"Maybe it is," he said, one side of his lips curving up as a blond lock of hair fell forward, shrouding his eyes. "But that's the sacrifice we make, Lyana. The one you'll come to understand. I'm afraid the prophecy never said anything about being happy."
Without another word, he left.
Lyana hugged her arms around her midsection, fighting a sudden chill as she returned her gaze to the mist.
2
Rafe
Pain greeted him like an unwelcome morning, bright and burning as it chased away his dreams. Rafe groaned, writhing beneath the ache. What happened? Where—
It came rushing back in a flash.
Waking to find Lyana gone. The confrontation with Xander. The trip to his mother's rooms to say goodbye to his home forever. And then Cassi. His friend. Lyana's confidante. The woman who had been fooling them all.
My wings.
Taetanos help me—my wings!
Rafe shot up, vision going white as his shoulders screamed at him to lie down. But it wasn't the pain that terrified him—it was the weightlessness. His body was too light. Even through the agony, the absence was obvious. His wings were gone. She'd cut them off. She'd mutilated him. Rafe reached back, fighting against all hope as his fingers tenderly touched the wounds. His skin was scarred, and the jagged edges of his bones were now smooth. He was healing—healing over—which meant his wings were well and truly gone.
Grief came as swiftly as a punch to the gut, stealing his breath. There was no telling how long he might have drowned in the despair if a hand hadn’t swatted his fingers away, shocking him back to life.
"Stop moving."
Rafe didn't recognize the voice. He blinked to clear his vision, trying to understand as a room came into focus. He was stretched out on a bed, his arms bare, his torso probably bare as well. The walls were made of wood and the air was damp. The ground swayed, bobbing with a buoyancy he didn’t understand. Then he saw the blades in the corner—his twin swords, returned to their scabbards and leaning against the wall. If he could get to them, he might have a chance.
"Would you just stay still?" The voice came again as two palms pressed against his shoulders. It was a woman, he was sure, and she sounded frustrated.
Rafe acted fast. With a roll, he was off the bed, landing hard on his hands and feet. The woman behind him sighed. He ignored her and shuffled across the room to grab the hilts of his blades. Wrapping his palms around those worn leathers felt the tiniest bit like coming home. Even as his muscles screamed, he spun toward the stranger with his swords held defiantly at the ready. She was small in stature, probably around his age, with short black hair and a round face. Her skin was a pale sort of tan, as though it yearned for the sun, and her eyes were disturbingly white, her pupils a milky gray as though covered by a film. They angled up at the ends, somewhat hooded by her creaseless eyelids. What he noticed most of all, however, was her lack of wings.
"Who are you?"
She dropped her gaze to his swords, then lifted it back to him, slightly bored. "The person who is trying to prevent you from getting an infection."
"Where have you taken me?"
"Nowhere. You just sort of dropped into our laps."
He narrowed his eyes and lowered one of his swords until the point was level with her throat. "What do you want with me?"
"Nothing." She snorted and crossed her arms, seemingly unafraid of his threat. "But Captain is determined to keep you alive, which means I am too."
"Captain?"
She jutted her chin to the left. "Go ahead and see for yourself. I won't stop you."
Still facing her with his swords at the ready, Rafe stepped backward, not liking the amused grin rising to her lips as he slowly made his way across the room toward the door she'd indicated. He didn't stop until his hip hit the knob.
"Want me to open it for you?" she asked sardonically. "I wouldn't want you to drop that impressive fighting stance prematurely. Who knows what terrifying evil might await you on the other side of that door?"
With a scowl, he lifted one of his swords, then remembered the scabbards weren't attached to his back and paused. He was, in fact, naked from the waist up, but that wasn't what bothered him. The trousers around his legs were foreign, his feet were bare, and there was nowhere to secure his weapons.
"You were pretty bloodied up, so we took the liberty of changing your clothes for you." She winked. "My offer still stands, by the way. Need a hand?"
"No," he half growled before placing one hilt between his teeth and pushing the door open. The girl's laughter followed him into the dark hall, so he kicked the door shut behind him.
On high alert, Rafe crept forward, fighting to maintain his balance in this swaying world. The ground refused to stay put, and with each step the wooden planks beneath his feet groaned. A globe of soft light hung near the center of the hall, gently illuminating the space. It wasn't fire. It was unlike anything he'd ever seen—pure white and sparkling like…magic.
A door beside him swung open.
Rafe jolted and spun, keeping his blades at the ready, but his only foe proved to be loose hinges. The door swayed with the floor, slipping open then slamming shut, then slipping open, then slamming shut, blocked from fully closing by a wedge of wood. On the other side, he saw the hint of a woman beneath a bundle of blankets, her face hidden in shadow. Golden hair flashed as the door closed. When it glided open again, two black-as-night eyes watched him.
"Could you get that?" she called sleepily before rolling over.
Rafe frowned, but when the door shut again, he lifted the wooden latch and pulled until he heard it click.
"Thank you!"
He shook his head and kept walking forward. Where in the world am I? What the gods is going on?
A flash of natural light through an old door caught his eyes. He strode forward and kicked it open, no longer cautious but anxious to get his bearings. With a crack the wood splintered and the door broke off its hinges, landing on the floor with a loud bang. So much for subtlety. Rafe leapt through the opening, prepared for battle—and stopped cold.
The air was alive with magic.
Yellow streaks flowed with the wind. Blue sparks crackled over the wooden rails to his left and right. Flares of color danced across the sky, breaking up the endless gray. Across the way a woman stood surrounded by red glitter, her fist encased in burning flames as she stared out toward an invisible horizon. To his left, a man knelt by a box of plants with glowing emerald vines snaking up his arms. To his right, another man stood with outstretched hands. Pine-green embers burned at his fingertips and shot overhead.
"You're awake."
Rafe spun toward the voice, lifting his blades. A woman watched him from a raised deck, her hands gripping a spoked wheel. His focus went straight to the caramel-tinted wing behind her left shoulder. It identified her as a hawk, as did the sharp look in her icy blue eyes. There was something familiar about her—something he couldn’t quite place.
"And you broke my door," she added.
"Who are you? Where am I?"
"Captain Rokaro, and you're on my ship, The Wanderer."
Ship? Rafe took in his surroundings anew—the sails overhead, the damp wooden rails, the opaque gray coating the sky. The slapping sound in his ears was the crash of water on wood, and the ground was rolling because of waves, which meant…