The cannon fires.
Water erupts from the river in a pressurized column, rocketing toward the golden figure in the sky. I watch in horror as it strikes her—not a glancing blow, not a warning shot, but a direct hit to her right wing. Even from this distance, I hear the crack of breaking bone.
She folds midair like a broken doll.
Golden wings tumble end over end, lightning sparking uselessly from her feathers as she plummets toward the river. She shifts as she falls—I see the moment bird becomes woman, desperate and involuntary—and then she hits the water and vanishes beneath the surface.
Around me, the cannon crews are cheering.
I don’t think. Don’t plan. Don’t weigh the consequences of what I’m about to do.
My body moves before my mind can catch up. I dive.
The water closes over my head, and I shift as I swim, becoming faster, sleeker, every sense straining for the feel of her in the current. She’s thrashing—I can feel it through the water—but weakly, disoriented. Drowning. Her lightning crackles uselessly against the river, shorting out before it can find purchase.
She’s going to die if I don’t reach her.
Why do I care?
The question flashes through my mind even as I close the distance between us. She’s a Sky-dweller. An intruder. The enemy, if Caspian is to be believed. Her death would solve the problem of what to do with a diplomatic envoy we never asked for.
But she came in peace. She trusted us, and we shot her down.
Just like Mira trusted the surface, and it killed her.
My arms close around her before I consciously decide to save her. She’s lighter than I expected, her body compact and strong despite the broken wing—shoulder, now, in her human form. I feel bones grinding wrong as I haul her toward the surface, feel her go limp against me as consciousness fades.
I break the surface and drag her toward the waterfall cave—the same grotto where Caspian gave his orders, now empty. Hidden. Safe, for the moment.
I lay her on the stone floor and press water from her lungs, cursing in every language I know when she doesn’t immediately respond. “Breathe,” I mutter, pushing against her chest. “Come on, Sky-dweller.Breathe.”
She coughs. Water spills from her lips, and she draws a ragged, rattling breath. Then another. Her eyes don’t open, but she’s breathing, and for now, that’s enough.
I sit back on my heels and stare at the woman I’ve just saved.
Golden-brown skin, even paler than it should be from blood loss and shock. Dark hair plastered to her skull, streaked with something that might be natural highlights or might be the sun’s memory. She’s beautiful, in the way that storms are beautiful—all barely contained power waiting to break free.
And I’ve just made myself a traitor for her.
What happens now?
What in the deep waters have I done?
3
TORIN
Ilean over and attend to her broken shoulder, setting bones back into place with a practiced precision. But I cannot ignore the awareness that the moment I touch her, something breaks inside me—or maybe it heals. I can’t tell anymore.
Lightning arcs from her skin to mine, and the worldshifts.
This isn’t what the elders described. When they spoke of bonding—the sacred current-sharing between mates—they used words likewarmthandcompletionandcoming home. A gentle hum that built over time, deepening with each shared breath.
This is nothing like that.
This is violence. Collision. Two elements that should destroy each other slamming together with enough force to crack the world open. Her lightning tears through my water magic like a blade, and instead of pain, I feel?—
Everything.
