Jassyn collapsed to his knees.
Eyes squeezed shut, a sharp breath tore from his lips as his hands flew to his head, fingers twisting into the hair at his scalp.
Lykor went still, but Vesryn barely spared Jassyn a glance before he began pacing. “What do you see?” the prince demanded, hands flexing at his sides—eager to act but shackled by the need to wait.
Jassyn didn’t respond, trembling so hard that Lykor could nearly feel the tremors of his limbs vibrating through the ground.
Vesryn’s agitation seemed to grow with each passing second, his boots grinding a trail into the sand as he stalked back and forth, waiting for answers.
Gaze flicking to the sky, Lykor tracked the bird—a dwindling speck, lost in the boundless blue. His chest compressed as he studied Jassyn, recalling an offhand comment about how he disliked heights, how he’d always been reluctant to approach the sweeping overlooks as they traveled. But this seemed more than that.
Lykor hesitated.
Caught at a crossroads with the prince too wrapped in his own frustrations to care, he didn’t know what to do. But he couldn’t stand by and watch Jassyn fall apart.
Movements stiff and uncertain, he crouched beside Jassyn. He almost reached out, but what then? He didn’t have words for this sort of thing.
Aesar rolled his eyes.You could try asking if he’s okay.
Lykor scowled inwardly.HE’S OBVIOUSLY NOT OKAY.
Still, the words dragged themselves from his throat. “Is…everything okay?” The question felt as useless as swinging a sword at smoke. “You don’t have to do this.”
Eyes sealed, Jassyn blew out a shuddering breath, fresh beads of sweat sliding down his temple. His mouth opened twice, but no words came. On the third attempt, he finally spoke.
“It’s flying west,” he croaked as a tremor ran through him. “It found a flock that it recognizes. Other kin. Maybe family.” A high-pitched laugh bubbled out, bordering on hysteria. “Do birds even have families?” He swayed forward, palms sinking into the sand, fingers curling against the ground.
“Stars,” Jassyn swore through clenched teeth, shoulders shaking with the effort of holding himself upright. “This flying…” A sharp gasp fractured his words as he fought for breath. “Is unpleasant.”
Discomfort wound tight around Lykor’s ribs. Not because Jassyn was struggling, but from his own inability to ease it—and the fact that he’d been the one to ask him to do this.
“We’ll try something different,” he offered, out of depth to navigate someone’s panic.
Vesryn cut in. “We don’t have time fordifferent. Or for dramatics over a little height.” His pacing hadn’t stopped, boots kicking up sand as he prowled back and forth, eyes locked on Jassyn. “We need to know what’s out therenow.”
Outrage igniting, Lykor surged to his feet. “Back the fuck off,” he snarled, positioning himself between them. “He’s doing what he can.”
Vesryn drew to a halt, folding his arms to face Lykor head-on. “Jassynthinkshe’s at his limit,” he snapped, “but he’s stronger than he gives himself credit for.” A pause. The prince’s jaw flexed, and for a fleeting moment, his gaze flicked to Jassyn’s crumpled form—assessing, but not cold or indifferent. “He always holds back. Always doubts himself.” The edge in his tone morphed into conviction. “He doesn’t need to be coddled. He can push through this.”
But Jassyn gave no sign of hearing the prince. His entire body seized, a whimper slipping past his lips.
That pained sound nearly dragged Lykor forward, to haul Jassyn to his feet, to wrench him free from the bird’s mind. His fingers flexed, caught between impulse and restraint, fangs digging into his gums as he forced himself to stay still, watching Jassyn endure.
“It’s heading somewhere,” Jassyn finally breathed out. “Following a stream. Currents in the wind. A pull from the sky.” He inhaled a gasp of air. “I think… I think I’m going to be sick.”
Lykor clamped a hand on his shoulder, an attempt to provide some sort of anchor. “Let it go.”
Jassyn fought for breath, each one coming sharper and faster. His body jerked once, eyelids fluttering. “I see something”—another violent shudder—“growing on the horizon.” Lykor’s grip tightened. “Red walls. A city.”
A streak tore through the air too fast to track. It struck Vesryn’s neck with a sickening thud. He flinched, mouth twisting, his fingers snapping to the wound, yanking a feathered shaft free.
A heartbeat of stillness followed—then the world detonated.
A dam of Essence ruptured around the prince, magic lashing outward in a violent torrent. In one swift motion, Vesryn ripped at his short swords, the twin blades singing as they left their scabbards. A ward flared to life, slamming into place around the three of them in a crackling wave of violet light.
Lykor barely had time to process the assault before it unfolded. Dark figures peeled from the shadows in every direction.
He wrenched on Essence at the same time as Aesar reached through his arms, their instincts aligning without a word. His glaives hissed free, the metal catching the glare of the sun.
