I want to tell him I’m perfectly fine. Hadn’t he just seen me flying? Unfortunately, my eyes slip closed and blackness consumes me before I can.
I dream in fitful flashes of nightmarish scenes. Battlefields full of dead, mortal and fae alike. And me, flying high above it all, vengeance in my heart as I survey a world ripped to shreds. My wrath knowing no bounds, my fury huge enough to sweep away kingdoms…
A fateful tempest.
A storm unbound.
When I awaken, I am in an unfamiliar cabin far larger than the one in which I’ve been bunking. The captain’s quarters at the ship’s stern. I hear the rhythmic slosh of waves against the hull outside.
We are underway.
I roll over and find Soren sitting on the edge of the mattress, staring down at me. One hand is planted in the blankets beside my head. There is a deep furrow of displeasure between his eyes. I reach up and smooth it away with my thumb. My arm feels like it weighs a ton.
“You look terrible,” I inform him softly.
He scoffs. “Speak for yourself.”
My hand falls back to the bed. I push myself upright against the headboard, wincing as my sore muscles protest. Everything hurts, down to my marrow.
“How long was I out?”
“About six hours.” He studies me, eyes slivers of blue. The expression on his face is one I cannot fully decipher. “How are you feeling?”
“A bit sore.”
“Only a bit?”
“Okay, slightly more than a bit.” I blow out a breath, rubbing at my Remnant mark. It aches worse than usual. “Nothing that will not heal in a few hours’ time. Nothing permanent.”
His expression turns suspiciously blank.
“What? What is it?” My heart beats faster. “Has something happened?”
His mouth opens, then shuts again. As though he cannot quite find the words. “Rhya…”
“Are you injured?”
“My ribs are bruised but already on the mend.”
“You should let me wrap them.”
“They’re fine. Barely a twinge anymore.”
“Then what’s changed?” I ask, leaning closer to him, eyes narrowing on his face. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing is wrong.”
And yet, there is something decidedly off about him. I cannot put my finger on what. If my maegic were not so drained, I’d reach out with it and try to read him elementally. The bond always gives me a clearer picture of what is going on inside his head—and inside his heart.
It should not take long for my maegic to recover enough to feel him again. Still, I do not much enjoy even a short stretch of disconnection.
I drag in a deep breath. “Do not tell me we’re abandoning the mission?”
“No. We should reach the Iron Isle within the hour.”
“Then what is it?” I scan his empty features, searching for clues. “What’s wrong?”
“I told you, nothing is wrong.”