She could still picture it vividly—the crisp scent of brine lingering in the corridors, the damp leather lined up in neat rows, each pair streaked with fine white crusts where seawater had dried. The servantshad grumbled about it often, cursing how saltwater stiffened the leather, how the stain had to be scrubbed out before it cracked and peeled.
It took her a moment to register what she was seeing. The fine, crystalline dust wasn’t makeup powder or spilled sugar from the banquet tables.
It was salt.
Salt stains.
A strange detail, insignificant on its own, yet it lodged itself in her mind, tugging at something.
Where in Asadia would boots carry such marks?
Her thoughts churned, scanning for the answer even as they moved in perfect step. Salt. Brackish residue. The kind left behind after water had long since dried.
Her heart stuttered. The pieces clicked into place with chilling clarity—so simple, so easily missed. A cry rose to her throat, but she bit the inside of her cheek hard, until she tasted iron.
The salt basins. The brackish wells.
The northern plains past Mezerin. Zahalyar—the settlements that had suffered most from the drought—the same region Kaelen had lamented only days ago when discussing the aqueduct funding proposal. Parched land, partially abandoned, its once-thriving fields reduced to barren crusted earth.
A place where water was power. Where survival itself could be controlled.
A perfect site to hold hostages.
Cut off from all water supplies, the Xians wouldn’t need chains to keep them in place. The drought did all the work. The absence of rain, the scarcity of wells—it encouraged obedience, made even the proudest bend.
Her breath shallowed, but she forced herself to appear ignorant.Her body followed the music’s rhythm while her mind raced. She caught sight of Kaelen and Alarik across the ballroom, their eyes tracking her every movement.
They knew. They sensed something wasn’t right. They must’ve recognized Castiel.
They were waiting for her signal to move. But she couldn’t give it—not yet.
She had to besure.
“Enough talking now,” Castiel murmured, his tone almost lazy, but his fingers pressed more insistently into her waist. “It’s time for us to go, Princess. Say goodbye to all this splendour. I doubt you’ll ever see it again.”
A sharp thrill of fear curled through her, but her lips curved into a serene smile.
“You always did have a flair for theatrics, Castiel,” she mused, her voice light, airy. “But I don’t recall agreeing to leave just yet.”
His expression didn’t change, but his eyes darkened. “I wasn’t asking, dove.”
His grip tightened, fingers pressing into her side until her ribs ached. Her mind spun, searching for a way out. Refusing would mean the Xians’ lives. But if she left without leaving a message for Kaelen and Alarik . . .
Think, Reiya. Think.
The ballroom blurred at the edges as he pulled her toward the doors, colours and faces bleeding into a meaningless haze. She needed a clue. Something small, something only Kaelen and Alarik would recognize.
Her gaze flicked downward.
The braided bracelet on her wrist, woven with the delicate stargazer flower. A symbol of love, of guidance. Of finding one’s way back home.
Also of . . . truenorth.
She pressed her lips together. It wasn’t much. Between this and the winged pendant, which they knew she’d gifted to Mei Mei, Kaelen and Alarik might understand. No, theyhadto.
Across the room, she stole a final glance at them. Kaelen stood rigid, shoulders tense, fists clenching at his sides as though holding himself back from charging forward. Beside him, Alarik loomed in his dark attire, still as a predator watching its prey, his face unreadable beneath the mask but brimming with quiet menace.
She felt their urgency, their frustration, their plea for her to act.
