Page 51 of Prince of the Phantom Sky

But Raiden hadn’t returned. It’d been nearly a week, and he’d not once graced her door. She wasn’t sure why she expected him to. She’d practically thrown him out. But something about his absence caused a small sting.

Kora stalked to the balcony. Wrapping around the square mezzanine, it was large enough to fit a table and two chairs, along with planters overflowing with baby’s breath and purple anemone flowers. She hesitated at the thick iron balustrade, stroking the very spot she’d awoken from her nightmare. Glancing up, she stared at the forest she’d imagined Agatha appearing from.

Shadows drifted between the trees, taunting, teasing. Kora blinked and they thickened, long limbs stretching from the darkness, bleeding across the gardens. She jumped back, her heart hammering as they reached for her throat. With a gasp, she squeezed her eyes shut.

It’s not real. It’s not real. Kora grabbed the iron railing, the cool metal telling her she was on the balcony. She inhaled, delicate florals filling her nose. She was in Galen. A dark cackle faded, blending into a swoop of a hawk’s wings, a screech from the east. She was by Mistros City. Kora pried her eyes open. The shadows had vanished, leaving the forest calm and serene.

Agatha hadn’t graced her dreams again after that night. Kora wasn’t sure what was worse—never seeing Agatha again, or that someone had revealed her identity to the city. Why had the apparition led her down there? And why had it transformed into a dark, shadowy beast? Kora shuddered. Those claws had felt so real but hadn’t left any marks on her skin.

Hector had been conveniently absent. As much as Aryn had tried to pin him down to gather intel, only Leto and Cassidy had been present in the castle. The former even visiting Kora briefly to offer her a lone hydrangea, the latter casting frosty looks whenever she caught Kora’s head peeking out of her door.

The dazzling view of domes and spirals of Mistros City sparkled, a decadent blue against the misty haze at the base of the hill. Beyond was the ocean, a murkier shade of blue, but still glorious as ever. The air was so fresh, sweet and satisfying here, and Kora breathed lungfuls as she used the horizon to settle her centre. Her water beast purred, and had been growing louder with each day that passed.

Her recovery had been slow. Raiden was infuriatingly right. She needed to rest properly, to allow her body and mind to recover together, to allow her power to return. She could manipulate the equivalent to a small glassful of water, but she couldn’t conjure, nor connect to the ocean at a distance. Healing had been minute, but for some reason since arriving at Galen, her body had been healing naturally at a faster pace.

But the darkness still lingered. A phantom tentacle wrapped around her throat, waking her amid the night screaming. Sometimes, a laugh like Barron’s swam in her ears, his coldness following her within the shadows, the absence of life haunting her memories.

You’re not in the in-between anymore.

Kora inspected her body, her lips curling at her still too-thin frame. Her fingertips trailed over sharp knuckles, bony wrists, remembering how these veins had once been black, just like Blake’s. Her heart thudded unpleasantly as emerald eyes filled her mind, followed by petrichor and leather. He was a completely different person now. His love had been a lie. She squirmed at all their conversations about the future, fighting for the best possible chance to be together.

She had almost thrown everything away to keep him on Hell’s Serpent.

She’d been such a fool. It was clear to her that Blake was born of deceit, and his goal had never been her, but obtaining power. Kora refused to be blinded again, to be broken in such a way. During this time recovering, she’d been slowly erecting hard walls of steel around her heart, determined to protect it at all costs.

Thanos’ presence had vanished, his cold brushes across her shoulders absent since she’d begged for Erick’s life. Kora’s grip tightened around the iron railing, the cold metal planting her within reality. Sometimes, she’d dream of her time with Thanos, entwined with the blood-soaked nightmares plaguing her, and she’d abruptly awake, unsure of whether Windspire was real, or simply another watery memory of her past she hadn’t uncovered yet.

She wondered whether saving Erick would cost her. Kora huffed. It didn’t matter. Thanos had made it clear she would meet her end someday at the hands of her own. Whatever that fucking meant. Supposedly after the mystical gods-blessed plan weaved by Calypso. The gods were always so vague.

Kora had made her peace with Death itself. She would forge her own path. A week cooped up in this room was enough, it was time to act. The healers were wary of Kora, and she was starting to believe their cautions of staying hidden were for their own benefit. She had returned to the Azarian Islands for one thing only, and she would see to it before Thanos’ destined fate caught up with her.

To execute Barron’s demise, and save the innocents of the islands.

23

Raiden

Zephyr was returning today. Hector-Brown-Nose-Read had tattled on their expedition to rescue Kora, and Raiden’s father had commenced the week-long journey down from Skybell Castle. Some pirate king Hector was. Running to the heir of Haizea’s gift the moment no one followed his orders—which was all the time. No one respected Hector’s claim as Pirate King, especially not Raiden.

Raiden stormed the sunset-toned hallway from the kitchens to the throne room, where his father no doubt expected them to be. Reminding them all the power he wielded as Haizea’s most blessed one. Throwing his title around, as a stark reminder that Raiden lost his own to Aerion. A small current of air blasted from Raiden—a release of frustration, rattling the portraits lining the walls, the windows and sconces creaking. He’d been the heir apparent, the First Prince of Galen.

Now, he was nothing.

Aerion had risen to the title after what happened, and Skylar was appointed general.

He tried to not let his differences from his siblings bother him. Or what he’d done in the past. From how he looked different, and that his power had manifested differently, sometimes having a mind of its own. How he could speak into the minds of others . . . not just Kora’s. It was a power not seen before, and one the Windward patriarch had decided to keep secret.

His mother had adored it, frequently reminiscing how, as a baby and toddler, Raiden’s garbled thoughts entered his parents’ minds. She’d loved the connection, whereas his father saw an opportunity to exploit . . . but also something fearful to hide.

As the throne room loomed ahead, Raiden dusted flour from his hands, a small smile playing with his lips. He’d spent the morning baking, creating his next sweet surprise for the Huntress’ growing appetite—mini filo pastries with pistachio cream filling and drenched in syrup.

Apparently, the sweeter the better when it came to her tastes. The weight crushing his shoulders lifted an inch as their bond fortified in the back of his mind. Good. It meant she was getting stronger, recovering like he’d hoped.

“Rai!” a bubbly voice rang, followed by the slapping of footsteps against the tiled floor. Raiden stilled and sighed, his head hanging.

“Sirona.” Raiden pivoted as the healer rushed down the hallway. Her long, wild blonde hair flowed down her back as she juggled a stack of parchment within her spindly arms. Sirona’s beige skirts tangled with her silk slippers and she tripped, the parchment flying from her grasp.

Raiden reached out, his power stopping her fall as invisible hands of wind cushioned her body. Sirona’s honey-brown cheeks heated as they helped her back to her feet, her wide, dark eyes blinking as Raiden approached, his brow furrowed.