35. Raea
Raea
“What are you doing here?” I throw my arms around her stiff body, and she wraps her arms around me like she’s remembering how. For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. My stomach drops.
When I pull back, I see the dark bruising beneath her red-rimmed eyes. The kind you get when sleep stops being possible.
“Hi,” she mutters.
“Are you okay?”
Her lips wobble. She shakes her head, like it costs her something. “My father sent Boyce and me here. Things at home have gotten worse.” She glances around, lowering her voice. “It’s bad, Raea.”
I’m about to ask what bad means in a kingdom that’s already bleeding when Kamden barrels into her like a cannonball, lifting her clean off the ground. She laughs—princess-perfect and polished—but the sound doesn’t reach her eyes.
The rest of our friends swarm her with questions and gossip, grateful for anything that isn’t war, dread, and tomorrow.
Ryker’s arms circle my waist from behind, his chin settling on the top of my head. I melt into him by instinct, breathing him in like oxygen.
“Anders!” Clara runs toward us, her blonde curls bouncing with every step.
Behind her, the ballroom’s music floods out from the open doors, the lights illuminating the hall in a golden glow. When I look at Clara, there’s something off.
As she nears, Ryker scoops her into his arms, her soft pink tulle gown bunching around her. She wraps her arms around his neck and cries.
“What’s wrong, little tidefish?” he murmurs, thumb catching her tears.
With a sob, she says, “I saw…Father.”
My whole body tenses. Ryker and I make eye contact over her shoulder. “I was down at the pools—”
“Clara. You aren’t allowed to go alone.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” She swallows. “But he was there. He said he wanted to show me something.”
The air shifts. Not the way it does when the wind changes—this is different. It’s a prickling pressure against my skin. Like my magic is bracing.
Ryker’s eyes sweep the grounds. Hundreds of guards. Every walkway. Every terrace. Every level.
And still…
“What did he show you, Clara?” Ryker asks softly.
She leans back in his arms, wiping her face with the back of her hands. “Am I in trouble?” Her lip trembles and her big blue eyes water as she looks at him.
Ryker shakes his head, using his thumb to wipe at her tears. “No. Never.”
“I have to show you. He said I had to keep it a secret, but…it’s really big.” She looks between us. “Will you come?”
Ryker sets her down, kneeling in front of her as I continue to glance around. “Show me, okay?”
Clara nods.
Ryker stands, reaching for me.
I take Clara’s other hand in mine.
When our friends glance over, I don’t even have to ask. They fall in behind us.
We take the side path through the orange trees. Down the alabaster steps. Across the bridge. Down again—level after level—until the tidepools spread below the palace like broken mirrors, the cloud cover rolling in thick in the darkening sky.
The farther we go, the quieter it gets.
No music.
No laughter.
Even the ocean feels…muted.
Clara keeps looking around as if expecting her father to step out from behind a rock. But there’s only guards—and us. She leads us right, along the damp sand, toward a cliff that rises hundreds of feet.
At its base—
A cave that shouldn’t be there now glows faintly with candlelight.
Ryker halts so abruptly the rest of us nearly collide with him. “Where did that come from?”
Her lip trembles again. “Father put his hand on the wall then he said I had to touch it too.” Tears fall, splashing on her cheeks. “He cut my hand.” She holds it out for us to see. Sure enough, a thin line is cut into her palm but it’s already healing over.
Ryker kneels. “Why did he cut your hand? Think, Clara. What did he say?”
The hair on my arms stands. A heartbeat later, onyx mist rises from the water, flooding the beach. It pours over the sand, coils around the rocks—cutting off our path back to the palace like a living gate slamming shut.
“What the—,” Tate breathes.
Trysten curses, stepping closer.
Aolyn makes a broken sound—half sob, half gasp. “You have to go,” she cries. “She’s coming.”
Before I can ask who, she steps out of the cave.
It’s the version of me from my dreams. Only she isn’t a dream. She’s solid. Real. Standing on this beach like she owns it.
As a group, we step back. Ryker nods to Trysten, who takes Clara between him and Kellan.
Ryker’s hand brushes mine, and I feel his magic rise—wind sharpening at his edges. My own answers, heat prickling at my fingertips.
Our friends’ heads swivel between us. A stunned, collective inhale.
“How?” I hear myself ask, anger slicing through shock. “You’re real?”
A soft laugh escapes her lips, the sound musical and wrong. “Well, well.” Her gaze drifts over my friends like they’re decorations. “So many people. How special you must feel.”
My magic surges harder. “Who are you?”
She gasps, mockingly clutching her chest. Then that feral grin blooms, slow and pleased. “I’m honestly surprised.” She taps a finger to her chin. “I thought you would’ve figured it out by now.”
Aolyn whimpers. “Raea…run.”
I stare at the woman who looks like me. Black gown, cobweb-thin, almost obscene. Blood-red lips. Nails like blades. Coal-dark liner carving her eyes into something sharp and predatory. Hair darker like ash. She’s taller than me—barely. Enough to feel like an insult.
“I thought I was seeing a future version of me,” I whisper.
She throws her head back and laughs. Ryker shifts closer. Her eyes track him immediately. Then she sobers, like she’s bored.
“Oh, this is no fun.” Her mouth curls. “Though I think my timing is truly spectacular.” She steps forward as I take a step back. “I couldn’t miss my twin sister’s wedding now, could I?”
The word twin doesn't hang in the air—it rewrites everything I know. Every memory of my childhood, every moment I spent feeling like a 'singular' piece of a prophecy, is rewritten in a heartbeat. The world tilts.
Twin.
The prophecy. The balance. Light and dark. Two crowns. One remains.
It crashes through me like a tidal wave—like I’ve been staring at the answer and refusing to see it.
It’s been in front of me the whole time. She is the balance.
My twin sighs, as if I’m inconveniencing her. “Not the reunion I was expecting.” She flicks her fingers. “No matter.”
She takes a step forward, and I take a step back. She frowns, then rolls her eyes. Another presence moves in the mist. My stomach drops before I even see her. A familiar face—one I hate more every time I breathe.
Behind me, our friends gasp in horror. Ryker growls, stepping impossibly closer. Kellan makes a strangled sound—pure horror—and the word rips from him like it hurts. His face goes white. Like every memory he’s ever buried, just clawed its way up his throat.
“Sienna…” he breathes—disbelief first, then shame, then rage. “No!”
Sienna strolls to my sister’s side like she belongs there.
“You?” I spit, the accusation tearing from me.
My twin pinches the bridge of her nose like Sienna is an irritation. “Yes. She was eager.” A cold glance. “Pathetic, but useful.”
I can feel the betrayal thick and heavy around us. Sienna is helping…them.
Sienna grins wickedly at me. “I tried telling you I’d get what I want,” she says in a sing-song voice.
My twin glares at her.
Kellan looks like he’s been punched. Not by Ryker—by reality. His face turns red, and his hands curl, then go slack, like he can’t decide whether to run at her or collapse.
My twin’s eyes slice to Sienna. “Keep your mouth shut. Go watch the dog like I said.”
Sienna’s smile falters. “The king has lost his grip on reality.” She waits for a moment before she huffs, “Yes, Morana.” She vanishes into the mist with a swish of arrogance and spite.
My twin exhales like she’s running out of patience. “You know, Soraea, this goes smoothly if you just listen.”
My whole body trembles. “What will?”
Screams erupt from the palace above. The sound carries down the cliff like the world is tearing open. We all shift, looking for a way out of the hold my twin has around us. There’s no way to get back unless we’re willing to risk the mist.
My twin—Morana—smiles slow and delighted. “I need you to hand over your magic. And I’ll leave you and your friends alone.”
My light presses against my skin, ready.
Her eyes narrow. “Now, now,” she croons. “If you don’t…this ends badly.”
More screams sound from the palace as my heart races. Clara cries as Trysten lifts her into his arms. Morana’s eyes settle on her for a moment before moving back to mine.
Ryker’s wind hammers at the mist, but it replaces itself faster than he can clear it.
Morana watches him with amusement. “How cute.” Her grin widens. “You’ll have to do better than that, Stormborne.”
And then the shadows come.
Not darkness—a thing. Slimy hands against my skin. Whispers in my head. A chorus of hunger.
“Give it to us.”
“Give us the light.”
My friends curse, gag, stumble—fighting their own minds. Ryker groans, jaw clenched, pulling air around us like he’s trying to build a storm wall with bare hands.
I look down. Not at my arms, because I can’t see anything, but within myself. To that innermost part of me where my magic dwells.
The shadows can’t have me. Because even in the dark, I carry my own light.
My back arches and light explodes from me—not burning, not destroying—driving the darkness back like breath filling lungs.
Morana snarls, thrusting her hands forward. Shadows slam against my light like waves against stone, around the dome of light I've created around my friends. If she thought she could scare me into handing over my powers, she’s mistaken.
I am not weak.
I am the fire that burns the hand that dares to reach for me.
Just as she lunges for me, the air quakes with energy. At the edge of my light, a massive vortex twists open, tearing at the world itself.