“Good or not, it’s the choice I’m making.”
“Where’s the logical girl I met in the woods? The one who needs a theory for everything? I’ve never known you to be so . . . instinctual.”
“You’ve never really known me at all.”
He stepped in front of her, blocking the path. “Can we at least talk about this? You’re not just putting your own life in jeopardy . . .”
“Move.”
“. . . you’re risking mine.”
She felt the icy blade of his fear, but she shoved it aside. He wasn’t going to ruin this for her. She had not worked this hard and come this far to have the prince stand in her way.
“I said, move.”
She pushed him aside and walked on.
The lake was a pebble in the pocket of a volqano, the water as still and silent as a blue plate. As Mia approached the shoreline, her skin tingled, a fibrous heat pulsing through her. Her theory was that it had something to do with the red island. The fojuen stone was spiking heat and sensation in her blood, summoning her forward in a silent incantation.
“Can I see what’s in your pocket?” Quin called out from behind her. When she didn’t move, he added, “I know you saved the arrowhead you pulled out of my chest.”
She kept underestimating the prince; he was shrewder than she gave him credit for. Grudgingly she extracted the sliver and handed it over.
“Interesting.” He held the stone high, framing it against the volqanoes in the distance. Then he bent and scooped up a handful of red sand, letting it sieve through his fingers. “Considering I’ve never seen this volqanic rock in Glas Ddir, it would appear my would-be assassin is also from Fojo. The safe haven you promised might not actually be all that safe.”
“There are hundreds of islands in the Salted Sea,” Mia shot back. “The chances that your assassin is from this island are exceedingly slim.”
“So were the chances that I’d survive an arrow in the chest. Or that we’d survive the jump from the waterfall. Or that I’ve been in Refúj for hours and no one’s tried to kill me yet.” He tapped the arrowhead against his palm. “You and I seem to do well with exceedingly slim.”
Quin ran a hand through his tousled golden curls. “I understand those are your friends back there, and they seem like lovely people. But how well do you know them? Did you know they had magic?”
He had a point.
“She said kings are just men with paper crowns,” he went on. “And in a funny way, I think she’s right. Maybe she’s right about the Dujia part, too.”
Mia folded her arms over her chest, amused. “You don’t believe in gods, but now you believe in goddesses?”
“All I’m saying is that I don’t blame them for mistrusting my family. My father treats magicians as less than human. But I’m not my father. I told you as long as we were headed in the opposite direction of my assassin, I wouldn’t complain. But if we are in fact moving toward my assassin . . .” He sighed. “I know you want to find who killed your mother. If my mother died, I’d want the same. But if I’m about to walk the plank, I’d at least like to know if you’re with me or against me.”
“With you,” she said instinctively. She meant it.
“Well, look at that,” said a sharp voice behind them. “If it isn’t the royals.”
Mia whirled around to see a girl with her arms folded tightly across her chest. Her face was bold, her jaw angular, and though she was short, her body was compact and ready to spring. She looked oddly familiar. She was about Mia’s age, maybe a year or two older, and there was something similar about their faces, though this girl had darker skin, a tawny amber Mia had rarely seen in Glas Ddir. She wore her jet-black hair cut sharply at the chin, and her eyes were brown instead of gray—thinner than Mia’s, but just as thirsty.
Mia noticed something else, too: the quiver of arrows strapped to her back.
“Dom!” the girl called over her shoulder. “Your friend is here.”
Domeniq du Zol heaved a small fishing boat onto the shore. He jogged up to them, brushed the sand off his trousers, and flashed his crooked smile.
“Mia! You made it!” He wrapped her up in a bear hug, much like his mother. When he finally let her go, he held her at arm’s length. “Took you long enough. I would have expected a little better showing from my sparring partner.”
Dom always knew how to push Mia’s buttons; he’d been there all of five seconds and already her competitive spirit was flaring.
“How long have you been here?” she said.
“Days! I gave you the boat—you’re welcome—but I couldn’t row it for you.” He tipped his head toward the prince and grinned. “Your Grace.”
The girl was eyeing them. “Mia Rose, the girl who hunts Dujia. The girl who is a Dujia.” Casually she pulled an arrow out of her quiver and used the tip of the arrowhead to clean the dirt from under her fingernails. “Seems like a conflict of interest to me.”
Dom groaned. “You are awful at meeting new people.” He turned to Quin and Mia. “This is Pilar. She doesn’t do well with failure, which is why she’s not keen on seeing the two of you.”
“I prefer to air my own foul laundry, thanks,” Pilar snapped.
Mia stared at the arrow in the girl’s hand. The arrowhead was bright red. Fojuen. Her stomach squeezed to the size of a chokecherry. Quin followed her eyes.
“It was you,” he said slowly. “You shot me at the wedding.”
Pilar didn’t answer. She kicked at a rock and sent it splashing into the lake. Mia felt a cacophony of feelings and temperatures, visceral sensations so powerful she took a step back.
“That arrow was never meant for you, all right?” Pilar turned to Mia. “I was aiming for you.”
Chapter 37
Shimmering and Sliced
MIA BLINKED IN ASTONISHMENT.
“Why in four hells would you want to kill me?”
Pilar slipped the arrow back into its quiver with an exaggerated sigh. “Do you really have to ask, Rose?”
“I’m asking, aren’t I?”
“We couldn’t let you marry the prince. You hated magicians. You wanted to purge dirty, dirty magic from the kingdom at all costs.”
Pilar stooped down to pick up a smooth pebble and sent it skittering across the surface of the lake. It cut an elegant line of cones.
“You were going to be queen someday. We had it on good authority that you, Griffin Rose’s daughter, would empower the Circle of the Hunt to expand their campaign of hate. Thanks to your sorry excuse for a king, the Dujia still in Glas Ddir are constantly in danger. The last thing we need is a vengeful queen sitting on the river throne.”
Mia turned to Dom. “Did you know about this?”
“I told them not to do it. I didn’t think you deserved to die.”
“Just like Tuk and Lyman didn’t deserve to die?”
Her words hit their mark; Dom grew quiet. He lowered his eyes.
“They weren’t bad men,” he said. “They weren’t good men, but they weren’t bad.”
“And yet you killed them.”
“They knew who you were! I was trying to protect you.”
“After your little friend here had already tried to kill me?” Mia fought to keep her voice calm. For years Dom had been playing both sides, pretending to be a Hunter while his true loyalty was to the Dujia. “I’ve known you my entire life!”
“Let’s go back a moment,” Quin said, “to where you”—he pointed at Pilar—“were trying to shoot her”—then at Mia—“and shot me instead.”
Pilar groaned. “Not my fault! You did a funny little dance move and twirled her around. You got in the way. I wouldn’t have missed otherwise. I’m a very good shot.”
“Clearly you are not!” Quin pointed furiously at the scar above his heart. “I nearly died. Twice.”
“Well then. Aren’t you lucky wifey had magic?”
Dom looked at Mia, then Pilar, then Quin. He ran a hand over the back of his head, rubbing his close-cropped hair.
“This is tense.”