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She knew it was no small thing. Dom was Monarch of Iona now, the leader of an enclave shattered by war and betrayal. He should have been at home with his people, helping them restore what was nearly lost forever.
Instead, he looked grimly down a sand dune, his clothes poorly suited to the climate, his appearance sticking out of the desert like the sorest of thumbs. While so many things had changed, Dom’s ability to look out of place never did. He even wore his usual cloak, a twin to the one he lost months ago. The gray green had become a comfort like nothing else, justlike the silhouette of his familiar form. He loomed always, never far from her side.
It was enough to make Sorasa’s eyes sting, and turn her face to hide in her hood for a long moment.
Dom paid it no notice, letting her recover. Instead, he fished an apple from his saddlebags and took a noisy bite.
“I saved the realm,” he said, shrugging. “The least I can do is try to see some of it.”
Sorasa was used to Elder manners by now. Their distant ways, their inability to understand subtle hints. The side of her mouth raised against her hood, and she turned back to face him, smirking.
“Thank you for comingwith me,” she said again.
“Oh,” he answered, shifting to look at her. The green of his eyes danced, bright against the desert. “Where else would I go?”
Then he passed the apple over to her. She finished the rest without a thought.
His hand lingered, though, scarred knuckles on a tattooed arm.
She did not push him away. Instead, Sorasa leaned, so that her shoulder brushed his own, putting some of her weight on him.
“Am I still a waste of arsenic?” he said, his eyes never moving from her face.
Sorasa stopped short, blinking in confusion. “What?”
“When we first met.” His own smirk unfurled. “You called me a waste of arsenic.”
In a tavern in Byllskos, after I dumped poison in his cup, and watched him drink it all.Sorasa laughed at the memory, her voice echoing over the empty dunes. In that moment, she thought Domacridhan was her death, another assassin sent to kill her. Now she knew he was the opposite entirely.
Slowly, she raised her arm and he did not flinch. It felt strange still, terrifying and thrilling in equal measure.
His cheek was cool under her hand, his scars now familiar against her palm. Elders were less affected by the desert heat, a fact Sorasa used to her full advantage.
“No,” she answered, pulling his face down to her own. “I would waste all the arsenic in the world on you.”
“Is that a compliment, Amhara?” Dom muttered against her lips.
No, she tried to reply.
On the golden sand, their shadows met, grain by grain, until there was no space left at all.
The deck of the ship rolled beneath her, the warm breeze of the Long Sea tangled in her black hair. Corayne gulped down the taste of salt greedily, as if she could drink the seas themselves. Her face turned toward the sun, still rising in the east, yellow and bright.
In younger days, Corayne would have killed to work the deck of theTempest. It was freedom, it was the whole world. Now the ship seemed small, little more than a piece of driftwood bobbing in the endless sea.
Her heart still yearned, but what heart did not?
“How fare the winds?” a voice asked.
She turned to see her mother standing at the rail, Meliz an-Amarat in all her terrible glory. The sun glinted red in her black hair and softened the already gentle curves of her golden face. Even after everything, Corayne still envied her mother’s beauty. But she treasured it too.
“Fine,” Corayne answered, “for they bring me home.”
Home.TheTempestbornwas not home, but it felt close. A place she could belong one day, if she wished it. Perhaps that is what home really was. Not a place or a single person, but a moment in time.
“We’re making good time,” Corayne said idly, studying the arc of the sun. Judging by the angle and the sea charts, they would make landfall in a few days.
Next to her, Meliz gave an incredulous scoff. She shook her head, grinning. “How would you know?”
