Through her stationary eyes, Marai watched Koda pull out a small tin box from his coat pocket. He lifted the lid, revealing a kind of metallic powder the color of charcoal. He took a pinch, silver eyes gleaming in the night as he faced Marai.

“This would have been much easier if you’d come willingly.”

He blew the pinch of powder into her face. Marai wanted to cough, but her paralyzed lungs wouldn’t contract. The powder settled in her eyes and up her nose. It burned on contact, and smelled chemical, sulfuric.

Her vision dimmed. A buzzing hummed in her ears.

Koda performed the same routine on Keshel as Marai’s world went dark, the powder knocking her unconscious.

Someone see us! Please! She tried to shout, but everything was growing faint.

Suddenly, Koda’s magic released her. She dropped, boneless, to the ground.

“Open your portal,” Koda ordered, voice coming from above her.

“Fuck you,” Marai snarled with the remaining strength she had. The powder made her weak, sucking all the energy from her.

“Open it, or I kill Keshel,” said Koda.

Marai heard the scrape of metal as Koda unsheathed a small blade. Keshel grunted from a physical impact.

“My knife is at his neck. Do it now, or I slit Keshel’s throat.”

Lie. Unleash the lightning instead.

But she couldn’t see. She couldn’t direct her magic. What if she hit Keshel or the guards?

“Or should I announce to the entire party inside that your king is a fake?”

How Koda knew, Marai was unsure, but it didn’t matter—she had no choice.

“Where?” she asked through gritted teeth.

“The Syoton port of Baatgai.”

Marai lifted one arm, heavy as lead, and pulled from deep within, remembering details of the Baatgai port she’d visited in her travels. She felt the magic leave her fingers, but couldn’t tell if she’d truly formed the portal.

“Good girl,” said Koda. Strong arms looped around her stomach and heaved her to her feet.

Ruen . . . come find me . . .

Chapter 40

Ruenen

He finally created a polite way to escape the cloud of young ladies and mothers. There was only so much giggling and fawning he could take. A few months ago he would have enjoyed such company, but now he was used to all the mysteries and complexities of Marai. She made those girls seem dull, lackluster.

Ruenen returned to the high table and took a sip of sparkling wine, scanning the room for Marai.

“Where has Lady Marai gone?” he asked Holfast, who stood nearby with Fenir and several noblemen in conversation.

“I’m not certain, Your Grace,” said Holfast, with an air of avoidance, as Fenir’s eyes widened.

“I saw you talking to her moments ago. She didn’t seem particularly pleased.”

Holfast pursed his lips. He made a quick excuse to the nobles and pulled Ruenen aside. “I merely told her what she needed to hear, Your Grace.”

“Which was?”

“That Nevandia must come first, and that you’ll do what’s right by your kingdom.”

Ruenen’s eyes narrowed. “By marrying someone you choose for me, correct?”

“A woman whom the Witan deems the most beneficial and suitable, yes.”

Irritation ignited in his blood. “You had no right to discuss those matters with Lady Marai, especially before talking with me.”

No wonder Marai had looked so upset. Did she truly believe Ruenen would listen to those orders? He had to tell Marai that she was the only woman he wanted to be with. Perhaps she’d gone upstairs to her room . . .

Ruenen stormed off through the reveling hall, past crowing nobles and inebriated dancers. Thora and Raife were nose to nose, laughing on the dance floor, effortlessly, freely in love. Aresti and Nosficio were engaged in a flirtatious conversation with Nieve, all coy smiles and steamy eyes, their heads bowed together in a corner of the hall.

Once in the entryway, Ruenen turned to the guards by the main hall doors.

“Have you seen Lady Marai?”

“She went outside, Your Grace,” said Elmar.

Ruenen thanked the young guard, and ventured into the courtyard.

All the air left his lungs at the sight.

Ten soldiers, Nevandian and Greltan, lay motionless on the ground. Four bodies lay outside the portcullis. Two packs of belongings had been left in the middle of the courtyard. It was completely silent. An eerie chill, far too cold for spring, hovered in the air; Ruenen’s fur cape couldn’t block the chill from seeping into his bones.

Ruenen rushed to the nearest soldier, placing his fingers on the man’s neck. A heartbeat, sure and steady.

He checked the next one. Unconscious, but alive. Relief washed over him, pushing aside the chill.

“Guards,” shouted Ruenen inside the castle. “Call Commander Avilyard!”

Within minutes, Avilyard and a slew of guards burst into the courtyard from the feast. Raife and Aresti were with them; Thora trailed nervously behind.

“What happened?” Avilyard asked, trying to rouse one of the unconscious guards. It was Nyle.

Thora rushed forward and took Nyle’s hand. “He’s ice cold.”

Magic spilled from her hands onto Nyle. The boy’s eyes fluttered open. He bolted upright, gasping for air as if he’d been drowning.

“You’re alright,” Thora said, rubbing his back. She then moved on to the next one. “I can feel the residue of magic on their skin.”