He turned his face to me. Tears streamed down his gaunt cheeks. I raised a hand to wipe them away, and he tried to smile at me.
“Forgive me,” he said. “But I must finish this. I must do what we came here to do.”
“I know,” I said. “We’re here to help you. Together, we’ll end this madness.”
“Aro’el,” he said. “My runechaser.”
“Kier Gavriel,” I said.
And he kissed me, so sad and so deep, full of longing and sorrows, at the same time hopeless yet pleading for hope. I clasped both hands on his face, rose on my knees to meet him, to catch him, to hold him as he fell. I was his kedge, his rudder, his keel. My runescars gleamed and his golden threads burned, and together, we beamed with chimeric and life.
Finally, he pulled away, his sea-deep eyes dancing, and he smiled at me. Suns. It was the suns.
He rose to his feet and pulled me up with him. We turned to face the ironmages, the first mate, and the faun. Dev stood with hands on hips, looking every inch a regal prince in the boots of a pirate. His dark eyes were serious, his usually laughing mouth a tight line, and my heart swelled at the thought of him as king.Bryn’nydKingof Oversea, the Stolen Prince Come Home.
With a deep breath, Kier looked over to the horizon. Between the flickering curtain of Dreadwater, I could see sails in the gap.
“Six Navy ships will be here within the hour,” he said. “But from the air, I could also see sevenRhi’Ahrwarbirds bearing down on our shores from the south.”
He looked down.
“When I set to bring theTouchstonehome, I did not think her mere presence would open the Channel. She is no longer the Tree and cannot close it.”
If she’s even alive, I thought darkly, and my heart ached in my chest.
“We will need to repair the Dreadwall,” he said. “But first, we must close this oldest of gaps.”
“Do not trouble yourself with the Channel,” said my mother. “It is now the responsibility of the Court of Sand.”
My heart stopped beating. Kier’s head shot up.
Forge.
“Our agreement is fulfilled,” said Tek, moving to stand at my mother’s right.
“You have brought us to the Cloudgate,” said Liskeel, shifting to her left. “You are discharged from your obligations and may return to your ships.”
Kier growled, but my mother raised her proud, elegant chin.
“We will repair the Dreadwall, Priestlord,” she said. “But the Channel will be managed by the Court of Sand.”
My stomach twisted as the realization hit me. This was always her plan. To control the Cloudgate. To control the power of the chimeric for the northern helm. I should have known. This was all my mother had ever wanted. Magik, power, and the authority to wield it.
I glared at her, and she smiled at me, as sly and cunning and deadly as a serpent.
“You serve the king,” I breathed. “You’ll give him the northern Channel and access to all the chimeric he wants.”
Kier squared his shoulders, eyes darkening, and straightened to his full height. I could feel the armor slide on, piece by steely piece. I could feel the runes gather like storm clouds as his fingers began to spark.
“I will not allow it,” he said.
There was a snarl from the tree line as a tusk cat slunk into view.
“What do you think it costs to save the life of a prince?” she asked.
The sand at our feet began to shift into spiders, into scorpions and snakes.
“This will never be the Court of Sand,” he warned. “And you will never be Priestlords.”
