She was beneath the mist.
No—she was in the mist.
Lyana took off, sprinting for the door and flinging it open with a loud bang. She raced down a narrow hall and climbed the first staircase she could find. Two men stopped short, shock written on their faces as she ran past. Then she was outside, surrounded by gray. The air was wet as she pulled a deep breath into her lungs. She was on a ship of some kind, which meant there was an ocean—a real ocean! Not a sea of flames, but one of water. She wanted to see. She wanted to know. Someone shouted her name, but Lyana ignored it as she jumped onto the railing, pumped her wings, and—
Fell.
"Lyana!"
It was the last thing she heard before the waves pulled her under. Wings that carved so efficiently through the wind were useless in the water. She kicked with her feet and pushed with her arms, but the liquid rolled around her body, unaffected. Everything was dark and eerily quiet as the current swept her deeper. Just as her lungs began to burn, blue glitter cut through the darkness. A torrent slammed into her back and flung her from the ocean. A gust of wind laced with yellow sparks carried her toward the ship. Lyana flapped her wings, but they couldn't catch the breeze as she made a slow descent toward the man waiting on deck with a frown upon his face. He'd swapped his priestly robes for leather boots and a close-fitted jacket, but she recognized him just the same—the man from the sacred nest. When her feet touched wood, she charged.
"What did you do?"
"Morning, Princess," he drawled. "You certainly know how to make an entrance."
With her hands on her hips, Lyana narrowed her eyes and spread her wings to their full ivory glory. She was soaking wet in a bloodied ball gown in the middle of the sea, but she refused to be ignored. "What did you do?"
"Nothing permanent."
As he spoke, his focus slid to the side. She followed it and found the cause of her grounding—her primary feathers had been snipped at the ends. With a gasp, she raised her arm, prepared to slap his smug face. Golden sparks danced through the air, wrapping around her fingers and holding them still. Now growling, she pulled back her other arm. Again, magic simmered, freezing her limb.
The unnamed man stared at her with a brow raised. "Are you done throwing a fit?"
"No," she answered and kicked quickly with her foot. The folds of her gown hid the movement until the last second, and her toes connected satisfyingly with his shin.
"Ow!" He cursed and hopped on one foot.
Lyana grinned.
A stifled laugh filtered into her ear, and Lyana turned to find that a crowd had gathered around them. Men and women dotted the ship, all eyes focused on her. Some faces were amused. Others were painted with shock. A few were stoic and unmoved.
"Who are you?" she demanded, turning back to the man. "Where are we?"
"You may be a princess in the world above," he murmured as power flowed across the space between them, wrapping around her body and holding it tight, "but down here I'm king, and I don't take orders."
"Neither do I."
The words were a silent dare. She remembered the way his magic worked—the way her magic had worked. If he wanted a fight, she would gladly give it. If he wanted respect, well, that had to be earned. Lyana took a deep breath, preparing to call on the magic she still didn't understand. It was the same as her healing powers yet so much more, as though her god Aethios now lived beneath her skin. The magic was endless, unfathomable. Just thinking of it made her dizzy. Her fingertips prickled with a static charge, the barest hint of the power hiding in her soul.
"Very well," the man relented, as though sensing the surge. He swept his magic back beneath his skin, freeing her from its hold. They faced each other on even ground.
"Why did you clip my wings?"
"Because I couldn't risk you leaving."
"Why—"
"Let me ask a question this time," he interrupted. "Do you want to learn how to control your magic?"
"Yes."
"Do you want to know why you've spent your entire life certain you were meant for something more?"
Her heart swelled as her brows twitched in confusion. "Yes, but—"
"Do you want to learn about the prophecy that wrote both our fates in the stars?"
"Prophecy?" Lyana asked, stepping forward. "What do you mean?"
"Come with me, and I'll explain."
"Tell me now."
His frown deepened. "Are you always this difficult?"
"Are you always this demanding?"
He opened his mouth, then thought better of it and turned his back to walk swiftly across the ship. The fog clung to every surface, damp and cool, coating the world in a film of gray—everything except for that man and the golden aura still shimmering all around him.
"Where are you going?" she called out, unused to such blatant disregard. "We're not done here."
"I am," he shouted over his shoulder. When he reached a door, he paused and glanced behind to meet her eyes, a bit of self-satisfied mirth alight in his own. "If you'd like to talk, you know where to find me."
Then he opened the door and disappeared inside. Aghast, Lyana released a puff of air and looked around, hoping to find another person mirroring her disbelief, but they had already returned to their tasks, knotting ropes, climbing ladders, scrubbing floors. Either they were used to the whims of their king, or they were carefully masking their emotions. Regardless, Lyana was alone in the middle of the ocean, unable to fly and weighed down by questions.
Naturally, she raced after him.
When she tore open the door, he was waiting inside, leaning casually against the wall with his arms crossed and an expectant look on his face. Lyana folded her wings to fit in the tight corridor and swallowed, a little bit of her pride slipping down the back of her throat along with the gulp.
"Perhaps we got off on the wrong foot," she offered slowly.
"Perhaps." He pushed off the wall. "Now, please, if you'll follow me, I'll tell you of the prophecy, somewhere private where we won't be disturbed."
He led her deeper into the ship. With each step, she found herself bracing her palm against a wall to keep from toppling over, positive she would never get used to the constant rocking. The man, however, charged confidently forward, his steps smooth and undisturbed. He didn’t stop, didn't even pause, until they reached a spot she recognized, the bed in the corner left unmade in her haste to get outside.
"My room," Lyana commented.
"Actually, it's my room," the man said. The ghost of a grin passed over his lips, quickly replaced with the same grim determination as before. "But I'm happy to loan it to you for as long as you're here."
"And how long will that be?"
"As long as it takes."
"As long as what takes?"
He finally turned toward her, his deep blue eyes as churning and tumultuous as the sea from which she'd just been fished. "Saving the world."
The conviction in his words made her heart skip a beat.
"But first," he continued, "a fresh change of clothes. You're dripping water all over my floor, and I can't imagine that gown is comfortable."