“You don’t mean…”
Deneya looked her right in the eyes and said, “Ferro has escaped.”
Ferro. The man who murdered her brother. Who’d manipulated and tried to kill Eira. He was supposed to be brought to justice on Meru…
Now he was free.
* * *
The atmosphere of theDaybreakwas perpetually thick and uneasy, heavy with a pregnant silence. Everyone knew of Ferro’s escape from the hold, but no one spoke about it outright, as if, by saying it aloud, they’d somehow make it more real than it already, horribly, was. Or, perhaps, the superstitions surrounding Adela were what kept people’s tongues still.
It made the final days of their journey utterly unbearable.
Eira was up with the dawn on the last day of their voyage. Standing at the bow, she stared at a sight she’d only ever dreamed about: Meru, golden and glittering in morning’s first light.
“Is it everything you’d dreamed of?” Cullen interrupted her thoughts.
Eira jerked and grabbed the railing for support.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“I shouldn’t be so lost in my head.” That would get her killed, if she wasn’t careful. Being too wrapped up in her own thoughts and plans, in perceived safety, had led to Marcus’s death and nearly her own. It had led to Ferro escaping. She had to be more vigilant. She had to be the one making the moves—not the one paying the price.
“What thoughts are you lost in?” Cullen eased his elbows onto the railing next to her, looking out over the ocean.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me.” He glanced back at her, speaking volumes she couldn’t understand with a look. “You hardly even speak to Alyss these days. You’ve spent most of the voyage holed up in your room.”
“Don’t concern yourself with me. You have enough to worry about.” Eira looked back toward the city in the distance. She could make out Queen Lumeria’s castle now, perched on a hill. The Archives of Yargen sat opposite—a library so vast and ancient it was said to house all the knowledge in the world.
“I want to worry about you.” Cullen swallowed thickly. “He would’ve—”
“Don’t.” Eira stopped him with a glare. “Don’t bring up my brother.”
Cullen sighed heavily and joined her in staring across the sea. “It looks just like the painting at court,” he said with a note of wistful longing. Her heart agreed with his tone. Those days had been a simpler time, indeed.
“No,” Eira said softly.
“No?”
“It’s more beautiful than an artist could ever hope to capture with oil and canvas.” Eira inhaled slowly.
“So itiseverything you dreamed of, then.” He smiled slightly.
“The place? Yes. The circumstances? No.”
Cullen’s smile fell. “Eira, if you ever want to speak, I’m here for you.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Eira repeated. Perhaps if she repeated it enough times, he’d understand. She didn’t need him. She didn’t need any of them. What sheneededwas Ferro in irons.
Cullen’s expression turned wounded. He straightened away from the railing. His hand shifted, fingertips brushing against hers. Eira followed the line of his arm up to his chest, remembering the sight of him in his sleeping shorts and nothing else the night Ferro escaped.
The thought of Ferro being free squelched any soft emotions or tender longing. It was a dagger as cold as the air that night, cutting any warmth from her. It was the dark waves she was lost in dream after dream—the dark waves theStormfrosthad escaped into.
Eira curled her fingers, breaking the contact.
“Listen, I—” He didn’t get to finish.
