Part One
Gaveny
Chapter One
Ophelia
Why wasit so Angelsdamned hot?
Condensation crawled down the side of my glass, pooling on the dark wood of the seaside tavern’s bar one languid drop at a time. The heat of the Seawatchers’ Western Outposts shoved itself down my throat, despite the fact that we were only nearing the end of the first month of the year.
I supposed it rarely got as cold on the islands as it did in other territories, but this was unseasonable. And aggravating. Snow lay atop various regions of the continent—thick white blankets of it likely doused Palerman in recent weeks—but here, nothing more than a breeze wound between the columns of the tavern. I inhaled as a spray of salty ocean air flecked across my skin, tempering the roaring heat.
And Iwaited—a word that had become the bane of my existence.
“Sure I can’t get you anything besides water, Revered?” The friendly barkeep braced both hands on the aged wood, a towel slung across his shoulder.
“Thank you, Ivon.” I offered him a warm smile, then raised the glass. “I’m fine with this, though.”
He nodded, short dark hair bobbing over his forehead, and proceeded down the bar to his other customers. As he had every time we’d played this little game in the weeks my friends and I had been stationed in the outposts. In the weeks since the second Engrossian-Mystique war ended. Since Prince Barrett slayed his mother, Queen Kakias, and the Spirit of the Engrossian Angel Bant himself tore from her body, disappearing into the mountains.
I shook off the memories—the questions—a familiar restlessness twitching through my limbs at having to remain stagnant in these outposts.
Dormant, because the ruler of the fae, the bloodthirsty Queen Ritalia, was on her way to Gallantia, and according to her soldier, Lancaster, she wanted us pliant beneath her heel, but she did not deign to tell us precisely when she would arrive.
And I was forced to cooperate. She was a threat, and it was in the warriors’ best interest to get her here and gone as quickly as possible. And because Lancaster held a bargain over Tolek’s and my heads. If we failed to comply, we would be violating the deal and thus forfeiting our lives.
So, here we sat.
The tavern, The Sea Maiden, had become my favorite way to pass the days, and not only due to Ivon’s attentive staff or the affable crowd they drew. The polished stone pillars lining the front opened directly onto one of the outpost’s white sand beaches, soft mounds rising and dipping nearly fifty yards before melting into crystal blue ocean.
The waves were calm, peaceful, and an abundance of colorful wildlife occupied the coral reefs below no more than one hundred yards out. Ezalia Ridgebrook, the Seawatcher Chancellor, had taken us to explore them one day last week.
They were beautiful. I grew tired of it.
The waves curled lazily into the shore—my warrior hearing picking out the gentle roar over the voices in the tavern—and each sweep worked to dilute the dissatisfaction budding within me.
It was a bit like standing in the surf as it pulled away, the sand around your feet drifting, toes sinking further into the wet grains until you were certain you’d be taken with it.
I’d spent a lot of time on those shores these weeks. Spent a lot of time in the Sea Maiden, as well. Both to feed the spiraling creature inside of me that wanted out and to appear as we’d been bid.
My queen wishes your court to prepare for her arrival. And to cause no reason for delay.
Groaning internally, as I did each time Lancaster’s warning fluttered through my mind, I pushed up from my seat at the bar and strode toward the veranda. Water in hand, I leaned my shoulder against a sun-warmed stone pillar.
I highly suggest you heed her instructions. You do not want to see what ruin she may unfold if disobeyed.
Fucking fae.
Who was a foreign queen to command warriors? But Lancaster had always been a solid force. A bit tricky, a lot deadly, but never wavering.
And hehadwavered that day.
When he met my friends and me as we were about to depart the mountains after the final battle, heading for Soulguider Territory in search of the next Angel emblem—when Santorina shot him daggers with her glare, hand tightening on her knife—something in the fae had waffled.
My fingers curled into my glass with the memory.Don’t shatter another glass, Ophelia,I instructed myself, but an inevitable agitation reared in my chest.
It didn’t drown out the footsteps echoing behind me, though. Nor did it mask the unfamiliar, masculine scent that joined me on the veranda.
