"And that's Archer," Brighty continued, spinning him toward the man with silver-streaked dark hair and evergreen magic at his fingertips. He shifted his gray-blue eyes in their direction at the sound of his name, something within them warmer than Rafe had expected. "He's our resident ferro'kine, or metal mage. He's a bit quiet sometimes, but if you plug him with a few shots of dragon's breath he opens right up. Just make sure there aren't any daggers close by, because funny guy thinks it's hilarious to throw them at your face when you're not looking and it'll scare the piss right out of you. And before you ask, yes, I'm speaking from experience."
Down the line she went, making Rafe dizzy with the sheer volume of words spilling from her lips. She wasn't peppy by any means, more dry-witted and energetic, with enough humor that she almost made him crack a smile.
The short, somewhat rotund man he'd seen kneeling by the plants was Leech, an earth mage who knew medicine and apparently had a nasty habit of stealing blood for experiments. Next came Spout, a water mage with reddish-brown skin and bright honey eyes who was allergic to just about everything. When she sneezed, the ocean tended to erupt and land on whoever happened to be close by. High overhead was a young boy, all scraggly limbs and shaggy blond hair, whose name was Squirrel. He had no magic—yet—just a knack for scrambling across the ropes. Then there was Jolt, who needed no introduction because as soon as Rafe turned toward her, something zapped him in the ass, making him, well, jolt. According to Brighty, she was a relentless tease, something he learned for himself as her dark-mocha gaze raked up and down his half-naked body. She sauntered when she walked, curves on full display, something charged about the deep golden hue of her skin. The bearded man he'd seen by the captain's side was Patch, the first mate and also a wind mage. Finally, hidden below deck were Cook, the cook, and Shadow, the blonde woman he'd passed in the hall. Darkness was her magic, so she usually slept during the day.
"And that's everyone," Brighty finished with a shrug. "Any questions?"
Rafe glanced quickly around the ship, his home for the time being, at least until he found land or anything aside from the thick, endless fog closing in on all sides. If he hadn’t come from the world above, a land bathed in sunlight and awash in color, he might never have believed it existed. Yet he was grateful. Staring into the abyss, he could almost forget his other life—a life where his brother was now mated to the woman he quite possibly loved, a life where he wasn't needed and wasn't wanted, a life full of people who probably hadn’t even noticed he was gone.
But he had to remember that life, because it held Cassi, and she held secrets—ones he was determined to uncover. Xander and Lyana might have moved on from him, but he wouldn’t let them go until he knew without a doubt they were safe. He couldn’t. Somehow, he'd get his wings back. In a world made of magic, as this one seemed to be, there had to be a way. Until then, he'd do what he'd always done—he'd survive.
Putting his forearms against the rail, he turned toward Brighty, half his focus on the choppy sea visible within the mist, and half on her. "What magic do you have?"
"Stick around long enough and maybe you'll find out."
He turned back to the water. "Where are we going? To this king?"
"Eventually, maybe." Brighty shrugged and took the spot beside him, her elbow grazing his. "But we have to make a stop first."
"Where?"
"Oh, you'll see."
He snorted, uninterested in her twisted words and the wall she so clearly maintained. "Why are you helping me?"
"Because Captain asked."
His gaze slipped over Brighty's onyx tresses to the woman at the wheel, her singular brown wing outstretched to catch the wind. Beneath a wide-brimmed hat, the captain's hair was wrapped in colorful bands of fabric that covered its true color. They swirled in the breeze, almost like magic. A true hunter of the House of Prey, she kept her eyes on the distant horizon, focused on some elusive prize he couldn’t begin to fathom.
"And why is the captain helping me?" he murmured, looking back at Brighty.
"Because the king asked," she answered smoothly before sliding her gaze out to sea, but not before he saw a steely glint pass over her unsettling eyes. "And because she can't help herself. Captain has an uncanny knack for collecting people the rest of the world throws away."
3
Xander
The advisors gave Xander a day to wallow before demanding an audience. He ignored the incessant knocking on his door and paced across his room, surprised the rug beneath his feet had any threads left. Yes, he was hiding. But not because he couldn’t face the truth—Lyana was gone. It was a fact. What he didn't understand was how much to reveal to everyone else. What would the people think if they knew someone with magic had snuck into their most sacred place and stolen their princess? That Lyana herself, beloved by all, possessed a power meant only for their gods? That she'd saved his life? That he'd left her?
"Lysander."
Queen Mariam's voice broke his ruminations and he spun to find her standing in his room, arms crossed with a hard look in her violet eyes. The balcony—he'd forgotten about the balcony. "Mother, I—"
"You cannot ignore this any longer."
"Ignore?" He shook his head. Ignore? All he’d done for a day straight was think on this, his mind spinning into a vortex he couldn’t escape. "Is that what you think I'm doing?"
"If not that, then what?"
"I—" His jaw hung open but nothing else came out. "I—"
"Princess Lyana is gone."
His heart contracted upon hearing that ugly truth on someone else's lips. "I'm aware."
"Rafe is gone."
Xander closed his eyes, remembering the horror on his brother's face before he'd turned his back and walked away. "Again, I'm aware."
"The people are talking."
"The people are always talking."
"They say Rafe bewitched her. They say he stole her away. They say he brought her beneath the mist, where Vesevios has claimed her."
For the first time in what felt like days, Xander stopped in the middle of his room, bent over at the waist, and laughed. Oh, if only it were so easy! Just yesterday, he'd thought the worst thing to ever happen in his life was interrupting a midnight rendezvous between his brother and his mate. Now he found he wished the rumors his mother rattled off were real. If only they'd loved him a little less, this whole disaster might have been averted. They'd be gone, yes, but only his heart would be broken and not his kingdom, which, if the truth got out, would surely fall apart.
"I fail to see the humor in the situation."
"I know," he sputtered. If he didn't laugh, he might cry—or worse. All the rage he'd kept coiled inside for so long had been unleashed, and now he didn’t know how to bury it away. Instead, it coursed through him, boiling his blood so he wanted to shout and snap and do all manner of unprincely things. But that would solve nothing. It would only hurt his people more. So he laughed, because at least then he could pretend the tears in his eyes were easy to wipe away. With a cough, he cleared his throat, trying to find his composure. "I know, Mother."