Elated, Quin stepped forward—and three others stepped forward, too, fists wadded tightly at their sides.
“It’s Dom you’re excited to see?” said another voice, and Quin realized they weren’t guarding something, but someone.
The half circle parted to reveal a boy sitting at the piano. The dim light snagged on his sharp silver eyes. He boasted a shock of black hair, his copper skin lighter than Dom’s but not as fair as Quin’s, with a smattering of dark freckles. His right hand was splayed over the keys. Still the most beautiful hand Quin had seen, the fingers strong and elegant, though there were now only three.
His music teacher smiled. A smile that fell somewhere between wry and wicked.
“Would you look at that,” Tobin said. “The river king has returned.”
Chapter 5
Split Open
THE BOAT GLIDED INTO the cove as the sun set, a resplendent round peach melting into the sea. Perhaps the last sunset Mia would ever witness from an undulating ocean. She certainly hoped so.
As Nell steered the dhou toward shore, Pilar leapt into the water, drenching her trousers up to the waist. She tugged on Maysha’s bow as Nell executed a complicated maneuver with the coconut ropes, rolling the sail and securing it to the gaff with banana leaves.
Once again Mia felt useless. No one had asked for her help. She was left to sit primly on the boat, feasting her eyes on the shoreline.
To be fair, it was a splendid shoreline.
The sand was a ruddy orange, tinged pink by the descending sun. The water was rosy, too, blushing in soft ripples. The coast had a windswept look, sand sloping into mounds and dunes and, farther out, impressive rust-colored bluffs. Mia could make out small towers and turrets on the beach, surely shaped by little hands. Castles.
A sudden memory of Kaer Killian surfaced: how, after loosing the Bridalaghdú with Quin’s blade and soaring beside him down the mountain, she had squinted up at the castle they’d left behind. From that distance, it had looked small, laughably so. A minuscule dollhouse perched atop the northern peaks.
Till the northern peaks crumble.
Promise me, O promise me.
The words were too painful. Mia banished them from her mind. It no longer mattered if she and Quin had or hadn’t finished the sacred wedding vows. You couldn’t be married to a corpse.
She refocused on the shoreline. A row of trees with skinny brown trunks shot high into the sky, then burst into halos of bright yellow leaves. Banked in the sand beneath them were curious gray stones the size of a human skull.
“Lemon coconuts,” Nell said. “They fall from the fish trees.”
“Fish trees?”
“They don’t grow fish, if that’s what you’re wondering. They’re named after their long yellow fronds, which look like spiny fish bones. The lemon coconuts drop from the fronds.”
“Do they taste good?” Pilar said.
Nell made a throaty sound of pure yearning. “Like magic.”
“That could be good or bad.”
“Like good magic, then. The flesh of the lemon coconut is a staple here in Pembuk, we bake it into cakes and pies, but also savory dishes. Mix it with a little salt and cold milk and you’ll have a frosty yellow crème we call fish ice.”
“Fascinating,” Mia said at the same time Pilar said, “Disgusting.”
Nell laughed. “It’s quite tasty, I promise. Again, nothing to do with actual fish.”
Mia stood on the boat, unsure what to do with her hands. She watched Pilar wade slowly out of the water, then knot the rope around a fallen fish tree. The same knot Mia had attempted at least half a dozen times. Mia felt simultaneously proud of her sister, and irritated.
“Kind of quiet for a port.” Pilar surveyed the empty landscape. “Fine with me. I’m sick of talking.”
“Pata Pacha is a cove,” Nell countered, “not a port. Keep in mind I ran away under cover of night, it’s not like I wanted to trumpet my departure to all of Pembuk.”
The boat knocked into the shoreline and Mia lurched forward violently, nearly pitching overboard. Nell grabbed her hand. As she did, her long fingers brushed the frostflower on Mia’s wrist. Beneath the moving ink, a new sensation stirred.
Mia gasped.
“What is it?” Nell said. “Are you all right?”
“Heat. I felt heat.” Immediately she doubted herself. “I think I felt heat.”
“Could be your imagination,” Pilar suggested.
“Or it could be Pembuk.” Nell cast a reproachful glance at Pilar, then turned back to Mia. “The glass kingdom is known for its restorative properties—arid climate, warm sun. There’s something healing about this place, truly. You’ll see. In any case, this bodes well, don’t you think?”
Mia was still touching her wrist. She wanted so much for the feeling to be real. Every false positive hurt more than the last, a mockery of her former life. She remembered her mother talking about the Pembuka elixir, how she’d briefly tasted licorice and caught the scent of wood fire. Triumphs so small they were almost insulting.
Which was worse? Tasting, smelling, feeling nothing? Or constantly chasing the tiniest consolation prize?
Mia stepped onto the sand, then staggered forward, her land legs buckling beneath her. She fell to her knees, cupping handfuls of shimmering orange sand.
“It smells exactly the way I remember,” Nell said, wistful. “Pembuka sand has a distinctive scent. I know this doesn’t make sense, but to me it has always smelled warm.”
Mia took a breath. She sieved sand through her fingers. Tears pricked her eyes.
Warm. She could smell it. Feel it.
She buried her arms up to her elbows, pressed her nose to the soft sand. Laid one cheek against it, then the other. It was undeniable. She could feel heat rising off the surface.
Her heart swelled with hope. This place could fix her. It had to.
“Having a moment there, Rose?”
She stared up at Pilar through a film of tears. A few granules of sand clung to her lips. Mia knew she looked ridiculous, but she didn’t care.
“I feel something,” she said hoarsely. “I feel warm.”
Her sister shrugged, turned—and walked away.
If Pilar had struck her, it would have hurt less.
How had things changed so dramatically? That night in the “space between,” Pil had stood valiantly by her side. When Mia had confessed her fears that the elixir wouldn’t work—that a part of her would always be broken—Pilar had promised to fight for her until Mia was strong enough to fight again.
They had escaped the snow palace as allies, not enemies. Since then, Mia had done everything in her power to strengthen that alliance. But the harder she worked, the more guarded Pilar became.
And, as fast as it had come, the warmth died. The sand turned cold beneath Mia’s palms.
Fury hissed through her veins. Her first true sensation in months, ripped away from her.
“Who wants a lemon coconut?” Nell said. “I’ll find us one that hasn’t been eaten. The piglums love them, and they usually get there first.”
“I’ll try one.” Pilar hoisted herself onto the felled tree and adopted her favorite defensive posture: knees pulled to her chest, chin tucked between her patellae.