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“And what do you know about the king?” I ask, keeping a hushed tone.

Bleu’s gaze sweeps the dark coast before returning to me. “He’s powerful,” he says quietly. “He doesn’t need an army. Doesn’t need to hide behind those castle walls. It’s all for everyone else’s peace of mind, not his.”

I stare. Bleu, in spite of his warped judgment as of late, knows things only a seasoned pirate does. He’s been to corners of the world I can’t even place on a map, and he’s seen things. But the king, a powerful man? This I’m skeptical of.

“I’m proud of you,” he adds, his voice rougher now. “Ye killed the devil himself.” His eyes shine, and my gods they look just like Mira’s. “I should have never put ye in his hands. I wish I could have taken ye out to sea and trained you myself.” He stops to gather his thoughts. Regret coasts over his face, then a spark of pride hits his eyes. “Yer the only one I believe can take down the king.”

I laugh. “Is that another one of my destinies?” I ask.

“No,” Bleu says. “This one’s a feeling. When ye’ve lived as long as I have, ye start to see patterns. Get certain instincts.” His gaze settles on me. “And ye were born for a throne. Ye have the will of a queen.”

I flatten my lips and shake my head. “I don’t want to be a queen.”

Confusion flickers across his face. “Why not?”

“Because I want to be a king.” The words rise from somewhere deep and immovable. “I will never bow to any man. Whoever stands at my side will bow to me. When I take the crown, no women will have to stand in the shadows of mediocre men ever again.” I straighten my spine. The wind pulls at my cloak, the sea roaring its approval in the distance.

“That’s my girl,” Bleu says proudly. He drapes an arm around my shoulders as we turn back toward Pebble’s. He’s still so much larger than me, all muscle from his years at sea with pirates and sea creatures alike. I let myself lean into him.

As we near the pub, my gaze drifts upward to Zorren’s old apartment. It’s dark and empty, and a dull ache settles in my chest. He’s probably being pushed to his limits right now, broken down and rebuilt the way my academy demands. I cannot stand in the middle of his trials, no matter how badly I want to. I won’t hear anything of his progress until he returns from the far side of the island.

Kova took the new slayers to the volcano for survival training. They’ll learn to live off the land and fight in terrain harsher than here in the port city. He’ll be stronger for it but gods, I miss him.

The pub is alive, laughter spilling into the street, glasses crashing together in cheers, cards snapping against tabletops beneath warm golden light. The kind of night that defines Magda.

I stop, slipping free from under Bleu’s arm. He takes a few more steps and then turns to me. “Ye comin’, Cricket?”

“No,” I say, scanning the room beyond him. No sign of Mira. She’s safe aboard The Siren. “I have things to take care of. But will I be seeing you soon?”

“Maybe sooner than ye think,” he replies with a sideways smile.

“Bleu,” I call as I begin to step away, the shadows already reaching for me, “don’t do anything rash.” He nods, but I know it’s not a promise to heed my advice. When it comes to Mira, he’ll do whatever he thinks is right to protect her, even if he’s wrong.

Chapter twenty-eight

Grief & Lavender

I yawn as I make my way back to the Academy, the exhaustion finally catching up to me. Too much has happened in too short of a time.

I suddenly turn toward the west side of town, knowing Nyra’s probably still at work. She never was one for the boisterous nights down at Pebble’s. For a moment, I consider telling her about Maddoc. The thought alone makes my chest tighten.

Nyra would ask questions. She would want details. And I would shatter before I could give them to her. Still, I promised her—through Zorren—that I would seek her out when I returned from my journey. I roll my eyes.

I won’t tell her about Maddoc just yet. I’ll show my face, if only to keep her from building more resentment toward me than she already has.

I take the street beside the library and follow it until I come upon the warmly lit front window of the Salted Root. Just as I suspected, she’s there. Through the glass, I watch her hands grind herbs beneath a smooth stone. With tender care, she gathers the crushed mixture, tips it into a small vial, then passes it across the counter to a waiting customer.

She smiles, nods, takes the coins, and slips them into her pocket. The customer exits the building, walking past me and giving me a quick smile. I return the gesture and look back at Nyra, who goes still. She can feel me watching her through the glass. I stand in the thinnest strip of light cast from her shop window. When she spots me, the smile that spreads across her face unravels the tight knot in the center of my chest. She’s happy to see me.

She wipes her hands on her apron and steps outside. As she crosses the street, I lower myself onto an old, cracked bench facing the shop.

“You’re back,” she calls. Her dark blue dress moves with every step, and her long, tight curls bounce softly around her shoulders in the glow from the windows. As she draws closer, so does the scent of lavender and thyme.

“I am. I thought I’d come see you on my way back to the Academy,” I say.

Nyra takes a seat beside me, and the bench gives a faint creak beneath our weight. “The Academy?” she asks. “Not the Underground?”

I look up and meet her eyes. They’re full of worry. “I live there now. I took it over.” A smile tugs at my mouth, followed by a small laugh. “Killed a very powerful man to do it.” I hope this is enough to keep her here on this subject, away from Maddoc. She lets out a slow breath.