“So what?” She fought against his grip. She was strong, but he was stronger, even without his magic. “So will she.”
“That's not—” A creak overhead stopped him. Someone was at the open door on the next level. He pressed himself against her and she was embarrassingly aware of how close he was. How he smelled like saltwater and firewood. How his scruffy beard scratched her temple, his breath hot on her ear. She felt the churn of his magic in her stomach as he prepared himself, but then the stone door slammed closed as whoever it was disappeared back into Edlyn's corridor, perhaps deciding that the open door had been just another mistake. When would they stop believing in these coincidences?
“Let me go,” Rayne said, but he was already scooping her up and pulling her down the stairs. He stomped toward the same door he had taken her through all those nights ago. She recognized it even in her indignant position. “Put me down!”
He didn't listen. She kicked and yelled and did everything she could to draw attention to herself, but the servants didn't so much as look at her, although they all looked relieved when he reached the door and shoved her outside. He pulled her down the stone steps. The tide was high and when they reached the bottom, the water, which was already close, seemed to reach up and drag her in.
She sputtered and thrashed, trying to regain her feet and failing. The yellow dress was heavy with water and weighed her down, clinging to her like a drowning man. Her head went completely under and the silence was blissful, but then a wave was tossing her back up. She took a deep breath before the next one crashed over her, pushing her, she realized, back to shore.
“If you go in now, you’ll give yourself away!” Tierri yelled as she flailed in the water, finally putting her feet beneath her and swiping at her eyes and her face, blowing saltwater out of her nose. “He doesn’t know yet. If you go in there, you’ll die!”
“I don't care!” she yelled back. Here, in the wild waters, she could be as loud as she wanted. She could rage against these waves and they would hardly notice her.
“I care!”
She was nearly back to shore now. The waves were gentler, pulsing around her knees. The dress clung to her and she blushed, wishing for the pants she had worn in Shade. Wishing she were anywhere but here with this man who left her tongue-tied and breathless. “Why?” she asked.
They both stood at the edge of the surf now, shoulders heaving, breath coming in quick, aching gasps. “Because he would use my magic against you and I wouldn't be able to stand it, but I wouldn't be able to do anything about it. And in the end, it would change nothing. We would just lose two princesses and be left with what? Your father and Danyll? Or maybe a rebel leader who knows nothing about what it takes to repair a broken country?”
“What would you have me do then?” Rayne pushed past him and collapsed on the narrow strip of sand, her elbows on her knees in the least-ladylike position she could summon while she waited for Tierri to answer.
He dropped down beside her. “My grandfather was King Malstrom's brother and the captain of his guard. I've been hunted by the Crowhearts all my life. We fled Orabel just before the Malstrom Massacre; I was just a babe-in-arms. I grew up in hiding, but we were a family. I had a family, do you understand? And then your father…”
A wave washed over their legs. Her yellow skirt rippled and moved as if it were a living creature, brushing against Tierri's legs. Seemingly without thinking, he gathered a bit of the fabric in his fingers and stared at it, but she didn't think he was seeing her or the dress.
“Then your father found us. I was ten. He publicly executed my grandfather and my parents. My sister and I watched with our hands bound behind our backs.” His mouth was set in a grim line. She knew that look. He wasn't holding back tears. He had hardened himself to this story so that it didn't ruin him, just as she had done to so many. She reached down and took his hand, prying his fingers from her dress and wrapping them in hers. He looked up at her, surprised, but then squeezed her hand back in silent gratitude.
“My sister was sent away to the brothels in Dusk or the Far Lands, I don't know, and he kept me like a trophy. I was the last Malstrom wielder. He held me out to the people of Hail as an example of his power, to show how low my family had fallen. He gave me to the Ashsky prince on my fifteenth birthday as a show of trust. I was part of Edlyn’s dowry, like livestock. I've been bound to him ever since. My life and my magic are not my own, will never be my own, unless someone ends this.”
“Who?” Rayne asked. “Who would have the power to do that?”
“I have no reason to trust a Crowheart. I should want you dead for what your family did to mine. But I think you are the best hope for this country.”
She pulled her hand away from his without thinking. “Me? But I can't— I'm not—” It was never meant to be her. But there was a voice inside of her that had been nagging her since her encounter with Seloue. I will fight for you, it said. I will win.
“I don't know what your plan is, but I know you want things to change as much as I do. A Knight doesn't belong on the throne, or an Ashsky. It can be yours, but you have to wake up and realize what a gift it is to have control over your own power. Don’t let someone else tell you how to use it.”
She had never thought she had power. She was nothing but a spare heir, third in line, there to do what people told her, to serve, not be served. And now, here was a boy with a rightful claim to the throne, telling her to take it for herself. Telling her she had the power to do it without anyone's help. The idea that had sparked to life inside of her the night before suddenly ignited, burning hot inside of her.
“I went along with the poisoning because they would never be able to trace it back to you. But this?” He waved a hand at the castle behind them. “Walking in there and stabbing her with a carving knife? There would be no coming back from that if you even made it past Danyll.”
She shook her head. “But how? I don't even know where to begin.”
“Small steps,” he said, standing and offering her a hand. She took it and he pulled her easily to her feet. “Remember what it's like to be in control. Stop acting like a rebel and start acting like a queen.”
He was right. She had never seen herself beyond what purpose she served for Wido. Yes, she owed him her life, but did she owe him her crown? He had said it himself—she had been a tool for him to use, and a tool for him to throw away. But wasn't she more than that? Tierri was looking down at her, standing too close, holding her steady. The waves were retreating, the tide falling, sweeping away with it her rage and indignation and leaving instead a steady resolve and an idea that she had never before dared to entertain.
She could fight, and she could win.
And she could free them all.