Chapter 61 #2
“I know, but we can’t do that yet. My troops will hold our defenses until we can join them. But first, we need to understand what’s happening with your magic. And we need to ask them for help.” His eyes meet mine.
I hesitate. “There’s more you don’t know.”
He waits, silent.
“I saw something in the fortress,” I say slowly, forcing the words out. “In the lower levels. Something massive. Something the tsar is hiding.”
He frowns. “What do you think it is?”
“I don’t know what I think,” I admit. “But he’s created creatures to do his bidding. I can only imagine what something that size will do.” I don’t mention Nadya’s theory that it could be a dragon. Mostly because I don’t want to believe it myself. “And the seer. Dante called her ‘Mother.’”
His eyes narrow. “You’re sure?”
“I saw his face,” I say. “He called her ‘Mother.’ And she didn’t deny it.”
“Then there may be more at play here than we realize,” my uncle mutters.
I glance back toward the hatch, where Dante lies below. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
He rests a hand on my shoulder. “Alphemra may have the answers we need.”
I nod slowly, the sea wind lashing at my cheeks. “I hope so.”
Because if we’re wrong—if whatever the seer did to him can’t be undone—then I haven’t saved Dante.
I’ve already lost him.
It’s been a week since we fled the fortress, but the endless stretch of sea makes it feel longer.
The ship creaks beneath my boots as I lean over the starboard railing, wind tugging at the loose curls that have escaped my braid. In the distance, the jagged outline of Alphemra rises through the mist, its sharp peaks like broken glass slicing the clouds.
The wind shifts, cold and salt-heavy, biting at my skin. I tug my cloak tighter.
I thought I was imagining it at first, but there’s no denying it now. The buzzing magic stirs in my veins the closer we draw to the shores of Alphemra, like a tide swelling with each passing breath, carrying whispers of power that prickle along my skin.
Ezra will be able to help me figure it all out. One day into our trip, Uncle Kormak told me he’d sent a nightfeather to summon Ezra to Alphemra. The thought of Ezra at my side steadies me. If anyone knows how to help Dante, it’s him.
Still, grief coils sharp in my chest as thoughts of Sir Donovan and Sir Holden haunt me.
Two more lives cut short in the tsar’s grasping cruelty.
The ache of their absence gnaws at me, but I refuse to let despair hollow me out.
I will fight in their honor. I will see this through and ensure their sacrifices were not in vain.
Behind me, Mylo lets out a long, theatrical sigh. “I swear, if I never see another wave after this, it’ll be too fucking soon.”
Aila snorts. “At least you’re not being dramatic and threatening to throw yourself overboard like Isaac.”
“He hates ships,” Giorgi says. “Or rather, what they do to him.”
A loud gagging sound echoes from behind us. We all turn in time to see Isaac lurch to the side of the deck and retch violently over the railing.
Lorne raises a brow. “Well, at least it’s keeping him from tormenting me.”
“Fuck,” Isaac croaks, wiping his mouth. “How is it still moving?”
“It’s called sailing,” I say, trying not to smile. “You’ll live.”
“Debatable,” he mutters, sinking to sit against a barrel, pale as a bone.
The brief laughter warms my chest. It’s the first time since Dulcamar that the weight has lifted, even slightly.
But it’s still there—beneath the surface.
Dante hasn’t woken.
He groaned once in his sleep yesterday, sweat pouring from his brow. His body burned with fever and magic I couldn’t touch. I’ve tried—gods, I’ve tried—but even with my hands pressed to his skin, nothing answers.
Whatever the seer did to him… it wasn’t to heal him. It’s something else entirely.
I glance toward the aft cabin, where he rests. Nadya emerges from the shadows a moment later, her curls wild in the wind, her cheeks flushed.
“He’s stirring,” she says breathlessly.
My heart lurches.
I’m already running, trying not to trip down the stairs.
Inside the cabin, it’s dim and quiet. The cot creaks as I drop to my knees beside it, reaching for him. Dante’s skin is no longer blazing, just warm. His breaths are steady. His brows furrow and his lips part with a low groan.
“Dante,” I whisper, brushing damp curls from his temple. “It’s me. I’m here. You’re safe. Please, just be okay. Don’t leave me, not now.”
He shifts beneath my hand. His lashes flutter.
When his eyes open, I hold my breath.
His stormy-grey gaze locks on to me, studying my face. “Celeste,” he rasps, his voice raw and ragged.
A sound breaks from my chest. I press my hand to his cheek, and he leans into it, his fingers curling over mine. “We’re safe,” I say quickly. “We escaped Dulcamar. We’re on a ship bound for Alphemra. My uncle’s here. Nadya’s safe. We all made it out.”
His brows pull together like he’s trying to remember. “How…?”
“I’ll tell you everything,” I promise. “Later. Right now, I just want to know how you’re feeling.”
His thumb brushes along my jaw. “Like I was crushed under a mountain and then buried alive,” he says with a weak smirk. “But seeing you helps.”
I hold his gaze for a minute, then quietly ask, “Do you remember what you said? Before you passed out? The seer, when she touched you… you called her ‘Mother.’”
The smirk vanishes.
His expression changes—eyes tightening, breath catching, as though I’ve hit something raw and barely healed. “I did,” he says hoarsely. “Because it was her.”
He looks away for a moment, as if he’s bringing himself back to that moment.
I take his hand and squeeze it.
“I know how impossible that sounds, Celeste. I buried her. There’s someone in that grave by my manor—someone so mangled, I couldn’t really recognize her. They said it was her. I thought…” He swallows hard. “But I know what I saw. That woman working with the tsar, that was her. She’s alive.”
We’re silent for a moment. We were both lied to, each of us by a parent we thought was dead. And it seems it was all part of some grand scheme.
“I knew your mother was a siren,” I murmur. “But I didn’t know she had… seer powers.”
“I didn’t, either,” he says, shaking his head slowly. “She never spoke about it. Never hinted at it. And now—” His jaw tenses. “Whatever she did to me, I don’t think it was just to save my life. I feel… strange.”
I lean closer. “You scared me,” I whisper. “When you collapsed, when you didn’t wake up… my heart cracked open. I thought I lost you.”
He reaches for me. His arms tremble, but he draws me down, his forehead resting against mine. “I would fight a thousand battles for you, Celeste,” he says hoarsely. “I would burn down kingdoms. I would give up my name. My blood. My life.”
I close my eyes, letting the words sink deep. “Don’t say that. Just… stay with me.”
“I’m here,” he breathes.
He cups my face, his eyes intense as he takes in my features.
And then his lips capture mine. The kiss is soft at first—barely a whisper.
But it deepens, his hand sliding behind my neck, drawing me close as his mouth claims mine with growing hunger.
My fingers twist in his shirt, clutching the warmth of him, the solidness, the truth.
He’s here. He’s alive.
I feel his breath stutter against my lips as he murmurs my name. “Celeste—”
He lets out a small gasp.
There’s a tingling along my skin, and I pull back, alarmed.
Shadows fall across his face. The lantern above the cot flickers.
His eyes flash. Not storm grey. A silvery blue.
And for the briefest moment, his mouth curls. But it’s not a smile; it’s a sneer.
My breath catches. The scar that marked Torbin’s face, my handprint burned upon his skin, appears faintly on Dante’s cheek.
I stare, frozen in place, unable to breathe. The world tilts as I stumble back, my throat thick.
Gods, no!
Something is wrong. Horribly, deeply wrong.
And it’s inside Dante.