A tingle of power slithered down her spine.

  Immediately she grasped a branch of the tree, teeth bared, and smeared its blood to the glimmering wood.

  The sea exploded.

  They were knocked back by a wave hard and heavy as stone, flung away. All Moon could do was wrap Raliel’s arms around her head as they careened through the water.

  They slammed into rock—one of the pillars—and water pressed so that she couldn’t move or breathe. The sea itself bound them in place. But Raliel struggled to look.

  The sea demon was there.

  Massive!

  Moon laughed in glee—in terror. In glee.

  The sea demon filled the space, swarming around the tree, a thousand jagged teeth and whip-thin tentacles, scales and spines and black ink.

  Raliel yelled through the water great sea demon I am Raliel Dark-Smile, I

  The sea demon opened a single mouth, and its roar was stronger than the tide, blowing them back.

  DEMON! it screamed. I DEVOUR YOU! I DESTROY YOU! MINE THIS IS MINE GET OUT GET AWAY

  Fear pinched Raliel’s heart. Her bones were pure ice. Moon hissed, we need it

  Raliel clutched at her heart, the bleeding palm trailing threads of blood in the water like magic. Her shape shuddered, her bones unraveling.

  Raliel, Moon said desperately. She did not respond. She held on to herself, and Moon felt her panic, her determination to quell it. She dug her nails into her bleeding palm and drew in a huge breath of water.

  But she was shaking apart.

  Moon needed to talk to the sea demon! Moon needed—it needed—it needed to keep Raliel alive.

  The great sea demon billowed even larger: Moon reached for all the wild ocean-aether it could and ripped.

  A burst of power lit them up like a starburst, as if the ocean salt itself popped with aether.

  That power thrust them free of the pressing ocean, and Raliel angled her trembling arms forward like an arrow. They shot away.

  The sea demon gave chase.

  FIVE

  OSIAN REDPOP WAS FAMILIAR with waiting. Soldiers, especially those trained for the palace, learned early how to wait without growing complacent. And to look good doing it. Osian wasn’t too concerned about how he looked at the moment, internally bedraggled from being repeatedly possessed, raked over the coals for multiple offenses, and caught out in the demon-kissed lie he’d lived and breathed for ten years.

  What he wanted to do was collapse on the beach and stare out over the water in a daze, anxious and eager and honored and afraid and maybe the slightest bit in love. This tangle of emotions knotted up his stomach to the point where he thought stretching physically on the ground might be the only cure.

  But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He needed to remain vigilant. So Osian settled himself as he always did: taking his slow time moving through basic breathing exercises, then footwork dance, and finally, as the sun disappeared under the ocean horizon, he picked up his sword to run forms.

  He’d missed his sword the last three days. The weight in his hand, the poise it brought him, the soft leather of the grip made him remember himself. But tonight it wasn’t enough. Panting hard, he lowered it until the tip skimmed the sand. The ocean rushed in and out, the tide pushing closer to him. It reached with foam hands.

  Far out at the pillar islands, black now against the streaks of gold and pale violet in the southwest sky, Osian noticed the surface of the ocean glinting with light. As if a bright moon had appeared in the sky and reflected off the choppy waves.

  Osian stared at the light for a while, then turned and stomped up the beach to the pile of their things. He flopped down, boneless in the lack of witnesses. He found water and a bun. Ate them. The wind was cool but not cold, brushing hair back from his face; overhead the stars slowly peeked out of the midnight blue. A few clouds drifted inland. He could hear nothing but the crashing of waves. The rhythm wasn’t perfect, but he matched his breath to it, sinking into a shallow meditation.

  Suddenly he snapped out of it, gasping for breath, clutching his chest with both hands.

  He had no idea what had jarred him, but the physical panic reminded him of stumbling back every time the great demon let him go.

  Osian closed his eyes, recalling the heat in his cheeks that first night, when he’d been poised to cut Raliel’s throat, determined, pushing himself, but incapable. Afraid. Weary. So incredibly sad. Then her eyes had snapped open and he’d—

  Woken up tied to the bed. With a wavering ache in his legs and lungs like he’d been racing. His mouth had felt just slightly bitten. Being possessed had been all-consuming; he only remembered it like a dream: swaying lanterns, empty shadowed market, running, a laugh, a kiss.

  That’s the part he was really angry about. He’d wanted to kiss Raliel Dark-Smile himself since the moment he saw her, and obviously, of course, had not. Would not. But he didn’t get to be angry about that. Because of the lies. Instead, he’d begged forgiveness. Put all his truths into his eyes, his voice, his dimples. He’d watched her tuck her anger away behind that cold facade.

  To get back the softer trust, the warmth she’d just begun to offer him, Osian had told her everything. The important parts, if not the details. Picked her side. Even though his mother would hate him. Never forgive him.

  Osian Redpop was unfamiliar with questioning his own integrity. Strange, perhaps, for a spy, for a secret weapon sent to infiltrate the imperial palace. But Osian had always known what was right: Obeying his mother. Obeying his commanders. The two had never been in conflict. He learned, he worked, he surpassed expectations. He learned to be himself. To like it. He reported sometimes to his mother.

  In ten years he’d seen Syra only twice. Each time she’d seemed frail—not older, but ill, feverish. The light in her eye focused entirely on him. Osian knew if he betrayed his mother, she’d lose the only tether she had to life. To reality. Something in her had been torn away when his father was killed, something nobody could give her back. She could do it herself, maybe, but she wouldn’t. She’d mourned Skybreaker for twenty-four years. Half her life. All of Osian’s.

  Sometimes he wondered what his childhood would have been if his mother had loved his father just a little bit less.

  It made him shy away from love, himself. Choose flirting and smiles instead, friendships too precarious and brief to risk deeper connection.

  Then he’d been possessed by a demon. Experienced the disorienting sensation of being known. It was terrible. But also— a relief. Something knew him. A demon, but still. Moon knew him. Every shred of him. Maybe it was mostly intoxicating.

  Osian snapped to his feet. He left the bags, picked up his sword and Raliel’s, and jogged up the beach in the darkness, toward the little crossroads shrine set at the edge of the rain forest, where sand and stubbly grass became ferns and mud.

  When he reached the shrine, he dropped to his knees and placed the swords to either side of his legs. The shrine was built of small stones glued together with crumbling plaster, in the shape of a pointed hood. A tiny dragon statue snaked against the back, curling up and down around an offering plate scattered with ashes.

  From his pocket he pulled his paper, with the last of his thin charcoal sticks tucked into a ribbon. He wrote quickly against his thigh: Mother. I am stopping this. I love you.

  He lit incense and prayed softly to the crossroads of land and sea. Then he rolled his letter placed a small river stone over it. He cut his tongue one final time and spat the blood onto the stone. Osian took a shaky breath, then slammed the butt of his sword against it until it shattered.

  Message delivered, Osian returned to the stretch of beach for his vigil. His hands trembled slightly, and he held his own and Raliel’s swords tightly. It was done.

  He felt… good.

  Osian would not be welcome at the palace again after this, but if he could remain honest, that should be enough. He could do almost anything else, with his memory and skills. And maybe—maybe—Raliel would allow him to go with her for the rest of her journey, and he could be her friend.

  Unburdened, Osian had just begun to settle down on the sand for the long night vigil, when the surface of the ocean exploded upward.

  A massive wave of black water rose, spraying in a great sparkling arc halfway between the shore and the pillar islands. It was so large it blocked the pillars, blocked most of the sky. Osian gaped, backing up. He stumbled over the bags, then cussed at himself. He was, if not demon-kissed, an elite imperial warrior. Better than this.

  He drew both swords and stood at the edge of the tide, blades bared to the sea.

  The wave crashed down, shoving wave after smaller wave toward him. A bulbous shape rose—broad-backed and wet, black and red, rough as raw pumice. Then it vanished again, with another great wave. Osian’s pulse pounded. He shifted his weight.

  When the creature appeared again it was a lot closer.

  It burst up: this time in the starlight Osian saw teeth and tentacles; he heard a shriek and a long wail like a flute’s off-key scream.

  He’d never seen anything alive so huge.

  The tide ruffled furiously, lapping at his ankles. He clenched his jaw. If he didn’t see Raliel soon, he’d back off. This wasn’t a monster to fight for fun.

  It roiled tentacles, reaching, and dove again. A wind that smelled of old fish and briny rot gusted at him, and before he could gag, he saw a tiny splash among the angry waves near to shore. A head? A head! Arms!

  “Raliel!” he yelled, leaping into the ocean. His boots soaked immediately, water dragged at his legs, and he kept going. “Raliel!”

  Sea spray scoured his cheeks rough as sand, and he yelled her name again as she struggled to shore. She was gray as death, skin ragged—scaled?—hair tangled—her eyes were huge black orbs.

  Osian froze for a second, breathless. But it was her. He knew it. “Raliel, I’m here. Come here!”

  He held both swords high, wishing he could activate the aether-sigils on hers to make it shine like a beacon—even if that drew the monster, she’d get here first.

  Then a tentacle slapped beside her and she dove sideways, flailing.

  Osian was waist-deep and it was so hard to move, to shove himself against the driving waves. “Raliel!”

  He thrust a sword at the tentacle. Scales deflected the sword, and he jabbed with the other, up against the scales: that worked better, but was not nearly enough.

  Behind him Raliel struggled still, disrupting the sand and water. Osian struggled to hold his stance as he slashed at the tentacle. She did something and a burst of aether shoved around him, blasting the monster back. Her cry garbled, like a wet cough, and Osian turned to grab her, to help her, but the monster shrieked again. A pressure of air shoved him aside, and the tentacles chased after Raliel. Osian gritted his teeth and threw himself at the nearest one. It knocked him under, but he drove his swords up. His sword caught in scales and was torn away. He let it go.

  His lungs burned as he attacked with both hands on the heir’s sword: one on the grip, the other on the counterweight for leverage and force. He rose out of the water, salt stinging, blood in his mouth, and the monster loomed over him, blocking the whole sky as seawater rained down on him. Osian did not look for Raliel. He felt magic driving at the monster; he felt magic on his skin, and with a yell he stabbed at the monster. He was between tentacles, small and too close to be easily grasped: he hit hard, sliding the sword between ridged scales.

  The monster screamed and reared: Osian was dragged underwater. He choked. He felt fire on his thigh and side. Water was a thousand furious hands pulling and pushing at him. All he could do was hold tight to the sword and try not to breathe. He felt a tentacle around his leg and with one hand grabbed a knife from his thigh sheath and stabbed down.

  His head burst out of the water and he breathed: he choked again, coughing, and couldn’t see, but a silver-blue light drew him in one direction. Osian did not swim well, but his toes skimmed something and he tried. Oh, he tried.

  “Osian!” he heard as a huge claw swung at him. He twisted, but it caught his side, throwing him up, up, up and he fell again, slamming into the waves. Osian was nothing but pain, caught unable to breathe: sharp pain, empty black overwhelming pain! He felt air, sea spray, reached with one hand and cracked open his eyes just as light whipped over him, a web of lightning, and then a roar blew out his ears and Osian fainted.

  SIX

  BY THE TIME RALIEL and Moon dragged Osian up to the edge of the beach, she thought she would shake completely apart. Freezing, aching, somehow also on absolute fire, she panted, struggled to breathe with her barely reworked lungs, and finally collapsed. Osian still held her sword, clutched to his chest. His mouth was slack, thin blood pinked across his teeth, his clothes and body were waterlogged.

  Raliel leaned back, holding him against her chest, in her lap, and wrapped her arms around him. He breathed raggedly. So did she.

  Night pressed down against them. The ocean shoved loudly at the beach, churning waves leaving streaks of bloody foam against the sand.

  Moon crouched next to her, looking like a second Osian—dream Moon, Osian copy, pitch-black hair and frost-white skin, huge eyes, dimples gouged to either side of its frown.

  Was this a dream? Raliel blinked hard. She held the real Osian, both of them covered in blood.

  Moon had blood on its face, too. Looking at her.

  “Raliel,” it said. Stunned.

  It wasn’t inside her. Raliel couldn’t feel it under her heart. She was looking at it. With a shaky hand, she reached out and touched its jaw. Its skin was smooth and cold under her fingers.

  Then it vanished.

  Raliel’s back arched at the shock of bright, sharp aether. It tore through her, in through her open mouth and eyes, her palms. Raliel gasped loud and hugged her arms tighter around Osian. She pressed her cheek down against his head. The wind was so cold, but her heart was hot with Moon’s power. It sucked and pulled from the land: she felt the hiss of it, like a dim echo of Moon’s roar when it had grabbed hold of the ocean-aether and with raw power driven them away from the sea demon.

  Then on the beach: Moon next to her. Manifested. They’d transformed, but not completely. She couldn’t catch her breath. Her insides were—off. “Moon,” she whispered, shocked and in pain. Her body hurt. Bled. This was not all Osian’s blood.

  hold on, Moon said inside her.

  Shivering hard, Raliel clenched her teeth. She felt hot, not cold, but maybe it was shock, fever, she wasn’t sure. She pressed her eyes tightly closed as Moon filled her with magic. Finished reworking her lungs and bones and flesh.

  Raliel thought, If this were sorcery, I could do it myself.

  Osian groaned quietly. His breath was shallow, too. Raliel needed to get him to a healer. There was a town two miles west of here. Jellyfish Rest. “Moon,” she said, more a whisper than words, “stabilize him, too, if you can. Get inside him, if you must.”

  The power flexed inside her. Sparked. Raliel sneezed. It popped her ears, and she felt dizzy. Wrapping herself around Osian, she tried to think what to do. Fire. Warmth. Dry clothes.

  you’re not injured anymore, Moon said. just exhausted. when I go to him, it will be worse.

  “Do it.”

  just to keep him alive.

  Raliel nodded, then whimpered as Moon jumped from her hands and lips to Osian’s head and chest. Osian, in her arms, stiffened. Then Raliel noticed nothing but the vast, spinning emptiness of fatigue. She grasped at consciousness, and failed.

  When she woke, she was warmer, still embracing Osian. Night remained thick. It couldn’t have been long. Moon was a cold weight under her heart.

  get up, Raliel. you can. we’ll pull aether. leave everything, we can get new things.

  “My—my mother’s fan. Father’s agate.”

  Moon did something against her sternum that felt like a sneer. Raliel ignored it, carefully putting Osian down and struggling to the dark lumps of their bags. She was in no pain, just trembling. She fumbled with the ties but managed to pull out almost everything. Then she stripped fast of her soaked shirt and trousers. She dressed in most of her remaining layers, pulled on her boots, and from the tiny side pocket she pulled her diamond ring and replaced it on her forefinger. She tucked her other gifts, fire papers, money, and a knife into her belt, then grabbed Osian’s bag.

  The warrior shivered where she’d left him, still unconscious. Raliel undressed him quickly, jaw clenched. It was difficult because he was loose and couldn’t help—but Moon did. They got him in dry clothes but had to put his wet boots back on. By the time that was finished, she sweated down her spine and her fingers were stiff as sticks. “Can you help me carry him?”

  She wanted to ask if it could manifest again. How it had done it. How.

  Moon said, no, I don’t know. but I can make him walk.

  That’s what they did: Moon possessed Osian, and Raliel helped drag him to his feet. They stumbled, in sand-covered disarray, to the town.

  Raliel recalled very little of it, barely aware of more than putting one foot before the other, her arm around Osian’s shoulders. Moon said her name sometimes, in Osian’s gravelly, ocean-wrecked voice, and she said his in return. They trudged. They found the road. They reached the town gate at dawn and slumped against it. It was the best she could do. As they slouched down to lean against the wood in the darkness, Moon said Osian’s leg was inflamed, three left ribs broken, and he had scratches and massive bruises, plus damage to his throat and lungs, but only from nearly drowning, not from broken bones or ruptured anything. “He’ll survive, probably,” Moon wheezed from Osian’s mouth.

  “Good,” Raliel sighed. Her head lolled back against the gate. She heaved herself to her feet and pounded on the slats of wood.

  Immediately her heavy pleas were answered. A gatekeeper hurried to get more help, and Raliel and Osian were taken to a nearby inn. Osian was carried to the second level (Moon jumped back to Raliel before she let go of Osian’s hand), and the warrior was put into a room while Raliel explained they’d had an accident on the beach with a demon. She didn’t bother hiding her identity, but begged them not to send word anywhere—this was her Heir’s Journey, and with the generosity of the town, she and her companion would thrive. A healer pushed past her to fall at Osian’s bedside, and as she began, she ordered Raliel to explain what she knew. Raliel did her best without giving away anything magical about how she knew Osian’s injuries. The healer ordered everyone but her assistant out, though Raliel remained. She kept out of the way, kneeling by the foot of the bed, and put her hand on Osian’s ankle.