“Hmm …” I stir. My body feels as though it’s been bashed into a wall hundreds of times. My eyelids must weigh a ton, but I manage to peel them open and blink. Slowly, my vision clears, and I see the outline of a narrow face and thin shoulders.
“Blink twice if you can hear me.”
I can do that. I blink once. Twice.
“Good, good. Try to rest. Everything is alright.”
I highly doubt that. I don’t know where I am. Everyone I’ve loved is gone. I burned half the sentries in the castle. I burned the entire small council. The royal advisor. The land beneath the plateau of Paramount.
How isanythingalright? How will anything everfeelalright? I lift my hand to my throbbing head and Briony places hers at my temple. A mixture of warmth and coolness wipes the ache away. With a few more blinks, I can see her sandy brown hair over her shoulders, her flowy grey dress, and her icy blue eyes wrought with concern.
“Where am I?” I mumble. My throat aches, my voice unrecognizable.
“Shh …”
A brawny arm slips beneath my shoulder blades and inclines me so that I’m semi-upright. I glance to my right and into Angharad’s mismatched eyes—one cloudy and scarred, one earnest brown. The large woman offers me a crooked smile and a metal ale mug. My arms refuse to cooperate with me, but Angharad holds the cup to my lips. I scowl at her.You shoved me off a fucking cliff, I want to say. But I restrain myself. Clearly, they’re on my side.
“Try to drink slowly,” says Briony.
The first sip feels even worse than my dry throat, but the liquid soothes the ache, leaving it bearable. Angharad lowers me again to a surface far from comfortable. The small room is all wood with a low ceiling. There are crates and barrels all around, and not much else save for this sorry excuse for a bed.
“We’re sailing to Uldarvik,” Briony says.
My brain is numb, and as much as I want to make a comment about Uldarvik, all I can think to ask is, “Who’s ship are we on?”
“My brother’s,” says Angharad. “He’s a scoundrel with a heart of gold. No loyalties to the Crown, nor to any particular cause, but he loves his family, and he wouldn’t do anything to bring harm to me or my friends. We can trust him.”
No loyalties to the Crown … good enough.“How long have I been out of it?”
“Three days,” they say at the same time.
My chest hurts from the deep breath I slowly pull into my weary lungs. “How much longer until …?”
“If the gods are kind, four more days.” Angharad tries to make this seem comforting, but she’s a terrible liar; the smile on her face is nothing short of a grimace. And, clearly, the gods hate me. I have a bone to pick with bloody Agryna—she can take back her powers. Hells, she can take Enidwen’s spirit while she’s at it.
I sigh and nod before closing my eyes. “I’m tired.”
“Princess,” says Briony. “You should try to sip some broth. You expended a lot more energy than your body could handle. You need replenishment. Then you can get some more rest.”
If I open my mouth to respond, I’ll say I don’t want replenishment. I never want to use those powers willingly or unwillingly again. By the gods, I never want to do or see much of anything ever again. What’s the point?
But rather than voice what I know would be a shocking thought, I just nod.
Four days.
Four days to pull myself together.
Chapter 2
The snowy mountainsof Uldarvik loom ahead as the loud blast of a horn emanates from the shore. Gooseflesh breaks out along my arms as I take in the dozens of Uldaran warriors, armed and ready for battle. It’s been one week since we set sail from Erleya. Since I was dragged, unconscious, from the only place I’ve ever known.
As we draw closer, my eyes lock on a warrior towering above the rest. His large hands are wrapped around the worn handle of a battle-axe, his broad chest puffed out.
“Princess, just give me the command …” says the large soldier woman beside me.
I keep my gaze affixed to the warrior prince. “Very brave, Angharad, but if they attack, we’re fucked.”
She huffs out a nervous laugh as Briony comes to stand beside her.
