Chapter 51
Iwake before dawn.
Hazy, grey light filters through the window, and my chest tightens. Somewhere in this castle, Kressa is dressing for her wedding—prepared to sign her freedom away to break the bond between us.
Throwing the sheets off me, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand. I slip my dagger out from beneath the mattress, and my fingers linger on the etching of the handle. The blade my mother gifted me when I became captain.
I shove it into the ankle of my boot and stride to the bedroom door, pulling it open.
Gemma leaves her room at the same time—dressed in her advisor uniform. The gold embroidery running down the arms of her jacket stand stark against the deep, forest green fabric.
“About an hour,” she says, adjusting the button of her collar.
“Plenty of time.” I step closer. “I know you mentioned your power is weak lately, but do you think you have enough for me to get out of the castle?”
She grimaces. “I can try, but you know the risks. Once I place it, you’ll only have minutes to get out before it fades away.”
“The alternative is sneaking out looking like this, in broad daylight, with hundreds of guards searching for me.” I pin back my shoulders and nod. “I can do it.”
“Okay.” Her shoes sink into the rug as closes the distance between us. She lifts her hands and cups my face. “Don’t get caught.”
Before I can respond, her power slices into my skin and slides over my bones. I wince as it shifts the muscles and cartilage in my face. It compacts my spine, and I swallow back a scream as my ribcage tightens—squeezing my lungs.
Her power disappears.
“Done,” she whispers.
Tears gather in her eyes, and I glance at my hands, turning them over. Red hair hangs around my waist. “Who am I?”
“The person who’s easiest for me to replicate.”
She shifts to the side, and I catch myself in the mirror.
I’m Marianne.
“Gemma,” I breathe.
She shakes her head and pushes me toward the door. “Stop. You don’t have time to argue.”
My footsteps drag across the room, and she pulls it open, shoving me over the threshold. I stumble into the hallway, and she shuts it behind me.
I scan the space, my heart rattling in my throat, and take off into a sprint. Windows pass by in a blur, and the grey sky outside steadily lightens. There’s only an hour between now and when the ceremony will begin.
Taking the steps two at a time to the eastern side entrance, I fling myself around the bannister and into the packed courtyard.
A chill sweeps over my arms, raising bumps across my skin. But a cold sweat breaks out across my brow as I weave through the mass of people dressed in wedding attire.
There’s a somber note to the air—the deaths of the nobles in the auction last night weighing on their shoulders. A handful of women blot their red rimmed eyes with the corner of a handkerchief. But it’s not enough to stop them from attending a royal wedding.
Or enough to make Callum postpone it.
Dresses of silk and chiffon sway in the breeze, and I lower my head, darting toward the edge of the courtyard. Carriages line the front and side entrances, and I squeeze around a footman as he opens the door for a couple donned in forest green.
The buildings of Ignata spread out around me, and I narrow my eyes on the harbor in the distance as the first rays of sunlight peak over the horizon. Gemma said the ceremony begins at sunrise, but with the amount of people still making their way down to the water, I might have more time.
I break into a run and aim for the forest, following the gentle decline that runs parallel to the city. Low branches snag on my clothes, and the muscles in my face shift.
My breath hitches, and I press my fingers against my jaw as the glamour disappears. It sluices away like liquid, and my hair shortens—fading from a bright copper to a deep brown. I slow my footsteps and calm my heart beat, listening to the gentle sway of the forest.
Two dozen feet to my right, through a thick cropping of trees, the last of the carriages bump down the cobblestone path toward the harbor. To my left, the hillside steepens upward, and the trees thin out—giving way to boulders.
Sparing a glance over my shoulder, I take off toward the incline.
The warmth thickens, and humidity clings to the air. In the distance, the crest of the sun appears over the horizon, and my heart catches in my throat. I turn toward a boulder and shove the toe of my boot into a gap, climbing up the expanse.
I heave myself onto the top and crouch, scanning the harbor just over the treetops. The ceremony space comes into view, where hundreds of people gather in a semicircle around an altar. Flower petals of every color twist away from the middle like vines, weaving through the aisles.
A bell chimes, and the crowd stands.
My heart rattles in my throat, and I twist toward the horizon—where the belly of the sun lifts from the earth.
A trumpet sounds, and Golan strides down the aisle with a scepter clenched in his hand and a crown perched on his head. Elias follows after, and they come to a stop at the altar, facing the way they came.
I gnaw on my bottom lip. With so many people in attendance and the guards stationed around the perimeter, there’s no way I’ll be able to get close enough to stop the ceremony by myself. And if I were to wield fire, I’d be spotted and have a swarm of guards headed my way.
And still, it wouldn’t be enough to stop Kressa from marrying Callum.
My gaze lifts to the sky.
I need the wyvern.
Stringed instruments fill the air with a long, drawn-out tune—and a head of dark brown hair appears from between the trees. A deep emerald green gown hangs off her shoulders, and her feet are bare as she strides through the grass.
My heart twists over on itself, and a heavy weight settles on my chest. I should’ve fought harder—done more to convince her not to do this. Her face is set in stone, but unease floods my mouth. She hides the tips of her fingers within the folds of her gown, as if they’re trembling.
She makes it halfway down the aisle, and I open the bridge between our minds. Her steps falter as an awareness floods the bond. There’s a snag in it—as if the fates can sense an imminent shift in the universe.
Kressa’s head snaps up, and our gazes lock. She collects herself and focuses her attention on her footsteps, but her presence slams into my mind.
I told you to leave.
I roll out my neck and pull my attention from her, pinning it on the sky. I can’t let you do this.
A gentle breeze weaves through my hair and cools the sweat on my nape. I’ve never been able to summon the sea creatures, but I’ve also never had a connection with them the way I do with the wyvern. And if I’m able to bend the creature to my will…
Briar, whatever you’re about to do, don’t do it. There’s a panicked tone to Kressa’s thoughts. A plea.
I don’t want the next lifetime. I want this one.
An image appears in my vision—a mirage of sorts. Clouds pass in a blur, and the world exists far, far below. As if I’m watching the world through the eyes of the wyvern.
Kressa reaches the altar and clasps her hands with Callum’s. She nods at her father, but her movements are rushed—hurried.
An ear-piercing roar comes from the distance, and a wave of wyvern crest over the peaks of the castle, diving down over the homes of Ignata.
The attendants scream, scrambling away from the ceremony alter and toward the tree cover.
A wild smile pulls at my lips, and an angry rush of heat spears down the bond.
What have you done?
I ignore her voice as the wyvern sweep over rooftops, knocking shingles free with their talons. The rising sun reflects off their scales, but it’s the one in front that demands my attention.
The crimson one.
That same, instinctual knowing floods my mind, and I turn toward the ceremony space.
A guard leans toward Golan and points a gloved finger at me. His attention swings my way, and his hands curl into fists, rumbling the earth.
I stumble back a step. The heel of my boot catches on a rock, and I fall, slamming onto the hard stone. Shouts ring out, and the ground shudders.
Briar, run!
My breath catches, and I force myself upright, but the trees ahead of me split—the earth itself cleaving into two. Roots dangle from the exposed earth, and Golan narrows his eyes at me as he closes his hand into a fist.
The boulder beneath me crumbles, and I plummet a dozen feet. My stomach lifts into my throat, and before I can release a scream, my back slams into the ground.
I wheeze out a breath, and the crimson wyvern screeches, beating its taloned wings against the air. They’re close enough to make out the individual scales spanning their bodies, but they swoop closer, keeping the fire at bay for now.
Footsteps pound closer, and a ringing fills my ears as guards surround me and pull their blades free.
I grind my teeth together. I didn’t abandon my crew and risk my life just to be imprisoned again. I didn’t come this far to fail at stopping Kressa from making a mistake.
Gritting my teeth, I push to my feet and pull my blade from my boot as a guard advances on me.
A growl reverberates through my bones, and the crimson wyvern dives through the air and sweeps a carpet of flames over the crowd.
Screams follow, and my breaths quicken as I search for the bond—clinging to hope that the wyvern wouldn’t harm Kressa.
Worry about yourself, sea urchin, she grunts.
The corner of my lip tilts. I steady myself and, on an exhale, flick the dagger at the guard. It somersaults through the air and finds a home in his artery.
Blood spurts from his throat, and he drops, grasping for the handle of the blade.
On even steps, I stride toward him and pluck my dagger from his neck as a second guard sprints toward me. He raises his sword over his head, and I dodge right, slashing my blade toward his chest.
He jumps back, but a thin line of blood blooms along the front pocket of his shirt. I adjust the blade in my hand and step forward, lifting my arm high above my head.
An arrow pierces through my biceps.