Page 166 of A Sea of Fate and Starfire

I stared at him, my mouth slowly stretching into a smile, though heat tested the boundaries of my eyes. “I could turn now, and you’d be fine,” I said, questioning. “You’d live.”

He shrugged again. “Go ahead.”

A flare of light through the windows, the sun blazing as it flirted with the sea. Pink and apricot hues billowed through, painting the sky like a dream. I rolled onto my back, leaning against his solid abdomen, hesitating.

Then my tail curled, arching over the top of us both. The last few sunrays caught the thin edges of my flukes, shifting through the transparent skin like stained glass. For a moment, refracted light sprung in every direction like crystal prism. Rose and gold and caramelized orange. Then the sun sank under the horizon, stealing into the night with its rays.

Neither of us spoke, but Kye wove his hand in mine. I found myself sifting through the undercurrent of my blood, exploring deeper within. Finding the cord, invisible and secure against my navel, tugging it gently. Soaking in the strength of that tug, the resistance that promised it could not break again.

“Why did you ask how bright I could glow?” Kye murmured against my ear.

I glanced at him from over my shoulder. “Because I have an idea.”

He waited, but my interest was piqued once again. I waited as well. Finally, he clicked his tongue, nudging me off him so he could sit up and concentrate. Legs crossed, he set his hand against his thigh, gazing at it.

Warmth oozed from his skin, a streaky line glinting over the faint flush across his palm. The first beam of a sunburst. Kye’s fingers flexed, as if testing whether it would disappear when he moved.

“Do you remember when we climbed the Sylus Mountain pass?” I asked, capturing his attention. He tilted his head, curious where I was going. “I told you I could talk to water, and you said you didn’t care if I could talk to the sun-damned solstice faery?” I grinned, unable to help myself. “You’re a Sola. You are the sun-damned solstice faery, Kye.”

He shook his head, letting out a soft bark of laughter, though his smile remained as he focused on his hand again, the glow slowly building in radiance.

“What are you thinking of, to summon that light?” I asked, propping my head in my hand.

His smile fluttered. He sent the answer through our thoughts, the passage of his mind to mine.

The soft sound of my laughter.

72

Maren

We rose from the water as phantoms.

The sea sluiced off our bodies like robes of silk, fluttering away to meet the tide. Sand pressed around our feet, swallowing the sound of our steps. Wind undressed us of our scent, brushing down our backs and towards the water, but it carried the notes of a single drone sentry beyond my herb garden. The moon was new, invisible against the starlit sky.

And so were we.

Sixty drones against fourteen. The humans pulled their blindfolds, stuffing them away.

Pheolix went first.

Darkness cloaked him like a dark lullaby, a song sung to children of a monster creeping in the dark. The drone hovering by my rows of kava roots didn’t see Pheolix until his breath had been robbed from his body.

The rest of us hung back, letting Pheolix turn the island into a graveyard. Our steps haunted his, and my blood hummed under my skin, warm and alive and thick with the promise of gifting death.

Pili grass rustled against my calves. Water dripped from my fingers. Static nestled in the palm of my hand, electricity living just beyond my touch. At the mouth of Nahli, I stopped.

Here was where we left the wind behind, the master of our scent. The point of no return. I glanced behind me, at the small army of friends I’d gathered, offering them the chance to turn back. I didn’t speak; I didn’t have to. I’d said it all before we’d left the cliffs, after sneaking through the secret tunnels of Laurier Palace under the cover of night and singing any guard who stood within eyeshot into temporary oblivion.

We’d climbed down to the lowest shelf of palace rocks, just above the water’s claws, and one at a time, lined up, waiting. We’d spent the last three days drawing our plans in agonizing detail, letting the sliver of the moon shrink bit by bit until the sky swallowed it whole. We’d laid out contingencies if that plan failed—and contingencies in case those plans failed as well. I’d mapped out Neris Island with Nori and Olinne, marking the weak points, the strong holds, the possible escape routes. We’d talked through the night, the hours gorging on wax and flame at Selena’s table, breaking only for sleep and letting Aitne serve us herbal tea to wake up our bones when we stumbled back a few hours after the sun climbed over the eastern horizon.

There was really only one thing left to say, now.

“A thousand years ago, a siren struck a bargain that turned his heart to ice and stone. One that Darkness himself regrets.” I looked at them all. Dimas, who had just arrived back that morning. Hadrian, the heir to the Calderian throne. My mother and father, still shy with each other, yet inseparable since I’d brought him to Laurier Palace. Nori, Olinne, and Aitne, the Naiads of my home, the determination to defend it shining from their faces. Sindri, a Naiad who had stolen me from this spot just days ago and vowed his blood to my husband since. Pheolix, the blind drone, who had woken with the clearest resolve in days. Kazimir, who I still didn’t know very well, yet felt like I did. Diara at my right side with her quiver like an unwavering, fire-breathing shadow.

And. As always. Kye.

“We have the stones now,” I’d said, holding up the frozen pieces of Thaan’s mortal heart. His humanity. “I could tell you this battlefield is a place for Naiads only. But the truth is, Thaan has taken something from everyone standing here. Some of you have suffered horrors far greater than mine.”