Page 4

He raises a brow, twirling the weapon deftly before settling into a posture that mirrors my own. “No.”

The stolen short sword in my hand is unwieldy by comparison, but anger floods every nerve, urging me onward as I lunge, putting my full weight behind the swing, which he parries with maddening ease, gliding my dagger upward to deflect my strike.

Frustration boils beneath my skin. I advance again and again, each attack more desperate than the last. But he’s fluid, precise, weaving through my attacks like water slipping through clenched fists.

Sweat beads down my face, the salt stinging my lips as I dart backward to avoid him. The deck tilts beneath me, and I stumble, my bare feet slipping against the damp wood.

Before I can adjust, Xan lunges. He wrenches the sword from my hand, letting it clatter to the deck as he surges forward, driving me back until I slam into a solid surface. His body pins mine in place, one hand securing both of my wrists above my head while the feathered blade hovers so close to my throat the sharp needles near the hilt prick against my pulse.

The surface at my back is hard as stone.

Cold. Unyielding.

Like the marble floor of that cursed, windowless room where I was chained and at the mercy of another.

Xan’s towering frame overshadows mine. Every inch of him radiates power, his presence swallowing the little space between us. The heat of his body seems to burn through the thin fabric of my shirt.

I blink rapidly, willing my mind to stay in the moment.

This bastard. I freed him when nobody else dared. I was the one who loosed his chains, knowing I was inviting the wrath of the Aviary, to ensure his escape. And this is how he repays me.

He tilts his head like a wolf scenting prey.

“If your theïkós were instinctive…” Xan says. The pressure of his grip on my wrists tightens for a fraction of a second. “You might have stood a chance.”

The words are more of a threat than the dagger at my throat.

His tone carries no hint of uncertainty. Yet he has no idea who I truly am, that royal blood flows through my veins. To him, I’m nothing but a spy—a traitor who turned against her own order. He has no reason to suspect I have theïkós.

I struggle to gather myself, desperate to forge my bitterness into a weapon. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

A soft tsk leaves his lips. “You’ve been honest so far. Don’t change that now.”

My chest rises and falls with ragged breaths, my racing heart slowing only when Xan slides my dagger back into its sheath at his waist with a precise flick and steps away, letting my hands fall back to my sides.

His eyes remain locked on mine, as if he’s searching for something buried deep within me. I refuse to break the stare, lifting my chin, though the weight of his scrutiny threatens to force it down once more. There’s a challenge in his gaze—a warning too—and I can’t decide which unsettles me more.

A gravelly voice from the deck pierces the tension. “Looks like you’ve yourself a wild one there, Lyxander.”

The words draw a few chuckles from the audience that has gathered, but my attention catches on the unfamiliar name—Lyxander. Xan.

The crew returns to their tasks, but their sidelong glances and grins betray their amusement at my failed attempt to best the man before me. I’m trapped here, surrounded by strangers, on a ship as unfamiliar as the man who now holds my dagger.

My fingers twitch with the desire to steal it back. But I’m outnumbered, unarmed, and still reeling from the betrayal that landed me here. Charging at him again would be reckless—gods, it was foolish enough the first time—and I can’t afford to lose what little ground I have left. Sweeping my gaze over the deck again, I take in the crew, the coiled ropes, the cargo lashed in place, and the distant land to the east. Every detail etches into my mind, a map of my confinement.

Then, without sparing Xan another glance, I whirl around and stride away.

Chapter 3

Aella

Sleep was a stranger last night. The darkest hours slipped by as I paced the cabin, my racing mind and the groan of wood beneath my feet my only companions. Each creak of the floorboards is a cruel reminder of how far I’ve fallen, the sound echoing in the hollow space where my resolve used to be. But no matter how many steps I take, no matter how desperately I try to redirect my thoughts, they circle back to his words.

If your theïkós were instinctive, you might have stood a chance.

I twist the ring on my finger and my theïkós stirs, restless but subdued. For years, I’ve let the ring keep my power dormant, burying my awareness so deep that I could convince even myself it wasn’t there. After all, it’s not a gift of my family’s bloodline, or any royal bloodline, for that matter. Summer for the south, autumn for the east, spring for the west, and winter for the north. But the wind? That power belongs to no mortal lineage. It’s the mark of the gods themselves, a force that has no place in the veins of someone like me.

I knew from the moment it manifested that I had to keep it hidden. Even before the Aviary, my life had always been that of a songbird trained to sing on command, my every move orchestrated by others. If anyone discovered the power within me, the bars of my cage would have tightened, locking me in so completely that freedom would have become impossible.