To my Guillotine Queens:
it’s all in the execution.
One
The ocean had always reminded me of the sky.
Both were vast, ancient domains that we could never hope to control, and each time we entered them, we placed our lives in the hands of something that could crush us.
Something about that thrilled me.
I stood at the bow of the Aizel dressed in my flying leathers and a thick green cloak the ship’s captain, Samra, had reluctantly lent me. Salt air nipped at my face, the wind running long fingers through my curls and lifting them to dance like ribbons.
A shadow rippled across the water ahead of the ship. I lifted a hand, feeling the brush of feathers a moment before Resyries landed on the railing before me. Wings outstretched against the wind, the crow balanced effortlessly, the gossamer shine of his dark feathers blending into the blue predawn light. The connection between us thrummed with quiet contentment, something neither of us had had much of in recent days.
After our flight from Illucia, we’d headed to the Ambriel Islands but had decided to skirt around them rather than make land, since the islands were likely full of Illucian soldiers searching for us. Their queen was not going to let me escape so easily. Not when I was the only one who could hatch the crow eggs she’d stolen from Rhodaire. Not to mention I was technically still betrothed to her son.
I winced at the thought of Ericen. Unexpectedly, we’d become friends during my time in Illucia. The fingerless leather gloves I wore each day had been a present from him, a symbol of strength when I’d needed it most. But the prince was loyal to his kingdom. Loyal to his mother.
“I have to let him go, Res,” I said into the wind. So why couldn’t I?
Res trilled softly, sensing my melancholy mood. Nearly a month old now, he was almost big enough to ride, a thought that both thrilled and terrified me. I was days away from reaching a goal I’d been working toward my entire life, but I couldn’t separate it from what else it meant: war was coming, and we were ill-prepared.
I crossed my arms against the chill wind. “This is all such a mess. Caliza doesn’t even know about the eggs Razel took, let alone that we’ve escaped and are heading for Trendell. She’s probably worried sick.” I had a letter prepared for her but hadn’t yet been able to send it.
It pained me to think of her worrying, though she’d never let her distress show. It’d always been that way. Her the sturdy land, me the wild air, our mother the ever-changing sea.
What would she think of her daughters now?
Res turned, leaning his head toward me. I placed a hand on his beak, and for a moment, there was only us. A girl, a crow, and the vastness of the empty sea. I gathered that feeling of serenity and tucked it away inside myself. Whatever came next, I wanted to remember this moment of peace.
A thin line of sunlight cut a red slash across the horizon, softening quickly into the warm orange of a candle flame. It illuminated a distant coastline like the spine of a slumbering beast.
Rhodaire.
Our route had taken us far out to sea in a wide arc, consuming two weeks and most of our supplies but hopefully throwing Razel off our trail. All that mattered was that we still had enough time to reach Trendell before Belin’s Day, when the other kingdoms had agreed to meet and hear out my pleas for an alliance against Illucia.
In a couple of weeks, we would either stand united against the empire or fall divided beneath their blades.
The deck creaked, and Caylus appeared at my side. Every inch of him was pulled tight, from the rigidity of his broad shoulders to the steel in his green eyes. Words had never been his strength, but our proximity to the Ambriels had only made him more withdrawn.
The sea breeze caught my hair again, lifting and tossing my dark curls as a slow, heavy unease curled in my chest, thick with guilt. It was my fault Caylus had been torn from yet another home. My fault Kiva lay injured in bed, her sword arm now useless. My fault everyone on this ship was now a target for a cruel queen.
I wanted to be a leader, to be the sort of person people wanted to follow. So far, I’d only made things worse.
I slipped my hand into his. “What are you thinking about?” I asked. It was one of his favorite questions. He might be shier than a spring flower in winter, but he did like to talk to me, and I liked to listen.
“Crows,” he said with a hint of a smile. “Magic.” The smile faded. “War.”
I squeezed his hand. “I know I said it before, but I understand if you don’t want to do this. It isn’t your fight.” Though the idea of doing this without Caylus at my side hurt more than I wanted to admit. He was a steady rock, a comforting reflection. We understood each other, and in a way, we’d help rebuild each other.
But that didn’t make this his war.
He bit his lip, but before he could respond, footsteps made us both turn. Samra stood in the center of the deck, her unruly black curls pulled up in a tight bun, her good eye sharp as freshly cut glass. “We need to talk.”
* * *
In the warmth of Samra’s small office, Caylus and I sat in two handcrafted chairs opposite the captain’s own. Loath to be left out of anything, Res had crowded in behind, though he was as tall as Caylus and twice as big around. He dropped his head onto my shoulder as if it might make him smaller.
I was keenly aware of Kiva’s absence. Her shoulder had healed quite a bit in the last couple of weeks, but the pain tonic the ship’s healer, Luan, had her on made her sleepy. She often wasn’t up until late in the afternoon.
A pot of tea steamed in the center of the great oak desk, a matching set of carved antlers supporting the tabletop. The office was simple, almost bare, save for a narrow shelf lined with trinkets and books. A worn flag bearing the ship’s namesake, an aizel—a snow-white, horned cat—sat beside tiny wooden ships painted pure black, colorful bits of rope tied in complicated knots, and small sandstone figurines of seahorses and miniature krakens.
Two weeks on her ship had done little to warm Samra to me, though I was starting to doubt “warm” could ever describe her. The captain was gruffer than a jagged cliff. If she weren’t the leader of the Ambriellan rebels and didn’t share my goal, I’d have expected her to have thrown us overboard by now, if only because Res’s talons had left more than one scratch on her ship, not to mention the wind, rain, and lightning.
His control over his magic had grown considerably, though he still had far to go. Not for the first time I wished Estrel was here. She’d taught me everything I knew. I felt like a pale imitation trying to do the same for Res, but I had to try. His mastery over basic winds and rain could only take us so far. We needed lightning and thunder, powerful gales and torrential downpours.
We needed a storm.
Samra didn’t sit as she poured light golden tea into handleless mugs smaller than my palm. The steam carried the flowery scent of chamomile as she passed each of us a cup with the solemnity of an Ambriellan priestess handing out prayer candles.