It’s been a week since we fled the fortress, but the endless stretch of sea makes it feel longer.
The ship creaks beneath my boots as I lean over the starboard railing, wind tugging at the loose curls that have escaped my braid. In the distance, the jagged outline of Alphemra rises through the mist, its sharp peaks like broken glass slicing the clouds.
The wind shifts, cold and salt-heavy, biting at my skin. I tug my cloak tighter.
I thought I was imagining it at first, but there’s no denying it now. The buzzing magic stirs in my veins the closer we draw to the shores of Alphemra, like a tide swelling with each passing breath, carrying whispers of power that prickle along my skin.
Ezra will be able to help me figure it all out. One day into our trip, Uncle Kormak told me he’d sent a nightfeather to summon Ezra to Alphemra. The thought of Ezra at my side steadies me. If anyone knows how to help Dante, it’s him.
Still, grief coils sharp in my chest as thoughts of Sir Donovan and Sir Holden haunt me. Two more lives cut short in the tsar’s graspingcruelty. The ache of their absence gnaws at me, but I refuse to let despair hollow me out. I will fight in their honor. I will see this through and ensure their sacrifices were not in vain.
Behind me, Mylo lets out a long, theatrical sigh. “I swear, if I never see another wave after this, it’ll be too fucking soon.”
Aila snorts. “At least you’re not being dramatic and threatening to throw yourself overboard like Isaac.”
“He hates ships,” Giorgi says. “Or rather, what they do to him.”
A loud gagging sound echoes from behind us. We all turn in time to see Isaac lurch to the side of the deck and retch violently over the railing.
Lorne raises a brow. “Well, at least it’s keeping him from tormenting me.”
“Fuck,” Isaac croaks, wiping his mouth. “How is it still moving?”
“It’s called sailing,” I say, trying not to smile. “You’ll live.”
“Debatable,” he mutters, sinking to sit against a barrel, pale as a bone.
The brief laughter warms my chest. It’s the first time since Dulcamar that the weight has lifted, even slightly.
But it’s still there—beneath the surface.
Dante hasn’t woken.
He groaned once in his sleep yesterday, sweat pouring from his brow. His body burned with fever and magic I couldn’t touch. I’ve tried—gods, I’ve tried—but even with my hands pressed to his skin, nothing answers.
Whatever the seer did to him… it wasn’t to heal him. It’s something else entirely.
I glance toward the aft cabin, where he rests. Nadya emerges from the shadows a moment later, her curls wild in the wind, her cheeks flushed.
“He’s stirring,” she says breathlessly.
My heart lurches.
I’m already running, trying not to trip down the stairs.
Inside the cabin, it’s dim and quiet. The cot creaks as I drop to myknees beside it, reaching for him. Dante’s skin is no longer blazing, just warm. His breaths are steady. His brows furrow and his lips part with a low groan.
“Dante,” I whisper, brushing damp curls from his temple. “It’s me. I’m here. You’re safe. Please, just be okay. Don’t leave me, not now.”
He shifts beneath my hand. His lashes flutter.
When his eyes open, I hold my breath.
His stormy-grey gaze locks on to me, studying my face. “Celeste,” he rasps, his voice raw and ragged.
A sound breaks from my chest. I press my hand to his cheek, and he leans into it, his fingers curling over mine. “We’re safe,” I say quickly. “We escaped Dulcamar. We’re on a ship bound for Alphemra. My uncle’s here. Nadya’s safe. We all made it out.”
His brows pull together like he’s trying to remember. “How…?”
