Quin took her by the hand. “Come on.”
At the landing pad, an eerie hush descended on the crowd. The balloon bobbed gently, not yet secured, and the dark-skinned woman in the brilliant purple scarf—the one who seemed to be in charge—stood very still by the edge of the bronze bucket.
“They have found us,” she said.
Mia stood beside Quin, dazed, as the woman pointed a long, accusing finger.
“Because of you.”
Mia’s heart constricted. Had the Hunters tracked her to the island, exposing the Dujia? How many angels would she unwittingly kill?
The woman in purple beckoned her closer. Mia loosed her stiff fingers from Quin’s and moved slowly, as if walking to her doom.
There were no humans in the balloon. But when she peered into the bucket, her stomach sank. She wished she could erase what she’d seen.
A bird floated in a bath of blood. A slender, elegant white swan, its throat slit. As Mia stared at its mangled feathers, all she could think of was her sister. Angie, my little swan.
Written in blood on the inside of the bucket was a glistening red message.
Mia,
Come Home.
Part Four
Blood
Chapter 51
The Threat of Violence, or the Promise
THE DUJIA BOATS WERE sturdy, albeit small. The fleet was banked in a spacious cove an easy swim from the waterfall. “Fleet” was generous: there were only a dozen, each fitted with two oars and carved from a tough, fibrous wood varnished black. Unlike the Sunbeam’s walnut shape, the boats were long, pointed at one end and bulbous on the other. Like tears, Mia thought. Or drops of blood.
The arrival of the swan in Refúj had sent everyone into a panic. Their refuge, their safe haven, their sanctuary against the rest of the world—gone. Never before had the balloon arrived with a dead animal and a warning. Little girls cried while their mothers tried to calm them, but the women were just as frightened. They had been exposed.
Mia, come home.
The message was crystalline: if she ever wanted to see Angelyne alive again, she would return to Kaer Killian.
There had been no discussion. From the moment she saw the swan with its severed throat, she knew she would go back.
What she hadn’t accounted for—and had fiercely protested—was that Zaga would insist on going with her. Zaga promised her Dujia sisters she would assess the threat herself. If only a few people knew, she would take care of them; if the Glasddirans were launching a full-scale attack, they would prepare to fight.
She instructed Dom and Pilar to accompany her, and to everyone’s surprise, Quin. He had never met Zaga, and Mia knew from the icy gusts peeling off him he was afraid. Zaga cut a formidable figure, and when she ordered the prince to join them, he didn’t argue.
They took only two boats, Quin and Domeniq rowing one; Pilar and Mia helmed the other, with Zaga hunched in the stern, her back deeply bowed. Two lone teardrops hugging Glas Ddir’s eastern coast: one tear for the boys, and one for the Dujia.
I killed my mother.
Every few seconds the horror ripped through her anew. Mia’s mother was dead because of her. Her sister would soon follow . . . if she wasn’t dead already.
The boat rolled and listed on the waves. Mia’s seasickness blended seamlessly into her guilt, muddying her grief. She tried to distract herself by postulating who had sent the bird. Was it Tristan? It seemed unlikely he had made it all the way back to the Kaer—they’d left him in the woods less than two days ago. King Ronan? Slitting a bird’s throat seemed like just the sort of thing the king would do.
Or was it the Circle? The Hunters had spent enough time around the Roses’ cottage to hear Wynna call Angelyne her little swan. Did Angie have unbloomed magic, too? The thought sent fear shrieking through Mia’s heart. If the other Hunters had discovered the truth about Mia and her mother being Gwyrach, they would kill Angie in a heartbeat, eliminating any risk. And if they’d already killed her father for treason, he wouldn’t be able to protect her.
“Do you wish to learn more about your magic?” Zaga asked from the stern, her voice smoky.
“No,” Mia said. Then after a moment, “Yes.”
All those senseless hours, poring over anatomy books, thinking she could have saved her mother if she’d only understood the way arterial blood circulated through the heart. She had been such a child. Mia’s magic had killed her mother, but if she had known about it—if she’d been able to harness and control it—she could have saved her mother’s life.
She thought she saw a flicker of softness behind Zaga’s hard eyes.
“Did you know I was the one who taught your mother the art of the enthrall?”
She did know, from her mother’s journal.
“I already know how to enthrall.”
Pilar jumped in. “You know a simplified version. My mother can enthrall ten men at once.”
Zaga nodded. “It is possible to enchant a roomful of men with desire.”
A seed of dread settled in Mia’s stomach. “Without touching anyone?”
“Yes. It requires great focus, but it can be done.”
The ocean slapped against the boat in white-capped waves. Every time Mia closed her eyes, she saw Angie floating in a bath of blood. She gripped the oar more tightly. If she had failed to keep her mother safe, now was her opportunity to make it up to her by saving her sister. Mia had never meant to wield her anger like a blade, but perhaps now she would learn how to—a lesson learned three years too late.
“Why does nobody talk about the Three Laws?” she asked.
Zaga shifted. “There is nothing to discuss. The Laws have been passed down from one generation of Dujia to the next, simplified and codified over hundreds of years. The First Law: we do not use magic to hurt our fellow sisters. The Second Law: we do not use magic to hurt ourselves. The Third Law: we do not use magic to hurt those without magic—unless we have just cause to do so.”
“And what qualifies as ‘just cause’?”
A smile warped the edges of Zaga’s lips. It was the first time Mia had seen her smile, and she was rusty, as if her mouth had forgotten the shape. “The Laws have always been somewhat open to interpretation.”
If that’s true, Mia thought, then what’s the good of having laws?
“My mother said you were toying with a darker magic. Something about breaking the Second Law.”
Mia watched the softness evaporate from Zaga’s face. “There are certain things I do not care to remember.” She snapped herself shut like a box. “Do you wish to learn the craft of enthrallment or no?”
As Zaga droned on, Mia tried to focus, but her mind roamed back to her father. To enthrall someone is to enslave them, little rose. You’ve stripped them of consent, robbed them of their choice. And without choice, what are we?
Had he known his wife had been enthralling him for years?
A tiny flame of hope glimmered. Her father had not wanted to marry her to the prince. If Griffin had in fact been disloyal to the crown, did it mean he’d found out about her mother . . . and tried to help her?
The flame grew bolder. Mia’s father had given her the journal. Down in the crypt, he’d quizzed her on the fojuen stone, said it was the most important test she’d ever take. He might as well have handed her a custom-made map to Fojo. In a way, he had. She felt for the journal, tucked safely into the jacket Pilar had loaned her.
Her father knew. He must have known.
Your mother loved you more than anything. A love like that has power. You, too, bear this love.
What if he was using the word love in place of magic?
And if he knew she had magic, did he know she’d killed her own mother?
Mia could still feel his hand on her back as he escorted her to the Royal Chapel. Firm and solid, more book than hand. It was almost certainly her father who had slipped the journal into her wedding train as he walked her to the altar. Had he wanted her to run away, after pretending that he didn’t? And why would he knowingly subject Angelyne to a royal wedding and the same cruel fate?