He was in the Sea of Mist.
Only it was an actual sea, made of water instead.
But the smoke? Where was the smoke? He'd spent his life staring down over the edge of his isle, convinced the world below was a land of never-ending flame, commanded by Vesevios, god of fire, brutal and burning. Now he was here, and it was…wet. Already a fine sheen coated his bare arms, a dampness that clung to his skin. The temperature was warm, but not overly so. Where was the churning volcanic sea? The pit of burning fire?
"Not what you expected?" Captain Rokaro asked as though reading his thoughts. "I thought much the same the first time I woke to find myself here. You'll come to learn that not everything you were taught in the world above can be trusted, especially concerning the things they fear."
"What am I doing here?" Rafe tightened his grip on the swords, not relenting at the coaxing edge in her words. "Do you know Cassi? Are you working with her? How do I get home?"
"Home." The captain sighed and turned to her side, catching the eye of the man standing a few paces to her right. He was large and burly, with olive skin, a thick black beard, and an ebony patch over his left eye. At her signal, he took the wheel. She turned back to Rafe and held his gaze as she approached. "I'm afraid you won’t be going home, at least not anytime soon. As for your other questions, I know no one by the name Cassi, and I work for myself."
"I don't believe you." He forced the words through gritted teeth. She was lying—she had to be. It didn’t make sense for Cassi to go through the trouble of cutting off his wings only to toss him over the edge into oblivion. What game were they playing? And what did it have to do with him?
It’s not personal, Cassi had said as she’d driven the dagger into his bones and sliced them in half. You'll survive.
She'd wanted him alive.
She'd wanted him here.
Why?
"You don’t have to believe me, but I'm telling the truth. I got an order from my king to wait in these waters for a boy to fall from the sky. I waited, you fell, and now here we are. Leech tended to your wounds, and Brighty was supposed to reapply the salves, though we both know the precaution wasn't necessary."
Rafe gripped his swords so tightly his nail beds went white. "What do you mean?"
"This world is made of magic, boy," the captain murmured as she stopped an inch from his blades, not a single drop of fear in her eyes. "You can’t hide what you are here."
They knew.
Rafe could feel the eyes on him, judging, staring, sizing him up and waiting to see what he'd do next.
They knew what he was.
Captain Rokaro reached up and brushed his blades to the side as she held out her palm. Yellow sparks swirled above her fingers, coalescing into a cool breeze that stroked his cheek like a tender touch. "You don't have to be afraid of us. How do you think I lost my wing? How do you think I ended up here? I know what it is to be hunted. I know what it is to be maimed and cast aside. But I also know what it is to embrace the power that was always meant to be yours, to revel in what you were always taught to hate. If we wanted to kill you, you'd already be dead. But you're not. So put the swords away and tell us your name."
He hesitated.
The tone of her voice was earnest, but the blades were all he had. The magic in his skin had never stopped the people he loved from leaving him. His wings and the world he knew with them were gone. All he had to keep the terror mauling his spirit at bay were these sharp metal edges.
"Your name?" she asked again. "Any name will do. It doesn’t have to be true. We all go by nicknames anyway. I just need something to call you other than 'boy.'"
A name. It sounded simple, but the words caught in his throat. Which one should he give? Aleksander Palleius? It was a stolen name, meant for a prince and not a bastard born in the dark. It had been his name for mere hours before Queen Mariam ordered it changed, and he'd never even known it belonged to him until years later. Alek Ravenson? If he listened closely, he could still hear the name shouted by Xander down the stone halls of their home, trailed by boyish laughter. It made his chest contract. He'd forfeited that name a long time ago, as soon as he'd discovered the truth of what it meant. And Rafe—what of that name? It belonged to a loyal brother who would have given anything for his prince. It belonged to a man who betrayed the person he cared about most for a single night with the princess who'd stolen his heart. It belonged to a raven, something the dull ache in his back whispered he no longer was.
The boat tilted and Rafe stumbled. His muscles went slack. The swords dropped to the ground, points embedding themselves in the wood as he gripped the hilts to keep from crashing to the floor.
He'd lost his wings.
He'd lost Xander.
He'd lost Lyana.
He'd lost his very name.
The only thing he hadn't lost was his magic—a gift he'd never even wanted. The one that had kept him alive while his parents perished. The one that had labeled him as other. The one that had delivered him into the arms of a woman who could never be his. The one that had healed every wound except those that mattered most—the shattered pieces of his broken heart.
"How about Scowl, since it’s all he ever seems to do?" The voice belonged to the milky-eyed girl he'd left downstairs. She stood in the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against the frame.
"Scowl?" the captain repeated, tossing a pointed glance at the girl.
She just shrugged.
"Rafe," he finally whispered, voice hoarse and raw. "You can call me Rafe."
"Rafe?" the girl asked. "What in magic's name is a rafe? At least Scowl stands for something."
"It’s short for Ravenson." He swallowed, meeting the captain's eyes. Her irises darkened with understanding as she nodded. He might not have wings, but he was still a bastard born of the sky—it was the one thing about himself he could never hide, could never change, no matter how he wished it were different.
"Rafe it is," Captain Rokaro said, authority oozing from her tone. "Brighty, introduce him to the crew. I have a ship to steer."
"I still think we should call him Scowl," the girl grumbled as she stepped forward. Then she offered him her hand. "Name's Brighty, short for Bright-Eyes, which I'm sure you already noticed. My father thought I was blind when I was a kid, so he set me up to beg on the streets. When my magic came in, I started to see just fine—well enough to become the best pickpocket the king's city has ever seen, if I do say so myself. Then I got in a bit of a pickle, and that's how I ended up here, with Captain Rokaro on The Wanderer. Got it? Good."
Before Rafe had time to speak, or even breathe, she looped her arm through his and pointed to the auburn-haired woman across the deck, who still held a ball of flame in her hands, the stark light drawing attention to the freckles spotting her cheeks. "That's Pyro. She's a pyro'kine, a fire mage, and I wouldn't get on her bad side if I were you, especially since she knows you can’t burn. Well, I guess technically you can, but it wouldn’t be permanent. Anyway, she's a bit of a nutter, but she's our nutter, so we love her."
"I can hear you," the woman drawled, darting her seafoam eyes in their direction. She waggled her fingers at Rafe, fire flaring with the movement.