"It really wasn't my fault," Ryne said.
They stood on the dock, surveying the burning wreck. Flames licked the at the ship, devouring the wood with hungry tongues. The orange light flickered in the water. It would have been beautiful, Anna thought, if it wasn't so gods-damn inconvenient.
She crossed her arms. "You should have checked the cargo hold."
"I did," Ryne said.
"And you didn't see the dragon?" Anna asked.
Ryne shrugged. "In my defence, it was a very small dragon."
"Gods above," Anna muttered.
She stepped aside as more healers charged past them, carrying buckets of sea water. Several crew members were wrapped in blankets, and Slaine knelt on the dock in front of them, running a gentle hand over their burns. Althea was giving them cups of steaming tea. Ryne shielded his eyes.
"The captain," Ryne said, "thinks it hatched on the ship. Might have even been a dragon egg when we left."
Anna rubbed at her neck. "What are we going to do?"
Ghostly flames flickered in his eyes. "A healer's taking the dragon to Monmou. It's an island with plenty of goats. There's a former dragon trainer that's very eager to look after the hatchling, apparently. He's Gongonian. Comes with excellent credentials."
"Not with the dragon," Anna said. "With the ship."
"Oh. Right."
They lapsed into silence. The sun was setting, melting into the waves like a cube of butter. Gentle footsteps pattered toward them. Althea appeared, her dark braid coming loose in the evening breeze.
The other girl whistled. "That's a doozy."
Slaine materialized beside his sister. "There are some things that cannot be healed. You must surrender them to nature."
"Yes," Anna said wryly. "Thank-you, Slaine."
Althea stuck out a hand. "I'm Althea. This is my brother, Slaine."
To her surprise, Ryne took it. "I'm—"
"Ryne Delafort," Althea cut in. "I know. Our parents hate you."
"Thea!" Slaine said.
"What?" Althea shrugged. "They do." She dropped Ryne's hand, looking entirely unconcerned by his reaction. "Most people on this island hate you, actually, for slaughtering the Cidarius family. I'm surprised you two are friends."
"We're not," Anna said.
Ryne looked out at the burning wreck. Althea nudged Slaine in a way that felt like a loaded glance. And Anna watched as a hunk of burning mast tumbled into the water and wished that this wasn't her life.
"How soon can the ship be repaired?" Anna asked.
Slaine shook his head. "Better to procure a new one."
"And how long will that take?"
He rubbed absently at a ruby ring. "Oh, not long."
"A week?" Anna guessed.
"A month."
Something clenched in her stomach. "A month?"
Slaine twisted the ring. "The ship will have to be built from scratch, you see. Few people leave Zarob. We have little use for ships here." He dropped his hand. "We travel almost entirely by foot or balloon."
Anna shielded her eyes, looking up at the dots peppering the sky like hot sparks. Surely the balloons couldn't be that hard to fly. "How far can a balloon travel?"
"Not far enough," Slaine said.
She watched as a balloon nearly careened into a stone tower. Scratch that. Bloody difficult to fly one of those, apparently. "There must be other ships leaving. Traders, or people carrying goods. Someone that can give us a lift back to the Gongo Islands."
"I'm afraid not," Slaine said. "We're entering monsoon season. All the commercial ships departed last week."
"Okay," Anna said. "Let me think."
She dropped her hand, staring out at the burning waves. The sound of lapping waves and a brass bell drifted over the sea. The ship was sinking into the sandy banks below. Would it become a home for fish? A wreck for young swimmers to explore? She ought to offer to help remove it, Anna thought tiredly; it would be a hazard for incoming ships.
"How about some dinner?" Althea asked.
Anna blinked. "Now?"
"Why not?" The other girl shrugged. "I'm starving. Do you hear those bells? The evening meal is just beginning."
Ryne raised an eyebrow. "I thought I wasn't allowed in the citadel."
"You're not," Althea said. "But I've always been a fan of breaking the rules."
Anna rubbed her temples. "I don't know."
"Stay here for the night," Slaine said. "Rest." He went to place a hand on her shoulder, apparently thought better of it, and stuck it in his pocket instead. "There's nothing more you can do now."
Anna bit her lip.
It could be a trap, Anna thought; someone could have easily planted the dragon egg on their ship. Blown up their ship on purpose. But why? To cut off their exit route and keep them on the island? To punish them? That was the question.
She sized up Slaine. His twin sister Althea.
She could take them. Even in her weakened state, she was confident of that. And, Anna thought, she had the benefit of being immune to most poisons after years of mithridatism, so dinner wasn't an issue.
So.
What was there to lose, really?
Anna looked away from the burning ship. "It's not turtle soup?"
"It's not," Althea said.
"Or duck fetus?" Anna asked. "I do hate duck fetus."
Althea's face was the picture of abject horror. "What in Parthas's name do you eat in Wynterlynn?"
"You'd be surprised," Ryne said mildly. "I had goat eyeballs, once. Surprisingly delicious, except for the texture. Hard to get past the chewiness."
"Okay," Anna said, sticking out an arm. "No more talk of eyeballs. Let's go."
***
Dinner passed in a blur of fragrant curry, savoury sauces, and jasmine rice. Fiddlers walked up and down the tables. A man made a crown out of fish bones to uproarious laughter. Anna nibbled on a piece of soft flatbread, wistfully eyeing the mango-and-coconut ices that had been brought out for dessert. Her appetite still hadn't fully returned after the tower. She was beginning to worry that it never would.
Most people ignored them.
A few gave tentative smiles.
Several healers shot Ryne dirty looks. Her mother had visited Zarob a dozen times over the years, Anna knew; she used to climb the summer cliffs and doodle in her notebook. How many of these healers had known her? How many of these people had laughed and danced and drank honeyed wine with Princess Lotta? How many had mourned her death?
A lump rose in her throat.
After dinner, Slaine showed them to their bedrooms. Anna changed into a nightgown that Althea had left her — a silky green thing with thin straps — and then collapsed into bed, staring up at the ceiling. Her mind whirled with ship repairs and ancient curses and malevolent goddesses.
At some point, her eyes fluttered closed.
And that's when the nightmares began.
Eris. The tower. Burning. And pain, always so much pain; it tore at her back with vicious teeth. She could hear Tristan's broken pleading, hear the laughter of the guards. And those same words swam in front of her hazy vision: Vox es nuqum.
I am nothing.
The brand pressed in deeper. Anna screamed, reaching for her knife. Where was her knife? She slashed out, trying to stop the pain, stop the burning—
"Cidarius! Cidarius."
She bolted upright. Her body was trembling, her sheets soaked in sweat. Specks of silver shone in the moonlight. She must have cut her hand somehow, Anna realized; she was bleeding all over the bedsheets.
"Was it the tower?" Ryne asked.
He sounded calm. Ryne was sitting on the edge of her bed, dressed in a pair of loose cotton trousers. No shirt. Moonlight curled around the hard planes of his chest. He really had put on muscle, she thought; it made him look older than eighteen, somehow. More like a young man than a boy.
Ryne handed her a glass of water. Anna took a long sip.
"Did anyone else hear me scream?" Her voice came out hoarse.
Ryne shook his head. "Everyone's in midnight prayer."
She squinted in the darkness. "Did I knock something over?"
"I'll get it," Ryne said.
He knelt beside her bed, and then held something silver out to her. Her knife, Anna realized; she could see the motto engraved on the side. Only in darkness can we see the stars. She took the weapon, wiping it on the bedsheets.
"Thanks," she said.
She waited for it to feel strange. Strange that Ryne Delafort was voluntarily handing her a knife. Strange that he trusted her with it. But it just felt like Ryne, kneeling by her bed, his hands steady and sure. Perhaps that was the strangest feeling of all.
Anna looked down at the knife. Her blood was crusting on the blade, turning a dull silver. "The ship. Do you think—?"
"Someone blew it up on purpose?" Ryne asked. "I don't know."
"There's only two of us."
He sat on the bed. "We're good fighters."
"Not me," Anna said, because it was true. "Not in this state." Her smile was grim. "And they know that."
Ryne frowned. She could see him turning over the possibilities in his mind, analyzing it like a chess board. "I don't see why they'd want us. Unless..."
"They're working for Lucia," Anna finished.
"Exactly."
They surveyed each other. Something crackled between them, a sort of intangible understanding. A song of blood called to her, Anna thought, just as it called to him. They were the only people that could hear the sweet violence of it, the clash of iron and stone. Or maybe just the only people that obeyed it.
That drew closer to hear more.
Anna looked away. "I can't live like this anymore. Every night that I go to sleep, I worry that people will hear me scream. I've seen people look at me a million ways before. With fear. With anger. With dread. But the one thing they've never looked at me with — the one thing I can't stand — is pity."
Her heart was pounding. Ryne stood, and a knot formed in her chest. She'd said too much. She should have kept her mouth shut. Showing vulnerability, Anna thought, was a weakness; how could she have forgotten that? Ryne opened a window, and his dark hair fluttered in the night breeze.
"I can train you," Ryne said finally.
Anna blinked. "What?"
He turned. "Your nightmares are about the tower, right?"
She held his gaze. "You know what they're about."
Eris. Always Eris. He would laugh or sneer or slash at her skin. But the worst of all, Anna thought, were the nightmares where he worked dream magic on her. When Eris could crack open her mind and make her do whatever he wanted. Kiss him. Kill someone. Get on her knees and beg like a dog.
She was totally helpless to resist.
Ryne's green eyes were polished coins. "I can work dream magic on you. You can learn to fight it off. Nobody will be able to do that to you again."
Anna picked up her water. "Sophie's trained me to resist magic before."
"Did it work?" Ryne asked.
Anna paused, the glass raised halfway to her lips. If it was anyone else, she thought, she would have torn off their head for that question. The subtle jibe. The cheek. But Ryne provoked for a purpose, not for sport, and so she considered this.
"No," she said. "I suppose it didn't."
Ryne nodded. "You can fend my cousin off. You just need practice."
Anna took a sip of water. "You know what they call you, don't you? The Master of Hearts. I never put much stock in the title until you made me fall in love with one of your guards. It was impossible to fight you off. You're powerful." She set her water glass down. "More powerful than I expected."
Shadows flickered in his eyes. "I had to do it."
"I disagree," Anna said. "But I can see why you did."
Ryne turned away. "Maybe this isn't a good idea."
He braced himself against the window ledge. Green veins jumped in his arms, and his shoulders were stiff. Something in Anna's chest tightened. She was used to seeing Ryne look different ways — bored, furious, lazily amused — but never this. Never unsure of himself. It didn't suit him, she thought.
"Okay," Anna said.
Ryne looked at her. "What?"
"Okay," Anna repeated. "I want you to train me."
Ryne leaned against the windowsill. "If I use my magic..." He crossed his arms. They looked like thick ropes these days, Anna thought, the sort that sailors used down at the docks. "There's a chance that it will drain you. I'm not sure how the curse works."
"Does it matter?" Anna asked. "I'm dying anyway."
His mouth tightened. "Good point."
"We'll begin tomorrow," Anna said. "Meet me in my room after dinner. And Delafort?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"
"This doesn't mean that we're friends."
Something dark flickered across Ryne's face. "No, I'm in full agreement. We could never be friends, you and I."
"No," Anna said. "Never."
Her chest tightened. Anna looked down at the knife again, the way it shone like polished bone in the darkness. Her family. Her life. Her legacy. Her parents had died to protect their kingdom; now she had to protect it for as long as she could.
No matter the cost.