Anna stared at the water below.
The warm sea was a bright turquoise, so clear that she could see the sandy bottom. A ship mast pierced the surface. She shivered, wrapping her towel more tightly around her shoulders; a gentle breeze ruffled her damp hair. The sun was peeking over the horizon, slathering the water in liquid gold.
Footsteps approached.
She turned. Slaine settled beside her, his long legs dangling over the edge. He was dressed informally today — white linen trousers and a black button-up shirt — and he was munching on a piece of buttered toast. His feet were bare.
"You're up early," Slaine said.
Anna shrugged. "Couldn't sleep."
"Are you going for a swim?" he asked.
She shook her head. "I did some cliff-jumping."
Slaine took a bite of toast. "Where's the boat?"
Anna pointed, immediately felt like an idiot, and lowered her hand. Oh. Right. "About fifty meters to our left."
Slaine's brow furrowed, as if he was trying to visualize it. Calculating angles and distance and trajectory. "Cutting it close, don't you think?"
Anna smiled. "What's the worst that could happen?"
She leaned back on her palms, watching as a group of shirtless young men pushed a long brown boat out. How different, Anna thought, to grow up in a place like this; time didn't seem to exist in Zarob. The islands belonged to a different world entirely.
"How's the pain today?" Slaine asked.
"Better," Anna said.
Slaine placed a warm hand on her wrist; the buttery toast made his fingers slick. He inhaled sharply. "Liar." He retracted his hand. "Come to the tower this morning. We'll start working on managing the pain."
Silence fell. Anna tipped her head back, feeling the warm sun on her cheeks. Somewhere, a brass bell chimed. Sailors shouted to each other in Zarobian, their rumbling voices rising over the hush-hush of the sea.
Anna opened her eyes. "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course," Slaine said.
"Why are you helping me?"
Slaine considered this. "I don't know. I suppose I've never been to imagine another choice." His throat bobbed. "I have this... impulse to fix people."
"Must be nice," Anna said. "Sometimes I think I was born with violence in my heart."
Slaine rubbed the back of his neck. "You were a child of violence. You were born with vengeance in your heart."
Anna leaned back on her elbows, staring up at the bluebird sky. Not a single white cloud. It was beautiful, Anna thought, but so much sameness. The changelessness of it would have driven her mad. She climbed to her feet, scooping up her towel, knife, and half-eaten piece of star fruit.
"I can't do this morning," Anna said. "Can we say the afternoon?"
Slaine nodded. "Big plans?"
Anna's smile was wry. "Something like that."
***
Anna found him in a supply closet.
Not, she thought, that it was really a supply closet; it was a small room beside the chapel, crammed with orange-scented incense sticks and brass bells and leather-bound prayer books. A rose window let in buttery light, illuminating the dust motes that swirled above Ryne's head. He rolled up his white sleeves, his gold signet ring flashing.
"Let me guess," Ryne said dryly. "Jumping off cliffs?"
She sat at a wooden table. "Just the one cliff."
"How was the boat looking?"
"Oh, very glamorous." Anna towelled off her hair. "The underwater facial really suits her."
She wore a thin blue sundress; the straps of her damp black swimming costume dug into her shoulders. Pain throbbed in her chest. It was a long climb from the cliffs, Anna thought, made even longer when your lungs were the size and consistency of a dried-out raisin. Every part of her body ached.
Ryne nodded at the table. "Drink that."
Anna picked up a phial. The liquid was the bright orange of an egg yolk. A sulphurous smell rose from the beaker, which made Anna mildly concerned that it was an egg yolk. She sniffed at it suspiciously.
"What is it?"
"Just do it," Ryne said. "Trust me, Cidarius."
She raised an eyebrow. Still, Anna thought, if Ryne wanted to kill her, there were more creative ways to do it. "Death-by-egg-mixture" struck her as tragically underwhelming. She downed the contents. A cool tingling sensation spread through her chest, dousing the fire.
Ryne crossed his arms. "Althea gave it to me. She seems fond of you."
"Most people are." Anna wiped at her mouth, setting the empty phial on the table. "I'm still not sure if we can trust them."
Ryne searched her gaze. "But you want to."
Anna looked away. It seemed pointless to deny it. "You're supposed to be dead. If anyone at this citadel says something... if word gets out..." She fiddled with the empty container. "She'll come for us. We're sitting ducks here."
She looked up. Ryne leaned against a shelf. His dark hair was curling slightly in the humidity, tickling the back of his neck and ears. He needed a haircut, Anna thought; when was the last time they'd done something so mundane as that?
"You heard Slaine," Ryne said. "We're entering monsoon season. The chances of being overseen by a sailor, or a merchant, or anyone else for that matter are fewer here than anywhere else." He rubbed at his face. "I won't stray far from the citadel. Not until our ship is ready."
Anna leaned back in her chair. "What if it's a trick?"
"Then we'll fight our way off the island," Ryne said.
"There's only two of us."
Ryne shrugged. "I've had worse odds." He took a step closer, holding his hands up like a conductor. "Are you ready?"
His eyes were very bright, the colour of green stems pressed between book pages. Not, Anna thought wryly, that she was much for reading books. But crushing things with books. Yes. More her style.
Ryne drew closer. Her heartbeat picked up.
She eyed him warily. "What are you going to make me do?"
Ryne raised an eyebrow. "Nothing that crosses a line."
"Your line," Anna said, "is very different from most other people's line."
"No murder." Ryne ticked things off on his fingers. "No self-harm. No public humiliation." He dropped his hand. "Satisfied?"
"And no..."
Anna gestured between them; her body was on fire. Ryne's face was unreadable. "You're going to have to elaborate."
"I'm willing to kiss you," Anna said, "but that's as far as I'll go."
Something flashed in Ryne's eyes, but he turned away too quickly for Anna to identify what it was. "Don't worry, Cidarius." He poured a glass of water. "If I want to sleep with a woman, I don't have to trick her into it. Stand over there."
He gestured to a corner. She followed his direction.
"Good." Ryne took a sip of water. "I'll start small—"
"No," Anna said.
Ryne lowered the glass. "No?"
"Lucia won't start small." Her heart pounded in her ears. "I want the full extent of your power. Use all of it on me."
"I'll be stronger than you remember," Ryne warned.
He didn't need to say the second part: you'll be weaker. She could feel the way her legs shook, the sharp pain every time she breathed in too deeply.
Anna crossed her arms. "That's the entire point of this exercise, isn't it? To push me." She took a deep breath. "I'm ready."
Ryne raised his hands. Sweat trickled down Anna's spine. She was suddenly back in a cramped room that smelled of dried lavender and dusty books, her arms bound to her sides. Sophie's voice was urgent. Concentrate, Annie. Concentrate on resisting the magic.
Golden strands tumbled from Ryne's hands. The glittering ropes slithered across the room, winding around her ankles and legs, climbing like plant runners over a latticed gate. Anna closed her eyes. Every part of her ached to run — to fight — but she forced herself to hold still. To let the magic in.
Her whole body relaxed.
A dreamy sensation settled over her. She was standing on ice-cream clouds, floating far above the room. Her head felt pleasantly fuzzy, and Anna smiled. She liked this. Why had she been so afraid of this?
Ryne took a step forward. Sunlight streamed in through the window, crowning him in a halo of dust motes. A warm feeling settled in her stomach, like liquid butter oozing into every part of her body.
"Listen to my voice," Ryne said softly. "You like it, don't you?" His voice was gentle, so gentle that parts of her body ached for it. "You like how it sounds. How it resonates through you." He held out a hand. "Come closer."
She drifted toward him. Ryne wove their hands together, and the sensation grew stronger. More warmth. More wanting.
"You want to make me happy," Ryne said, "don't you?"
Her voice was a whisper. "Yes."
"Good girl." He caressed her cheek. "Get on your knees for me."
Anna fell to her knees. Every part of her pulsed with single-minded desire: make him happy, make him happy. How had she ever wanted anything else? How had she ever lived for another purpose? She looked up at him, waiting.
"Crawl to the table," Ryne said.
She turned, scrabbling across the dusty floor. Her nail caught on a loose floorboard, but she didn't care. Her thoughts felt like butterfly wings, brushing lightly at the inside of her mind. She reached the table and looked at him expectantly.
"Good," Ryne said, but there was something like disappointment in his voice. The realization crushed her. "Do you see that jar of honey? Bring it to me."
Anna snatched it off the table, crawling toward him. She wouldn't disappoint him again. She couldn't bear it. Ryne held out a hand, his green eyes unreadable.
"Put it on my fingers," he said.
She did so. Ryne's throat bobbed.
"Well done." His voice was soft. "Now I want you to lick my fingers clean. One by one." His hand burrowed in her hair, stroking it gently. "You're not going to stop until I tell you to. Do you understand?"
Anna gripped his wrist. She felt suddenly ravenous, almost sick with the desire to eat. To taste. She sucked on his pointer finger first, swirling her tongue around the base of it. She could feel the heat radiating from Ryne's body. He'd gone stiff, his hand gripping her hair so tight that it was almost painful.
She moved to his thumb.
His middle finger.
Some of the sweet honey had dripped down his wrist, and she started on that next, licking and sucking and biting—
"Enough," Ryne said roughly.
He wrenched his hand away. Anna tumbled forward, almost colliding with the floor. Ryne's breathing was a gunshot in the stillness; a muscle jumped in his jaw. Anna sat back on her heels, the dream melting away.
She looked at Ryne's damp fingers. The discarded jar of honey. She raised a hand to her lips, feeling how swollen and sticky they were.
Humiliation smacked her in the chest.
She pressed a shaking hand to her throat. Cold horror filled her, crystallizing on her bones like hoarfrost. Her back felt like it was burning with frozen flame. She knew the words there, had memorized the exact shape and feel of them: Vox es nuqum.
She felt like nothing.
Worse than nothing.
"Are you alright?" Ryne asked.
His voice was unbearably gentle. Anna looked down. To her horror, she felt tears spring to her eyes, and she stared at her knuckles. "I would have done whatever you asked me to. Without question."
"It will take practice," Ryne said.
"I know, but I thought..." A lump burned in her throat. "How do I make it stop?"
She could hear Ryne pouring a glass of water. "Think of it like a fish caught in a net. The more you struggle, the more tangled you become."
A bone-weary exhaustion filled her. "But I have to realize that I'm in the net."
"Yes."
Ryne held the glass out to her. Anna took it, gulping down the cool liquid. It was strange, she thought, to see Ryne like this; he was testing out gentleness, a soldier turning over a feather with bloodied hands.
"Okay." Anna set down the glass. "Let's go ahead."
Ryne's mouth tightened. "You should recover first."
"Delafort." She climbed to her feet. "I'm ready. Hit me."
So Ryne did. Over and over again, Ryne wove his magic, golden strands snaking out like glittering whips. Anna danced a jig. She sang a rendition of Is That a Snake In Your Pocket, Good Sir? She fed Ryne grapes. And every time, she awoke breathless and gasping, clawing her way out of the dream. After the fifth time, Ryne shook his head.
"That's enough for today," Ryne said. "You can hardly stand."
She pushed herself up on the table. "One more time."
"Cidarius..."
His voice was wary. His green eyes were bright, his cheeks flushed with exertion. He was spinning out, Anna realized, high on the rush of dream magic; a hit like this must feel extraordinary.
"I can do it," Anna said. "Please."
Ryne exhaled. "Alright."
The golden strands unfurled again like tentative buds, blooming around her. Dreamy warmth settled over her like a blanket.
"Come here," Ryne murmured.
Her legs jerked forward. Ryne caught her.
"You like being this close to me, don't you?" His breath was warm on her neck. "You like how it feels. Now I want you to imagine how I taste. I want you to imagine kissing me. You like the idea of my hands in your hair, don't you? Pulling. Twisting."
A shudder ran through her. Anna could feel her breathing becoming heavier, her body craning forward to reach his.
"Good." Ryne's eyes were dark. "Kiss me."
She hesitated, their lips inches apart. He smelled like pink pepper and something spicy. He would probably taste like it, too.
"Kiss me, Cidarius." Ryne's voice was rough. "Now."
Something in her broke. Anna kissed him, and his mouth was hungry and warm. She could feel his heart hammering. She ran her hands down his back, over the curve of his spine down to the hard dip above his waist. Ryne made a sound at the back of his throat — a curse, an oath — and then he was kissing her again.
Her legs smacked something. The table? She didn't care. Kissing him, Anna thought, was like drowning in burned sugar. She felt like an addict, like she couldn't get enough. Couldn't get close enough.
Stop.
A little voice curled in her ear. Anna ignored it, seizing Ryne's collar.
Stop. It's not real.
The voice grew louder. Anna stopped, squeezing her eyes shut. Purple and green shapes danced in front of her eyes.
It's a net. The voice sounded like Ryne. You're in a net, Cidarius.
"No," Anna said. "No."
She pushed him off. Ryne was breathing hard, staring at her in amazement. His eyes were so dark that they looked like coal. Her mouth felt dry.
"Did you..." Anna swallowed. "Did you stop it?"
"No." Ryne shook his head. "No, that was you." He was trying not to smile. She could tell. "You did it, Cidarius."
"I did it," Anna repeated.
"Yes."
She fetched up against the table, her legs trembling beneath her. But she'd done it. She'd done it. "Thank gods."
"Good," Ryne said. "Now do the same thing again tomorrow."