted to the docks, where even now ships were sailing sleepily into port.

Rhy squinted, straining to pick out one ship in particular.

A dark-wood vessel with silver trim and blue-black sails.

But there was no sign of the Night Spire.

Not yet.

III

THE ARNESIAN SEA

Lila stormed across the Spire’s deck, glaring at anyone who chanced to look her way. She’d left her coat in Alucard’s cabin, and the night wind hit her like a wall, piercing sleeves and skin. It bit and burned, but Lila didn’t turn back; instead she welcomed the sobering shock of the cold air as she crossed to the ship’s stern, and slumped against the rail.

Bastard, she grumbled at the water below.

She was used to being the thief, not the mark. And she’d nearly fallen for it, focused on the hand in front of her face while the other tried to pick her pocket. She gripped the rail with bare fingers and stared out at the open sea, furious: at Alucard, at herself, at this stupid ship, the edges of which were so fixed, and so small.

What are you running from? he’d asked.

Nothing.

Everything.

Us. This.

Magic.

The truth was, there had been an instant, staring into the hissing fire, when it had stared back, hot and fierce, and listening, and she knew she could have made it grow, could have torched the whole cabin in a moment’s temper, burned the ship, and herself and everyone on it.

She was starting to understand that magic wasn’t just something to be accessed, tapped into when needed. It was always there, ready and waiting. And that frightened her. Almost as much as the way Alucard had been able to play her, toy with her, twist her distraction to his advantage. She’d let her guard slip, a mistake she wouldn’t make again.

Bastard.

The cold air helped cool the fire in her cheeks, but the energy still surged beneath her skin. She glared at the sea, and imagined reaching out and shoving the water with all her strength. Like a child in a bath.

She didn’t bother summoning any poems, didn’t expect the desire to actually take shape, but a second later she felt energy flood through her, and the water bucked and surged, the ship tilting violently on a sudden wave.

Cries of concern went up across the Spire as the men tried to figure out what had happened, and Lila smirked viciously, hoping that down below she’d toppled a few more of Alucard’s finest wines. And then it hit her, what she’d done. She’d moved the ocean—or at least a ship-sized piece of it. She touched a hand to her nose, expecting to find blood, but there was none. She was fine. Unharmed. She let out a small, dazed chuckle.

What are you?

Lila shivered, the cold having finally reached her bones. She was suddenly tired, and she didn’t know if it was the backlash of expended magic or simply her frustration burning out.

What was it Barron used to say?

Something about tempers and candles and powder kegs.

The fact that she couldn’t remember the exact words hit her like a dull blow to the chest. Barron was one of her only tethers, and he was gone now. And what right did she have to mourn? She’d wanted to be free of him, hadn’t she? And this was why. People could only hurt you if you cared enough to let them.

Lila was about to turn away from the rail when she heard a muffled sniff, and realized she wasn’t alone. Of course, no one was ever truly alone, not on a ship, but someone was standing against the rigging nearby, holding their breath. She squinted at the shadows, and then, when the figure looked more willing to collapse than step forward, she snapped her fingers and summoned a small, vibrant flame—a gesture managed with nonchalance, even though she’d been practicing it for weeks.

The light, which struggled against the sea breeze, illuminated the scarecrow shape of Lenos, Alucard’s second mate. He squeaked, and she sighed and extinguished the fire, plunging them both back into comfortable darkness.

“Lenos,” she said, trying to sound friendly. Had he seen what she’d done with the ship and the sea? The look on his face was one of caution, if not outright fear, but that was his usual expression around her. After all, he’d been the one to start the rumor that she was the Sarows, haunting the Spire.