The Perilous Sea (The Elemental Trilogy #2)

He opened the bag of pastries, handed her an éclair, and took one for himself. “Anything else I need to know about?”


Something nagged at the back of her mind. It took her a few seconds to realize what it concerned. “West, the cricketer. He seems more interested in you than he has reason to be.”

Titus’s brow knitted. “I am not sure I remember what he looks like. I will come and see at your next practice.”

They spent a few minutes in silence, eating. It felt comfortable, almost.

When he was done with his éclair, he looked at her, as if he had come to a decision. “About Lady Wintervale, I actually think it is good news. She knows about you, so if she is not being interrogated by Atlantis, all the better for you. As for West, I do not know enough to fear. But the flying tiles are a different matter altogether.

“They were probably not meant for you—Atlantis wants you whole, not maimed. But anything striking so close to you worries me. Whether the mischief-doer wants to harm Kashkari because he is part of the resistance or because he guards the path to Wintervale, the point is, someone knows something.”

He exhaled. “You should leave. Soon.”

Her heart slowed; perhaps it stopped altogether. “You want me to go?”

“The more I think about the roof tiles, the more it disturbs me. We might all have to go, before too long. Once we part ways, however, I will not be able to help you find your guardian, and I want to—or at least get you close enough.”

Once we part ways.

Something almost choked her—like anger, but not quite. Opposition. She had been resigned to her eventual departure from the school, from his life. But now that he had spoken these very words, that resignation had evaporated like morning mist.

She did not want to go.

She never did.



A quarter of an hour later, Iolanthe was the first person to walk into Wintervale’s room for tea.

Before Wintervale became the One, she and he had rarely spent any time alone—they had always interacted as members of a group. Afterward, she saw no reason for that to change. All the better to keep the buffer of someone else’s, or lots of someone elses’, presence between them. Easier for her to act as if nothing had changed, just another cocky young man who happened to be a bit too big for his britches.

She walked to the fire burning in his grate and held out her hand toward the warmth. “Getting cold.”

“I heard you swatted a flying roof tile today,” said Wintervale from his cot.

Iolanthe shrugged. “Gaining West’s admiration on the pitch. Saving my mate’s life on the way home. Just another day in the extraordinary life of Archer Fairfax.”

The old Wintervale would have guffawed, and then moaned for the rest of the day that he had missed such a terrific sight. But the new Wintervale only smiled—and only a half smile at that.

It occurred to Iolanthe that he looked tired, as tired as the prince sometimes looked, a weariness beyond what could be cleared up by a good long night of sleep.

The stab of guilt was sharp. More than anything else, she had envied him. His power. His destiny. His now unbreakable claim on Titus. When she, of all people, should understand what a terrifying ordeal it must have been. And to lose his mobility on top of it.

And his mother too, or at least he so believed.

“Is it getting to you, not being able to move around?”

He sighed. “So many plans, so many visions of greatness, and I can’t even take a piss by myself.”

“Have you improved at all since you stopped sleeping all the time?”

“Sometimes I think I have. Sometimes I am sure I have. And then, the next time I get up, it’s the same thing all over again.”

“Well, you can’t give up,” she said softly. “Those plans and visions of greatness don’t realize themselves, you know.”

This less robust, more serious Wintervale nodded. “You are right, Fairfax. And that may be exactly what I need to hear right now.”

Sane, so sane. Drained, perhaps, but unquestionably sound and sober. And now, with proof that his mother was nearby, they knew for certain he had never hallucinated, but had actually seen Lady Wintervale, who had probably been on top of a roof on the opposite side of the street, to get a better look into his room.

So why then was the Kno-it-all gauge so correct about his gross motor skills, but so wrong about his mental state?

The junior boys bustled in with platters of fried eggs and grilled sausages. Kashkari entered in their wake, looking calm if a bit grim. And conversation moved on to things that, essentially, mattered to nobody.





CHAPTER 25


The Sahara Desert

THE GIRL WOKE UP TO a star-studded sky and the sound of air rushing over her ears.

She was moving, strapped into the saddle on the back of a large flying steed. Someone held her from behind with one arm.

“A star just fell,” said Titus.