“Have you heard a word my mother said?” Pilar said, startling her.
“Of course,” Mia said, though they both knew she was lying.
The journey back to the castle was faster by sea than by land. High above them she could see a smudge of blue swyn needles, the mountains slumping into hills before they sank into the river.
As their two boats cut swiftly up the coast, day blurred into night, then day, then night as they sailed into the Opalen Sea.
Mia’s father had spoken fondly of the Opalen Sea, but she had never seen it. Now she hardly registered the water’s opalescent glister, the silver starlight spilling onto the waves. She’d read that the ocean derived its distinctive color from animalcules banded together just beneath the surface, creating an otherworldly sheen. She didn’t care. All she could think was: Angie. Angie. Angie.
“Won’t there be an army waiting?” Mia murmured. “Whoever sent the swan is no doubt expecting us.”
“If you had been listening,” Pilar said, “you would know the enthrall makes us much more powerful than they are. If we can control the hearts of men, we control the men. Ronan could send a legion of ten thousand and they’d be no match for us.”
Pilar seemed a trifle overconfident, Mia thought. If that were true, she highly doubted the Dujia would have spent so many centuries oppressed.
She gazed out at the other boat, where Quin and Dom were talking quietly. Every so often, a laugh rolled across the waves. She was jealous of their ease with one another, the innate trust. With Domeniq, Quin would never have to wonder if he were being enthralled. He could trust his own wants. His own desire.
They rowed for hours, fighting the waves slurping and sucking at their oars, stopping only briefly to eat the food they had packed. Mia’s lips were chapped, burned by salt and sun. After two days of rowing, the cliff tapered off and the Opalen Sea spat them sharply into the mouth of the Natha. From there the path to Kaer Killian was swift: a clean, black line.
Mia’s shoulders ached; the blisters on her fingers stung. Overhead, the moon broke into a thousand silver knives and danced upon the river. In the dark, the water simmered with the threat of violence, or the promise.
Mia recognized them first: the tall trees of Ilwysion. She inhaled the scent of pine. After three days of rowing, they had arrived.
“Quietly,” Zaga instructed as they dragged the boats onto the riverbank, their feet sinking into the spongy black sand. They were a short distance outside Kaer Killian, far enough that the forest was deserted, close enough to see a dusky orange haze where the brothel torches burned bright.
Pilar helped her mother out of the boat. Considering how stiff Mia’s limbs were, she could only imagine how Zaga had weathered the waves. She had required surprisingly little care on the boat; if the rocky trip had aggravated her injuries, she didn’t show it.
Now Zaga leaned on her knotted white cane. “We will make camp here, sleep a few hours to recover our strength. Our magic is of no use if we are too weak to wield it. Then, when the night is at its darkest, we will descend into the quarry and follow the tunnels into the castle’s underbelly.”
Mia resented Zaga for taking control of what was meant to be a rescue operation. She wanted to go to the castle and find Angelyne immediately. But she knew she needed sleep. Zaga had indeed given her magic lessons on the boat, guiding her in a series of rudimentary exercises that had left her feeling exhausted.
They made camp. Zaga rested on a mossy rock while Mia busied herself building a fire. Pilar disappeared into the woods to hunt for supper, and Quin and Domeniq strung up a crude tarp for shelter. She hated how they were tiptoeing around her, speaking in hushed voices. She would rather they screamed.
Mia was jittery, nervous. Every twig crack or leaf crunch made her whirl around, half expecting to see Tristan or the king’s guards come stumbling through the trees. If she’d done the math right—and she rarely did math wrong—the duke would be closing in on the castle right as they did.
She blew on the smoking branches until they sizzled pink. She heard a sound and pivoted, but it was only Pilar, marching proudly into camp with a wild boar slung over her shoulder. Whether she’d killed it with magic or arrow, Mia didn’t ask. They roasted the meat over the fire, shredding tender hunks off the bone.
They spoke in hushed tones until Quin asked pointedly, “What am I doing here?” and the others fell silent. His eyes flicked from Zaga to Pilar to Mia. “It’s clear you three are perfectly capable of laying siege to the castle yourselves.”
Mia expected Zaga to answer his question with a question. But for once she spoke plainly.
“You will stay with Dom in the woods outside the Kaer. If we encounter any trouble, I am sure the king will be happy to know his son is just beyond the castle walls, whole and undamaged.”
Mia’s stomach slid over an inch. She heard the unspoken threat behind Zaga’s words: whole and undamaged, for now.
Quin was collateral.
My blackmail groom.
She looked at Dom, who was feverishly rubbing his head. He didn’t like it, either. Pilar wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“Take what sleep you can.” Zaga reached for her cane. “I will wake you when it is time.”
She limped to a tall oak tree and sat on the mossy earth, back against the wide trunk, and shut her eyes.
Mia could feel Quin’s fear, a veil of cold prickling her skin. She also felt his sadness, a bone-thick weariness in her hands and feet. Once again she wasn’t sure how much his feelings were tangled up in her own; she, too, felt frightened. She, too, felt sad. Hadn’t they hurt Quin enough? In the Royal Chapel, he’d nearly died, all because he’d been standing a little too close to her. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong wife.
How many people would die because of her?
Quin left the campfire. They were all being overly careful with one another as they silently buried the bones of their meal. Mia fluffed spruce needles into a makeshift pallet and nested the journal in the middle like a soft leather egg. Then she sculpted a protective mound of leaves and pinecones. She curled her body around it, but she was too anxious to sleep. She thought of waiting until the others drifted off and stealing into the castle by herself—she could spirit away Angie and take her somewhere safe.
But where would that be? Refúj was no longer a haven. Nowhere was safe.
She heard someone plop down a few feet away. The prince.
To her shame, she pretended to be asleep. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him lying stiffly on the cold ground, nowhere near the tarp he and Dom had erected, fists clenched tightly as he stared up at the sky. His curls seemed to breathe in the gentle wind, his face kissed by moonlight. In another world, she thought, in another life, I could love him.
Then his terror was a tent spike in her skull. If something went wrong tomorrow, would Zaga kill him?
Mia should have never brought him to Refúj. Dancing and drinking at the Blue Phoenix seemed a world away, the harmless diversions of children. Zaga was no child. She wouldn’t hesitate to hurt Quin to protect her own.
Perhaps all mothers were that way.
“Mia?” Quin’s voice was soft. “Are you awake?”
She said nothing. She hated herself for her silence. Did she really have so little left to give?
I’m keeping him safe, she told herself. She would keep Quin at a distance to protect him. Love was not something that could exist between them. Not now, not ever.
A cloud passed overhead. The sky crackled midnight blue, pocked with stars. The air was too heavy to breathe. Mia was worn out, thin as paper, rubbed raw from trying.
No matter what she did tomorrow, someone would get hurt.
Chapter 52
The People You Love
MIA WOKE TO A rustling, then a hush. A twig snapped under a boot.