by Elly Blake
“The Frostbloods don’t want to kill the Firebloods,” I corrected, wrapping my hand around his arm. He covered my hand with his in a cool caress. “They just want to dump them overboard to see if they can swim. It’s more sporting that way. At least, that’s what I heard a few of your crewmembers saying.”
Arcus closed his eyes briefly. “It’ll be a miracle if everyone survives as far as land.”
“Well, we’ve already witnessed a few miracles… or events that are equally impossible. What’s one more?”
He leaned in, his voice lowering to an intimate volume. “We haven’t been alone until now, so I haven’t had a chance to ask. How are you doing?” His free hand lifted and his knuckle traced a path along my cheek. “You’ve been remarkably calm in the wake of some shocking revelations.”
I considered answering flippantly, but this was Arcus. He would persist until I told him the truth.
“Shaken,” I admitted. “Terrified. Determined.”
I looked up at him. The lanterns had been lit, casting a glow over the deck and brushing half his face in gold. He nodded slowly, but looked worried. In what started as a comforting gesture, I put a hand to his shoulder, feeling the hard muscle underneath the soft, dark shirt. The V-shaped collar exposed the bit of chest below his collarbone. Unable to help myself, I slid a hand to that enticing triangle sprinkled with hair. A pulse of coolness met my fingers, but it was as pleasant as heat. Better. Because it was from him.
Then somehow I was in his arms, struggling to get closer to the cold, hard wall of his chest. His arms bound me so tightly I feared being snapped in half. I laughed breathlessly.
“I missed you so much after you left,” he muttered, burying his nose against my neck. “I was so worried.”
“I missed you, too.” I had. I hadn’t realized how much until I’d seen him again.
“Next time you go, take me with you.”
I laughed again, tempted to point out that that might not always be practical. But the thought of practicality was sobering. Nothing had changed between us. Or if anything, matters had grown more complicated. He was still king of Tempesia, but now, against all odds, I was heir to the Sudesian throne. I should push him away. Tell him it would never work. The same reservations I’d had before should still be there, multiplied tenfold.
Only none of that would matter if we didn’t stop Eurus from releasing the Minax from the Obscurum. That was the difference. That was what had changed. When you don’t know if there’s a tomorrow, you realize quickly what matters most. I couldn’t afford to waste another moment with him.
As he loosened his hold, I squeezed him harder, telling him without words that his feelings for me were not one-sided. His lips rested against my hair and I breathed his scent, which was both calming and exciting at the same time. Finally, he set me back slightly. “I’m making you cold. You’re shivering.”
“That’s not from cold.” I lifted a brow and added boldly, “It’s the feel of you that makes me shiver.” I smiled when he shivered in response.
A lantern was extinguished, then another. I realized we should go our separate ways, say good night. But I wasn’t ready.
“We haven’t talked about Marella,” I ventured. “She was a friend to us both.”
His jaw squared and he looked away. “I can’t even let myself think about what she tried to do. It merely makes me want to kill her myself.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t see it. When I visited her on your ship, I was so worried about her.” I paused. “You must be worried about her still.” He’d known her all his life.
My feelings about Marella were complicated. She had been an ally against King Rasmus, then a friend, then a betrayer. I wondered if she’d known what she was doing when she first hosted the Minax. It had used her to get to its twin and Eurus. She had become a victim in the end. Whatever she had done, she didn’t deserve to die for it. I admitted to myself then that I wanted to find and rescue Marella, too, if we could.
“I can’t help but regret what happened to her,” Arcus said finally, echoing my thoughts as he sometimes did. “But I’m far more worried about you. Are you… can you feel its presence?”
We had to be very careful to hide my secret on the ship. If word got out to the crew that a Minax was on board, it would be pandemonium. I knew the superstitions of sailors, and this would horrify even the most skeptical of souls.
“Not so much.” I wondered how to describe it. “It’s… dormant, I suppose is the best word. I know it’s there but barely.”
“Good,” he said, wrapping an arm around my back and pulling me close. “I hope it stays that way.”
“Me too.”
“And how do you feel about… what Eurus said?”
“That I’m a Nightblood?” Even the word chilled me. Night was too vast, too inevitable. You could light a candle and hide, but you could never fight it. And I carried it in my veins. I rubbed my upper arms to warm them and tried to hide my fear. “I don’t want to believe it. Part of me hopes it’s not true, even though there are signs it is. The mark. The way I can host the creature without feeling sick. My ability to control the Minax to the degree that one destroyed the other.”
“You are remarkable,” he whispered. “I hope you know that. The things you’ve done. The things you’ve had to face.”
I didn’t feel remarkable. At the moment, I felt small and scared. Unequal to everything that I’d have to do, without a clear picture of what that even was. And tired. So tired.
So I leaned more heavily on him as I said, “But even though I don’t want to believe it, well… I have to face the truth. I am the”—I lowered my voice—“Child of Darkness.”
“I don’t believe that,” he said with quiet vehemence. “At least, I don’t believe it’s something evil. If that’s what you are, then it’s not bad. Because everything about you is just as it should be.”
I chuckled, surprised. “I thought you said I rush into danger and take unnecessary risks. You told me I was selfish.”
“I was the selfish one. I just wanted you to stay. But if you hadn’t come here, we’d never have discovered how to destroy the Minax.”
“We don’t know how to destroy the other one, unfortunately.”
“Have you… tried?”
“You mean… just by willing it to die? No. I… I don’t think that would work.”
I was terrified that if I reached out mentally, it would wake again. I still didn’t know how or why it was dormant. It had occurred to me that if the Minax did share human traits as Brother Thistle had once implied, that the creature could actually be grieving for its dead sibling. It had yearned for its twin for years—centuries. On the other hand, grief and death were fuel for the Minax. That could be making it stronger.
As usual, when I dwelled on the Minax too much, my spirits sank. Arcus sensed the shift and pulled me tighter. The feel of his strength surrounding me was a balm on my soul. I closed my eyes and leaned my head against his chest.
The sound of a throat clearing made me jerk back reflexively. “Sorry,” Kai said softly as he came into the lantern light, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I’m a little jumpy for some reason,” I replied with a smile. For a second, I felt awkward, guilty about being wrapped in Arcus’s embrace when Kai and I had kissed—and not a chaste peck, either—just a few days ago. I still had all the warm feelings of friendship for Kai, and a few nebulous ones that might be more than friendship. But once I’d seen Arcus again, it had clarified things for me. I just hadn’t had a chance to put them into words yet.
I watched Kai’s face for signs of bitterness or jealousy, but there were none, so I allowed myself to relax.
“Can’t imagine why,” he quipped. His teasing was reassuring.
“So do you think you can get us to Tempesia in record time?” I asked.
“Of course.” His expression was so delightfully arrogant, I almost wanted to laugh.
Kai cleared his throat again.
“Do you have a moment?”
Arcus’s arm slid away from me. “Excuse me, I’d better go make sure my crew hasn’t taken the best berths. Or been forced to sleep in the brig.” He strode off in the direction of the hatch, and I watched him go, glad that he’d tactfully left me alone with Kai without showing any animosity toward him.
Kai moved to lean on the railing beside me, a careful distance away, and tilted his head. “How are you, little bird?”
I was glad he used my nickname, another sign that he wasn’t upset with me. “Mostly I’m just tired. I feel worse for the queen. She seemed so… broken.”
“She seemed stronger when I visited her before we left. You didn’t want to come with me, if you recall.”
“I feel so guilty. As if I betrayed her.”
“For trying to save her? That is ridiculous. What happened after was not your fault.” He sighed. “I keep wondering, though, whether Prince Eiko is alive. Do you think his mind is in there somewhere?”
“I truly don’t know.” Eurus probably wasn’t like the Minax, who shared the space in your mind. A wind god would have far more power than his creation, and he seemed to have no scruples about snuffing out insignificant lives to suit his convenience. “We need to be prepared for the worst.”
“Except the worst keeps getting… worse.”
I chuckled. “We couldn’t have prepared for Eurus.”
As I said the name, a puff of wind came from the east, filling the sails to bursting before dying off.
“I’ll remember not to say that name again,” I whispered, rubbing the goose bumps on my arms.
“I’d appreciate that,” Kai replied softly.
I took a deep breath and looked down. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the real reason I came to Sudesia. I should have trusted you.”
I lifted my head slowly, scared of what I might see on his face. Anger? Hurt? Contempt? That would be worst of all.
But what I saw in his eyes, golden in the lantern light and a little wide, was something warm and open. Sympathy. Understanding. Something harder to identify. As he caught me watching him, his eyelids fell to half mast, and his mouth quirked in that typical teasing smile that warmed me by degrees until I couldn’t help but return the look.
My spirits, I realized, had lifted somewhere above the mainmast. “Do you forgive me?”
“I suppose I must,” he said, flicking an invisible piece of lint from his pristine black doublet. “Normally I would hold a grudge for such an offense. But one might say, Princess Ruby, without exaggeration, that you are an exception to all rules.”
“Glad you recognize that. Finally.”
“Exceptions must stick together.” He reached out and squeezed my shoulder, his expression conveying support and affection, but his hand lingering a little too long. It seemed our whole complicated history was contained in that gesture.
His eyes went to the sailors on watch. “Well, it looks like everything is in hand. I’m going to my cabin to sleep like the dead.”
“Must be nice to have a cabin.”
“Would you prefer to sleep there?” he asked quickly.
I lifted a brow.
“Alone, if you’re so inclined.” Mischief danced in his eyes.
I snorted. “Thank you, but I think you’ve made enough sacrifices. Taking on this crew, for instance. You’ll need a quiet space to get away from all the arguing.”
“We’ll find you a cabin tomorrow. One of my officers can bunk with the crew. But for tonight—”
“I’ll sleep on the deck if that’s all that’s available.”
“There’s a hammock in steerage if you don’t mind bedding down among crates and barrels. You won’t be disturbed. I’m thinking you might like some time alone.”
Something sweet closed my throat. I was touched. “Very thoughtful, Kai. Thank you.”
He nodded and left, his gait adjusting to the roll of the waves without a flicker of difficulty. Like he was part of the ship.
I turned and rested my elbows on the railing, staring down to where the sea churned—nearly invisible in the dark. In a few minutes, I wouldn’t be able to see the water at all. But I’d know it was there because of the way it heaved us up and dropped us down, gentle now, but subject to the whims of the winds. In a matter of hours or even minutes, the swells could turn from calm to violent.
It was like the Minax. I couldn’t see it, but I knew it was there. I sensed it more now that I had no one and nothing to distract me. Would it remain passive and allow me to direct it? Or would it take its cue from a vengeful wind god and dash me to pieces against the rocks of its hate? I had no choice but to try to weather it, to hold the wheel tight, to fight to stay on course.
It wasn’t only me who counted on my ability to remain in control. The entire world would suffer if I didn’t. When I thought of it that way, I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.
I gripped the railing and stared down at the deepening gloom.
I was darkness. There was nothing to be gained by denying it. My best chance lay in treating this new ability the way I’d always treated my fire—as part of me. Fear of my fire had ruled me when I’d had no control over it. Darkness, like fire, was a gift I could master.
A gust brushed my hair to the side and I turned toward it. It smelled of harvest, of wheat being bound into sheaths, of fallen leaves and crisp pine. The stray breeze had come from the west. I smiled. Cirrus was sending a message of support. I held my hand out, catching the scented air in my palm.
Just as suddenly, a vicious gust cut across the deck, snapping the sails. An east wind, threatening rain. Air swirled around me, pulling the breath from my lungs and wrapping my hair around my upper arms like binding ropes.
The wind twisted away. The sails fell slack.
I shoved my hair back and rubbed the chill from my arms. The air smelled of smoke and blood, of army camps and battlefields.
A wordless message from Eurus, as clear as if it were written in the stars: Prepare for war.
Keep reading with Little, Brown.
Get activities, videos, reading guides, and more!
LittleBrownYoungReaders.com
Facebook.com/LittleBrownYoungReaders
Instagram.com/LittleBrownYoungReaders
Twitter.com/LittleBrownYR
Youtube.com/LittleBrownBooks
Pinterest.com/LittleBrownYoungReaders
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’m so grateful for the guidance, patience, and steadfast encouragement from Deirdre Jones and Kheryn Callender at Little, Brown. Cheers to the amazing LBYR team: Annie McDonnell, Sasha Illingworth, Angela Taldone, Virginia Lawther, Emilie Polster, Stefanie Hoffman, Jane Lee, and especially Kristina Pisciotta for putting up with my many questions. Hats off to Megan Tingley, Jackie Engel, and Alvina Ling. Big thanks to Dominique Delmas at Hachette Canada!
To Emily Kitchin at Hodder & Stoughton, thank you from the bottom of my heart for being so patient and helpful in the home stretch! Huge thanks to Fleur Clarke, Becca Mundy, and Natalie Chen!
Hugs to everyone at New Leaf Literary, especially my brilliant agent, Suzie Townsend, and to Sara Stricker, Kathleen Ortiz, Pouya Shahbazian, Mia Roman, and Hilary Pecheone.
Endless gratitude to friends found through RWA, starting with Nicki Pau Preto, who found me first—lucky me! Tightest hugs to the Lady Seals: Anabel, Brooke, Crystal, Guida, and Sarah. So grateful for the Pitch Wars Table of Trust, especially early readers Jennifer Hawkins, Mary Ann Marlowe, Mara Rutherford, Nikki Roberti, Kelly Siskind, Summer Spence, Ron Walters, and Kristin B. Wright.
Alexa Donne, thank you for your perceptive insights! Morgan Rhodes, Eve Silver, Lori M. Lee, and Julie Kagawa, thank you for being wise and generous! Thanks to my coworkers at ECL: the Library Warriors. Deep appreciation to early readers Lauren Kennedy, Sabrina Chiasson, and Isabelle Hanson. Hugs to the 2017 Debuts!
Love and thanks to my super-supportive family: Matt, Nancy, Dan, Erik, Mark, Fred, Donna, Heather, Jill, Todd, Zoe, and Quinton.
All my love to Nicklas, Aleksander, and Lukas! You are my sunshines. Dearest Darren, thank you is not enough. I love you.
Last, but not least, thank you to readers. Your support and enthusiasm inspire me!
