Three.
Two.
One.
At just an arm’s length away, he stoops down, his reflection clear as day, and thrusts his hand into the water. The amethyst ring glows from beneath the surface, and it only takes moments for the red cloak to halt in its tracks and dissipate entirely.
A radiant black orb takes its place.
His heart swells as it glides toward him, leaving red wisps in its wake. He reaches for it, but it doesn’t come closer. “It is done.”
A faint glimmer is the only response.
“It is only a matter of time until we meet again.” His voice catches. “You have my word.”
Without warning, the orb begins to retreat.
Panic rises in his chest. “Stay,” Darius commands as he reaches out. “Please.”
He feels a flicker of hope as it lingers in the air, but
it’s instantly extinguished as the orb crashes into the water, disappearing from view.
“No!” Darius cries, plunging his hand back into the water over and over again. “Please!” But no matter how rapid his movements, no matter how desperate his pleas, the orb does not return.
He remains on his knees, clutching the edge of the stone until the water stills once more. Slowly, he lifts his head, his eyes meeting his own tormented reflection.
His jaded spring.
RYDAN HELSTROM
ANOTHER EARLY MORNING.
Rydan slinks around the corner of the house, cringing as the door to Vira’s room creaks. He waits a moment before poking his head inside, relieved to see that Vira’s body is still rising and falling rhythmically beneath the sheets. Still sound asleep.
Gently, he closes the door behind him. Determined not to make a sound, he tiptoes to the kitchen, swiping a ripe red apple from the basket on the countertop, then heads out for the day. The sun is rising faster as spring draws nearer, and today is already much brighter than the few days prior. He picks up the pace as he hikes toward the hidden cove he’s visited every morning for the past week—but when he arrives, he’s dismayed to find that someone seems to have discovered his private beach.
Staying hidden in the dense thicket, Rydan steps around fallen branches and clusters of pebbles until he reaches the edge of the forest. With a sturdy oak tree as his only cover, he slowly peers around it, trying to make sense of the commotion going on near the water’s edge.
A dozen or so people are huddled together in a semi-circle, talking quietly amongst themselves. Rydan scans their faces—the ones in his line of sight, anyway—to see if he recognizes any of them. No recollection, but then . . .
His eyes widen as his gaze lifts to the beached ship on the shore. He couldn’t forget the name of it even if he tried. The Corsair.
Avery Bancroft’s ship.
As if on cue, an auburn head pops up from the middle of the circle. Rydan can’t hear exactly what he’s saying, but he appears to be giving directions. Who are these people? And why are they on the edge of the island instead of at the main dock?
He watches intently as, one by one, the group dwindles. Rydan considers following them to see where they’re headed—that is, until it becomes clear they’ve intentionally broken off into different directions. Defeated, he slumps down against the tree. He racks his brain, replaying the conversations between Avery and Vira, hoping that something of interest will stick out, but he comes up short. All he remembers is Avery saying he comes to Lonia often, but he’d never mentioned carrying stowaways. Then again, why would he?
When Rydan turns back around to check out the beach, Avery is nowhere in sight. He scans the length of the shore, his eyes landing on The Corsair.
Does he dare?
Rydan takes off in a sprint, jumping over rocks and bushes as he approaches the vessel. He makes it to the other side—the one he couldn’t see from his original vantage point—and heads toward the back. He stops in his tracks when he realizes there’s no rope or ladder thrown over the side. A breeze rustles in the leaves above him. He watches as one breaks free and drifts down the stern.
Looks like I’m climbing a tree.
Any hope for his plan falters as he runs his hand along the smooth white bark. Of course it would be a birch tree—one that’s nearly impossible to climb without some sort of assistance . . .
He assesses the distance between the tree and the exterior of the ship. Fortunately, it’s close enough. Whether this is a good idea or not, it’s the only one he has. He grabs the bottom of his shirt, then rips it over his head and wraps it around the base of the tree, just above shoulder height. With his back pressed against the metal frame of the ship, he bends his arms inward so that the shirt grows taut. Steadying himself, he puts one boot on the tree, the other just below it. With almost all of his weight behind him, he begins to walk his feet, one at a time, up the trunk. Each time he’s almost parallel with the ground, he leans forward and methodically wiggles his looped shirt further up the tree and, like an inchworm, continues the climb.
When he’s finally level with the railing of the ship, he bends his knees even more and quarter-turns his chest. He pushes off the tree, releases the shirt, and extends his arms, spinning in the air until his fingers meet the cold metal, legs dangling beneath him. He glances over his shoulder as the shirt flutters to the sand. The immense effort of scaling the tree already has his arms shaking, and he’s convinced they’re just seconds away from giving out entirely. With a final grunt, he pulls himself over the railing, flopping onto the deck like a fish out of water.
Panting, he rolls over onto his back and closes his eyes. Salty air fills his lungs as he takes a deep inhale, followed by another, and another. Once his breathing returns to normal, he smiles, almost laughing aloud at his foolish, yet effective plan. But the moment he pulls himself upright, his smile fades.
Arms crossed, Avery stands before him. His mouth twitches into a smirk. “Didn’t fancy seeing you here.”
CERYLIA JARETH
IT’S BEEN ABOUT a week since Cerylia’s short interaction with Opal, but every morning since, she’s woken up early and gone to the stables, hoping to find Briar out of his stall. It’s strange, feeling disappointed seeing him there, waiting for her—but she’d hoped to continue her conversation with Opal, to open up the line of communication again and rebuild her trust. Whether that’s even remotely a possibility at this point remains unclear.
Briar greets her with a warm neigh, nuzzling against her hand as she pets the side of his face. “Good morning to you, too.” She opens the stall and guides him to the edge of one of the many trails that leads into the forest. A sigh escapes her. Another morning ride alone.
She secures the saddle before mounting the horse, then situates herself and grabs hold of the reins. Yellows and oranges light up the sky and, just below the horizon, the mountains are cast in a mesmerizing glow of indigo and violet. With the tops of the trees blooming green, the sight before her could easily be mistaken for a grand illusion—she, of all people, would know. Not even the most skilled illusié could conjure up something so beautiful.