Denan’s call echoed from above. A mighty crack followed by a groan, and then something fell toward her. Larkin didn’t have time to think. She dove forward. She must have blacked out, because when she awoke, she was smothered in smoldering branches that should have burned her to a crisp—and they would have, if her shield hadn’t sprung up between her and the branch.
Left arm buzzing painfully, she kept her shield up as she wriggled out from under the burning branches and staggered farther up the dock. She patted herself, expecting to find charred clothes, singed hair, and burned skin. Besides her throbbing arm, she wasn’t hurt. The shield had protected her.
Swallowing a sob of relief, she tried to think where a frightened little boy would go. Unbidden, an image popped in her mind of herself beside the loom with Aaryn yesterday. Choking on smoke, she ran to the main trunk and climbed. A couple dozen steps later, she was on the platform, which was filled with yarn, thread, and sticks.
“Wyn? Wyn, are you in here?”
Nothing. She forced herself to be still and listen—beneath the hungry crackling of the fire, little whimpering breaths. She turned her head toward a pile of soft yarn, illuminated by the flames from above. She pushed the yarn aside. The boy looked up at her, his hands wrapped around his knees. She snatched him up. He didn’t resist, wrapping his little arms around her neck. He reminded her so much of Sela in that moment, of the time she had run for her life with her sister in her arms.
“Denan! I found him!
She turned to leave but another branch fell, blocking their entrance with a wall of flame that flared into the room, catching the dry sticks and brittle pieces. She had seconds before the whole space went up, but she would not let the fire hurt this little boy. She held him fiercely and called up her shield, forcing it to grow bigger, wider.
Gathering herself, she leaped across the crackling tinder and prayed her clothing wouldn’t catch fire. She drove through the wall of flame and used her shield to push through the burning branches. When she came out on the other side, she turned back, amazed both of them were still alive—even more amazed her skin wasn’t blistered and melting. Wyn coughed, his body convulsing.
“Denan! I have him! Denan!”
There was no answer. Another branch fell, and she looked up, into fire and smoke. There was no way Denan could survive that inferno. Fear like she’d never known pulsed through her. The little boy’s fingers were knotted in her hair, pulling hard.
Ignoring the pain, she looked about, trying to find the boat, but it was buried under the branch that had hit her earlier. More branches fell, the whole tree coming down around her.
That left one option.
“Hold your breath,” she instructed Wyn. She sprinted and dove headfirst into the black water. Kicking for all she was worth, Larkin tried to get as far away from the falling branches as she could. She could only hope she was going in the right direction, as all the fish had fled, taking their lights with them. She swam until her lungs screamed for air before breaking the surface. She took a great gasping breath. Wyn’s weight pulled her under again. Her wet clothes bound her limbs. Wyn pushed against her like he wanted her to release him. It was hard to let go, but she made herself do it.
“Follow me,” he said as he rolled onto his belly and started kicking away from the tree. He was fast, shooting ahead of her.
A little relieved, she started after him. Moments later, a great groaning sounded. Above her, the tree buckled, and limbs speared toward her.
“Wyn! Dive!” she screamed in warning. He ducked under. She sucked in a breath, bent herself in half, and swam hard for the bottom. A moment later, something fell on her and shoved her deeper. In the blackness, she had no concept of which way was up or down. She writhed to free herself from the branches dragging her down.
Her shield! She formed it, amber light slicing through branches. Tangled branches hissed smoke above her. She couldn’t surface through that mess. She swam out. She’d reached the outside edges of the branches when the urge to breathe overpowered her fear of the burning wreck above her. She kicked upward, pulling herself between hot, bubbling branches that grabbed at her clothes.
She kicked and struggled, her lungs screaming for air, her body losing the fight toward unconsciousness when a hand reached down, grabbed hers, and hauled her to the surface.
She stood on a floating, steaming bough, and gasped for breath, slowly coming back to herself, to the arms wrapped around her as if they’d never let her go.
Her body shuddering, Larkin gripped Denan’s tunic and held him like an anchor. “Wyn?” she managed.
“You saved him.” His voice shook.
Her magic had saved them both. “How did you get out?”
“I saw you escape. I jumped and swam for a boat.”
She dropped her head to his wet chest. “How did you find me?”
“Wyn pointed to where he’d last seen you.” She looked into his eyes as ash fell around them like dirty feathers. He took her face in his hands. “I could see the light moving under the water, and then I saw it stop. I couldn’t get to you. Couldn’t—” His voice broke, tears running down his sooty cheeks.
She’d felt the same way when she’d looked into the inferno above and known he was up there somewhere and that he might not ever make it out.
“Larkin, what would I have done if you’d—”
She rose up, silencing his fears with her mouth. He froze in surprise, and then he kissed her back, lips desperate and relieved.
“Denan!” a voice called.
They broke apart. Denan tucked her head under his chin and held her, arms trembling. “We’re here!”
Through the steam and smoke, Mytin appeared in a large boat with several more men. Because of the debris in the water, the men couldn’t reach them. Larkin and Denan navigated burning branches until they reached a place where the boat could pull alongside them.
Mytin hugged Denan, his relief palpable. “You found Wyn.”
“Where is he?” Denan asked.
“Safe with Demry,” Mytin said.
“Larkin found him.”
Mytin wrapped her up as tight as he had his son. “I will forever be indebted to you.”
“Mother?” Denan asked.
Mytin drew back and passed a hand down his face, looking around helplessly. “She’s with the healers.”
As the boat rowed away from the steam and smoke, they passed a dozen more boats. Men and women threw water onto the branches or stood in the neighboring trees, vigilant with axes and buckets.
“I’ll make sure the fire stays contained,” Denan said to his father. “Go to her.”
His father didn’t hesitate to call over another boat to take him to his wife.
The sun rose in a bloodred sky. Covered in soot, Larkin and Denan staggered out of the boat and onto an unfamiliar dock. Squinting through stinging eyes, Larkin looked up into the boughs, covered with dozens of small rooms. She held her right arm protectively in her left; it was too sore to move much. And the other thorns weren’t feeling much better. Pipe music came from somewhere, its soothing effect easing Larkin’s hurts a bit.
An older man in dark-brown robes with a short mantle stepped out to greet them. He pointed to a room directly above them. “She’s in there.”
Denan nodded his thanks and hurried up the winding stairs on the main trunk. Larkin followed him inside a wide room. Aaryn lay on a bed. Bandages covered the right side of her body from her jaw down to her arm before spreading to her ribs and stomach. Mytin sat beside her, playing his flute. He glanced up when they approached.
“Oh, Mother . . .” Denan breathed.
Aaryn reached for Denan, who immediately went to her side and took her hand. “I’ll be all right.”
Feeling out of place, Larkin hung back by the door. Unable to watch their tearful reunion, she looked instead at the healers beside Aaryn. Magalia and— “Alorica?” she gasped.
“Hush, Larkin,” Alorica said with a meaningful look at
Aaryn, who moaned as Magalia pressed bandages on her weeping skin. Denan pressed his mother’s hand to his forehead.
“What are you doing here?” Larkin whispered.
“I’m apprenticed to Magalia.”
Magalia motioned Alorica closer. “Wrap them firmly. It will help with the swelling,” Magalia said as Alorica watched, enraptured. “There was quite a bit of weeping, so we decided to change her bandages. I’ve given her something for the pain, and the music is helping.” Magalia settled the last bandage. “The burns were not as deep as they could have been. Barring infection, I expect Aaryn to make a full recovery, but she needs her rest.” Magalia’s eyes narrowed on Larkin. “Did you hurt your arm?”
Everyone’s gaze swung to her.
Uncomfortable with the attention, Larkin shrugged. “A burning bough fell on me, but it’s getting worse.”
“Why didn’t you say something?” Denan asked.
Magalia went to Larkin’s side and pulled up her sleeve, revealing swollen, bruised skin over the new thorn in her forearm. Magalia prodded the swelling gently. “She’s probably losing her thorn.”
Sharp panic lanced through Larkin. But then, the magic had worked last night. She must have just used too much too soon.
Magalia took a long strip of cloth and wrapped Larkin’s arm, placing a pungent poultice inside. “A tree branch landing on the site didn’t help much. Some feverfew should help too. I’ll bring you some. Just be careful—it can upset your stomach if you have it too often.” Magalia motioned for Alorica to follow her out.
“Alorica,” Larkin said. “Can I speak with you?”
Alorica paused, looking for permission from Magalia.
Mytin pushed himself up and came to stand by Larkin. “Actually, if you two could excuse us, I would like to talk to Larkin for a moment.”
“You should let Aaryn sleep,” Magalia said. “She needs to rest.”
Alorica shot Larkin an apologetic look and followed the other healer out. Mytin shut the door behind them and ushered Larkin into a corner while Denan took over playing something soothing for his mother.
Mytin unwrapped the bandages Magalia had placed over her forearm. “Wyn told me what happened. You didn’t have time to use your amulet, did you?”
Larkin’s eyes widened. She hadn’t. She didn’t need the amulet at all.
Mytin nodded. “Your sigil protected you and my son.”
“You said they would take weeks to come in.”
“Sometimes magic comes quicker for those who wield great power.” He rested his hand on her shoulder, eyes shining with gratitude. “Thank you for what you did.”
Reeling in her excitement, Larkin nodded.
“I would like to talk to Larkin as well . . . alone,” Aaryn said softly.
Denan and Mytin exchanged glances but quietly filed out. Larkin hovered in the corner.
“Come closer, please.”
Larkin hesitated but obeyed, sitting in a chair by the woman’s bed. “Are you in a terrible amount of pain?” she asked.
“No,” Aaryn said, her voice sounding disused. “Magalia gave me something.” She swallowed hard a few times. “I want to thank you for saving my son.”
Head down, Larkin nodded.
After a moment of silence, Aaryn said, “Has Denan been good to you? Because if not, I’ll break his neck.”
Larkin choked on a laugh. “How have you—all of you—come to accept this?”
Aaryn grew distant. “At first, I hated Mytin and everything about this place. As time passed, I came to understand that had I been given a choice to leave my family forever in exchange for this life, I would have. Now I hurt more for those I’ve left behind, for the drudgery and oppression of the women I love, and I grieve for the daughter I will never bear.”
Larkin felt like crying—probably stress. She hadn’t slept all night. “Did you never try to escape?”
Aaryn chuckled. “Of course I did, but no girl has ever made it past the sentinels. Sometimes . . . Sometimes I wish one of my sisters would be taken, just so I could see them again.”
Larkin saw her future roll out before her. She would fall for Denan—was already falling for Denan—and as hard as she tried, this place was impossible to hate. And the magic . . . She’d never had power before, never had the chance to change the world for the better. Could she really walk away from that?
“I told all of you to let her rest.” Larkin turned as Alorica and Magalia stepped into the room. Magalia held two cups in her hands. She tipped one to Aaryn’s mouth. “This will help you sleep.”
Aaryn finished the drink, her eyes heavy. Magalia handed Larkin the other cup. “Best to down it all in one go.”
Larkin drank the concoction, the sweetness of honey lingering as the bitterness faded. “Thank you.”
Magalia took the empty cups and motioned Larkin out. Turning sideways, Magalia shuffled past Larkin. “If it becomes infected, make sure you come back. Sometimes they have to be helped out.”
Larkin blocked her path. “Did you ever try to escape?”
Magalia paused, her arms folded impatiently. “I have patients to tend to.” She started around Larkin, who moved to block her again. Magalia’s eyes narrowed. “I left behind a fiancé too. I loved him so much, more than anything. But my husband, Serek, was right—I loved him more.”
Larkin’s head fell. “Would you have chosen this life freely?”
Magalia heaved in a breath. “My husband died beyond those walls. He was captain of the prince’s guard. No one could best him with any sort of weapon, not even Denan. But a wraith pierced his arm, and I wasn’t there.” Moisture brimmed in her eyes. She turned away, swiping at her cheeks. “And still, even knowing he would die, I would have come. Accept your life here. Appreciate your husband with what time you have. Because it won’t last forever.”
Magalia pushed past her, starting up the stairs at the trunk.
Larkin grabbed Alorica’s arm before she too could disappear. “And you? Would you stay?”
Alorica brightened. “I’ve always wanted to be a healer. It’s fascinating. They have books. Tam is teaching me to read them.”
“What happened to you?”
Alorica held out her hands. “This place happened to me. Have you ever seen such wealth? I mean, I had my eye on Bane—he was the richest boy in town—but he’s a pauper compared to Tam. I have my own bed—no sisters kicking me. Have you tried all their sweets? And the clothes . . . Tam’s having an entire wardrobe made up. I have an amethyst pendant the size of my thumb.”
Larkin’s mouth fell open. “You were the one who was so set on escaping.”
“Well, of course. We were traipsing through the woods, eating lizards over campfires, and running for our lives.”
Larkin shook her head in disbelief. “What about your family?”
Alorica rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me you aren’t enjoying being spoiled—after that pit you climbed out of.”
“Alorica!” Magalia snapped from the stairs.
Alorica cast Larkin an apologetic look and hustled out. Larkin watched her go.
For the first time since she’d arrived at the Alamant, she was alone. Wondering what to do with herself, she looked around. Not seeing Denan, she started toward the main trunk when a thump followed by muttered cursing sounded above her.
She hesitated, but what if someone needed help? She followed the sound to a room just above Aaryn’s. Inside, a young man was trying to pull himself up from the floor with one hand on his cane, the other on the side of the bed. He had golden skin and angular eyes.
Larkin hurried to hook one arm under him and lift. He looked up at her in surprise before heaving himself onto the bed. He was sweating and red-faced, his leg ending in a stump above his knee.
Feeling awkward, she stepped back. “Is there something I can do for you?”
He nodded to a pitcher and washbasin. “Bring me a wetted cloth. I don’t think I’m up for standing again.”
She di
d as he asked. He washed his face and neck before catching her staring at his stump. “Wraith blade. Luckily, I was close enough to come in for an amputation before the poison spread.” He rubbed his shaved head nervously. “Were you in the fire?”
“How did you know?”
“You still have ash in your hair. You must be Denan’s wife.”
“I’m not his wife,” she ground out.
His eyes narrowed in disapproval. “Denan is the best man I know. He’s my commander—or was.”
“Was?”
“When a prince is called, he learns to lead the military first. That way he knows how to lead men, fight in a war, and he has the support of the army. He steps back from that calling when it’s his turn to search for a wife.”
“So, your leg . . . it wasn’t that long ago?”
He shrugged. “A couple months. I was doing better, but then it got infected.”
“What happened?”
His eyes grew distant. “We were driving off a group of mulgars. They were getting too close to the wall. It was a trap. The wraiths ambushed us, Hagath leading them. Denan himself would have died if Serek hadn’t taken a wraith blade for him.”
Serek . . . that was Magalia’s husband. “Is that why Magalia hates Denan?”
The man shifted uncomfortably. “I shouldn’t be telling you this.”
He didn’t want to tell her something; she could see it in the way he turned away from her. “Did Denan . . .” Closing her eyes, she steeled herself. “Did he kill Serek?”
The man went very still. “You need to go.”
So that’s why Magalia hated Denan. Larkin would have too, except she’d seen what the poison did to Venna. She felt a rush of compassion for Denan. He’d been so patient with her, all while bearing his own grief. Guilt squatted on her chest, making it hard to breathe.
She backed out of the room, went to the dock, and sat with her feet in the water, wondering when Denan would come for her. She didn’t have long to wait. He came down the stairs, his tension easing when he caught sight of her. He jumped into the boat without a word.
“Are you all right?” she asked as she climbed in behind him.