"Zabriel, this is Shea. She and her family helped me after I was hurt." My eyes met his, but I did not elaborate. The time for details would come later. "Shea, this is my infamous cousin, Zabriel, Prince of the Fae."

"Infamous-I like that." Zabriel stretched out his legs and planted them on the seat between me and his hat, feet crossed at the ankles. Extending a hand to Shea, he offered, "Truce?"

She accepted his hand without making the requested promise, but he didn't seem perturbed by any ill will she might harbor toward him. Outside the carriage, the city proper was sprouting up, and gas lamps attached to posts cast halos on the still-active streets. Their consistent light unburdened our eyes, and Zabriel's mood shifted toward the serious.

"Now, Anya, before you launch into that interrogation you no doubt have planned, I need to make one stipulation. You won't like it. But I don't want to play any more games, and I'm hoping you feel the same."

His face had hardened, the walls I'd grown used to seeing about him before he'd left Chrior returning like the chill that deadened autumn leaves. He'd become royal and unassailable in the span of a single breath, shrouding his benevolence as easily as he did his wings.

"But first, let me set your mind at ease about Illumina. She's safe."

"Illumina?" My eyes widened and my pulse quickened. "You've seen her?"

"Yes," he confirmed with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I'm aware of everything that goes on in Sheness. She doesn't know my whereabouts, but I have people looking out for her. I figured she was looking for me once I saw her in the city, and assumed there might be more of you on the way. I asked Gwyneth to keep an eye open in Tairmor. She's a friend, if you hadn't guessed. When I learned you were on this side of the Bloody Road, I decided I could afford a conversation. But let me make myself clear. I'm not likely to be persuaded of anything, and I will not be forced."

This was the Zabriel I remembered all too well-defensive, aggressive, distrustful of his mother. He'd drawn his legs under him, his elbows upon his knees, one hand sealed around the opposite fist. He was daring me to say he had to come home regardless of his wishes, goading me into giving him the justification he needed to disappear again, clearly of the belief that there were more Fae, probably the Royal Blades, waiting to make him abide by the Queen's demands if he refused. But I'd never done anything to earn that cold glower, and indignation rose in my chest like a snake ready to strike.

"The last two years may have changed you, Zabriel, but they haven't affected me much. I wouldn't have tried to trick you then, and I wouldn't now. It's just Illumina and me, and in all honesty, I wasn't even supposed to come. Queen Ubiqua has no intent to force you." I took a deep breath and met his eyes, determined to keep my voice steady. "She's dying, Zabriel."

He stared at me for a few seconds, his expression unchanging. Then his gaze dropped to the grated floor. Though I wanted to reach out and offer some comfort, I sat stiffly by, awaiting his reaction, while Shea examined him with wary interest.

"She's dying," he repeated. "Of what?"

"I don't know. But she's certain. The Great Redwood predicted it."

For an instant, it felt like the whole world was holding its breath, then Zabriel's posture relaxed and he grinned. Appalled, I shifted farther away from him, his response hitting me like icy shrapnel. Shea's head swiveled back and forth between us, her jaw clenching and unclenching until finally she cracked.

"What is wrong with you? Didn't you hear right? Your mother is on her way to the grave!"

"Sorry, but the Great Redwood also predicted I would die on the Bloody Road. And yet...here I am." He slapped himself irreverently on the chest.

"Did Ubiqua tell you that?" I asked, dumbfounded. I'd only been told of the Great Redwood's age and wisdom, never that it had failed in a prediction.

"As a matter of fact I did get this news from the Queen herself, and I've been calling that tree the Great Deadwood ever since I danced across the boundary. But if my mother insists on perpetuating this nonsense, well, at least her funeral arrangements will be made early."

I gaped at him in horror, seeing all the features that were recognizable to me but not the Prince I'd known. He was flippant and sarcastic and talking blasphemously about things that were sacred in Fae lore. I wordlessly shook my head. Shea, ever more direct, spoke my thoughts out loud.

"That's just not right."

"Oh, come on now." Zabriel crossed his arms, and temper flared in his dark eyes, his brows poised at an angle every bit as sharp as his cheekbones. "My mother has no reason to believe the Redwood's prediction, if indeed the hollowed-out stump even made one. How about we try to be honest about her motivations? She expected me to have had my fun by now and come home, like any other Faerie on his Crossing. But I haven't, so she's doing whatever's necessary to get me to return so I can become the Prince of Interracial Relations that she conceived me to be."

It felt like he was spitting on me with every sacrilege that fell from his lips. I'd left my home and my family, journeyed across the Territory, risked my life, lost my wings to bring him this message, this joke-worthy message that he didn't think merited the breath I'd used to deliver it. And he justified himself by mocking the Queen I revered, the Queen I believed to be dying. Had I really at one time thought him compassionate and selfless? Had living in the human world changed him this much?

His expression dared me to lean forward and smack him, betraying his assumption about what I would want to do. But I wouldn't give him the satisfaction, although it looked as though Shea might do it for me.

"You really have been gone too long. You've managed to justify what you did by re-creating history, re-creating your mother into some manipulative shrew who only wants to use you. But the truth is, you're having fun playing the part of a filthy, murdering pirate because it's everything you weren't supposed to become. But there's one thing I already know about your life out here, Zabriel. You've created a court for yourself, complete with enemies, allies, a city, and a sea to rule. Whether in Sheness or in Chrior, you're a prince because that's the only thing you know how to be. The problem is you want it on your own terms. You want the perks without the responsibilities. You'd rather be a self-styled prince than a real one who helps people."

Zabriel regarded me with one brow raised, his thoughts unreadable, while Shea's normally cherubic face was lurid. Then he clapped, slowly and deliberately.

"That was quite a speech, Anya. My mother chose the right heir if she wants to be succeeded by herself." I had forgotten how deductive and observant he was, the remarkable way in which his mind accounted for his senses, processed details most people dismissed, and turned them into an arsenal. In this case, it was simple reason that had led him to the conclusion about my appointment by the Queen. I saw Shea bristle on my behalf out of the corner of my eye as Zabriel went on listing my faults. "Self-righteous, single-minded, pointing out flaws and making it your business to fix them. In truth, not such a terrible set of traits for a ruler."

He leaned forward, his fingers twined, his eyes glinting at me in the light from the gas lamps outside, and lowered his chin without conceding our staring contest.

"I can even respect that, Anya. But I start to have a problem when you come to my city and try to tell me what to do with my life. You think right from wrong is a single, straight-edged standard, defined by your ideals. Here's the truth, and trust me when I say I'm giving it to you gently. I don't give a damn about your standards, and neither does most of the world. Just because you believe in something doesn't mean it's going to happen, or even that it should happen. Right and wrong don't exist-not in the way you see them. They are relative concepts, not absolutes. Tell me, who cared about Thatcher More's personal moral code when he angered the people in power?"

"How did you-" Shea started, but Zabriel cut her off, still addressing me.

"Who cared about your values when your wings were cut off? Who gave a thought to the upbringing and beliefs of that kid in Tairmor whose father was executed while he stood helplessly by? Preaching and judging are the habits of people who haven't lived, Anya. So you shouldn't begin your effort to convince me you know best by proving that you have no idea what the world is really like."

My thoughts spun, and I grappled for a response, but Zabriel didn't wait for one. He swiped his hat up from the bench, preparing to depart, then held up a hand, sighing as though with a pang of apology.

"Here's another truth, Anya. You may view me as a disgrace, but in my mind, I'm exactly what I'm supposed to be. And for the record, I haven't abandoned the Fae. On the contrary, I'm doing everything I can for them. Just not the way you'd like."

He locked eyes upon me, and in that moment I realized he was pained-maybe a victim of his own cynicism, definitely of his own impulsive mouth. Ubiqua's scolding voice rang in my head: Irresponsible. Self-indulgent. Childish. You're too intelligent to be that thoughtless, Zabriel. You'll destroy someone with your words someday.

He could have been reliving the same memory, in any of its myriad incarnations, but I would never know. With a crooked half smile, my cousin swung the door of the hansom open and hopped onto the street without thought to its movement. I scrambled across the seat and stuck my head out the window, not wanting to lose track of him, but he was gone.

"Well, he's precious," Shea said, shocked. "Are you certain he's what the Fae need?"

"He's the Queen's son." I shrugged, not meeting her eyes. I didn't want her to see the doubts that were stirring in my heart and creeping over my hopes like poison vines. "There is no one else."

Shea's piercing gaze told me she suspected I wasn't telling her everything, but she didn't press further. We rode in silence the rest of the way to the inn. The encounter with Zabriel felt like a raw sore in my gut, and I was terrified I'd seen the last of him. He hadn't wanted to hear anything I'd said about Ubiqua, about the need for him to leave Sheness, about the Faerie crown. But without him, Chrior could have a fourteen-year-old queen, and a second, perhaps even more violent, war with the humans. While changing his mind and his attitude might be difficult, the Faerie people still needed Zabriel, the only Prince of the Fae in our world. I also couldn't help but think that, regardless of his protestations, he needed us.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO.

PIRATE HEAVEN.

Despite the warmth and luxuriousness of our second-floor room at the lodging house-the best Dementya money could buy, with its separate beds, private bathroom, and large windows overlooking the street-I couldn't relax and enjoy myself. Shea tried once to provide a modicum of hope for my Realm by inquiring after Illumina's qualifications for the throne, but I gave her a short summary of my younger cousin's naivete and inexperience and left it at that.

I couldn't believe it had come down to Illumina. I wouldn't, not without significantly more convincing. But even with this prospect sneaking nearer, I was relieved by Zabriel's promise that she was all right, that he had people looking out for her. Whatever else was the case, no one was dead, and I truly did want Illumina safe. But what sorts of people might those be? I grimaced, imagining the sordid folks Zabriel might be associating with these days. Before I made any other plans, I needed to find my younger cousin. That was something I could manage, something on which to focus in this miasma of worries.

It was strange to think of Chrior as all the way on the other side of the Warckum Territory, enclosed by miles of protective woods. The Faerie Realm seemed like a cradle from which I'd been thrown like a baby bird before I was ready. Zabriel had left willingly when he'd been younger than I was. Whatever reassurances I could conjure about our earlier exchange, no level of dramatic inclination attributable to his character could belittle that reality.

I struggled to sleep that night, at some point falling into a shallow slumber, only to be awakened by the sounds of Shea moving around the room. I sat up, squinting in the morning sunshine pouring through the window, my eyes as tired and dry as if I'd propped them open all night. She was already dressed and standing in front of the mirror, combing her fingers through her hair, and I tumbled out of bed and over to my pack on the floor. There was a note, rolled and tied, on top of it, and I held it out to my roommate as I rummaged for clothes.

"Is this yours?"

"No, never seen it before." Shea's curiosity engaged, she came to my side.

I tugged at the knot, and a tiny rock fell into my hand. Frowning, I fingered the rough stone, which glittered like gold. Realizing it was pyrite, I unfurled the parchment to scan the scrawled message.

Take Leo Dementya up on his offer.

Ask him about the island.

"Did Zabriel stop by this morning?" I asked, extending the note and fool's gold to Shea. "This rock has to be his signature."

"No, I haven't seen him." She glanced around, her forehead puckered. "He couldn't have been in here, could he? Because that would be awfully creepy."

The particles of dust floating in the mellow air probably made more noise on landing than Zabriel did. I chuckled but tried to be matter-of-fact in my explanation to Shea, lest I double her suspicion of my cousin.

"Stealth is part of his nature. Faefolk move more quickly and quietly than humans, not that you can judge it by me. I'm just relieved I didn't chase him away completely."

"Because you told him off?"

Abandoning her efforts to tame her tangled sable hair, Shea yanked it back, imprisoning it in a bun on the back of her head with her frayed blue ribbon. I knew her irritation with Zabriel had returned when she snatched the end of her coverlet and violently threw it over her mattress so that it resembled a made bed.

"Anya, he deserved it. From where I was sitting, it's way past time somebody told him he's not God. He's obviously been living under a false impression." At my uncomfortable silence, she modulated her hostile tone. "Does his sneaking in and out mean he won't contact us in person anymore?"

"I don't know what his intentions are, but he's going to have to see us because I'm not leaving him a note with the information we gather."

I dressed, then Shea and I went downstairs in search of breakfast. We'd barely set foot in the lobby when the clerk behind the register desk pointed us out to a man waiting nearby. As I apprehensively considered who might be interested in us, Shea took several steps back, her body poised for flight. I couldn't blame her, though the fellow who approached did not look threatening in the least. He was dressed fashionably but understatedly, so he would neither negatively nor positively stand out in pleasant company, and he clutched an envelope in one pudgy hand.

"From Mr. Dementya, miss," he said with a slight bow, extending the item to me.

I accepted the envelope with a relieved smile and tore it open, quickly reading the note it contained. As Leo had suggested yesterday, he wished to take Shea and me to his shipyard. Given Zabriel's correspondence, I had to assume Gwyneth had told him the invitation would be forthcoming. But what island had my cousin referenced?

The servant interrupted my ruminations. "Pardon me, miss. I was instructed to await an answer."

"Of course." Tucking the note inside my jerkin, I hastened to the desk for paper and a quill. I wrote a short but polite response indicating Shea and I would be honored to accompany Mr. Dementya, then gave it to the servant, who departed with a second bow.

"What was that about?" Shea asked, expression puzzled.

"Dementya will be sending someone for us at ten o'clock. I figure we may as well do what Zabriel wants."

"Why not? We've got nothing else to go on."

After a bite to eat, we returned to our room to don the cloaks Gwyneth had given us. On the coastline it would be cold, despite the late winter sun. I suddenly felt fidgety, aware that the spring solstice would before long be upon us. I'd asked Davic for three months of freedom from contact through our promise bond, and the two-and-a-half-month mark had arrived. I didn't know what to expect when the deadline was reached. He would realize our bond was gone. He might think I was dead. Why hadn't I sent a messenger from Tairmor to spare him that fear? I wished for a way to reassure him and yet keep him in the dark about my injury until I could meet him at the Road, but there was nothing for it now. I was on the other side of the continent.

"They're here," I announced, looking out the window and spotting a shiny black hansom with perfectly paired black horses pulling to a stop in front of the lodging house. Shea buttoned her coat over her pistol and bullet belt, then pulled her new cloak closed for good measure. At her nod, we headed on our way.

When we emerged from the inn, the driver of the cab hopped to the ground and opened the side door for us. Inside sat Gwyneth, wearing a dress and matching hat in a royal shade of purple, and her father, who stood as best he could inside the coach, unwilling to forgo his manners despite the cramped space.

"Ladies," he greeted us, retaking his seat only after Shea and I had settled ourselves on the bench opposite him and his daughter. "What lovely cloaks."

I returned a courteous thank-you for the compliment, then peered out the window at the grimy port city while Shea talked a bit with Leo and Gwyneth. There was too much traffic in Sheness for there to be hope of keeping the streets clean, and factory smoke clung to everything it touched. The artwork that adorned the sides of many of the buildings, which I'd noticed the previous day, appeared to be noncommissioned, uninhibited in style and taste and, in some cases, message. Anarchism was a popular theme among the talented street painters of Sheness. Foreign tongues, Bennighe plus others I couldn't identify, floated around us like colors completely new. People snapped at one another and were downright rude more often than not; there was none of the finesse of Tairmor in this place.

At length we reached the Dementya shipyard-a series of docks that could have constituted their own bay-and alighted from the carriage. The icy water kicked up a scent that was fresh despite the putrid underdraft of fish. The smells combined into a unique odor that was neither pleasant nor unpleasant, much like the cattle scent that surrounded Strong. For some, the docks smelled like home. Judging from the gleam in Leo Dementya's eyes as he escorted us through the maze of crates being loaded and unloaded from his towering black-and-gold-painted ships, he was to be counted among their number. He was thoroughly at ease, strutting through his kingdom, pointing out the tasks being undertaken by his worker bees as they nodded and called him sir, the constant bustle at times making it difficult to hear him. Gwyneth, on the other hand, looked uncomfortable, waving a large purple fan in front of her pinched face. It wasn't warm, so her purpose had to be to ward off the smell.

Before long we approached a schooner. Its shadow loomed over us, although it was smaller than most of the vessels in the yard. Its gangplank was lowered, and men scurried about on deck. It didn't take many to operate the sailing ship, which was designed for fishing rather than cargo. I glanced at Leo, for the schooner looked ready to make way.

"All aboard, ladies," he said with a magnanimous smile, gesturing up the ramp.

I hesitantly led the way, Shea behind me, then we waited for Gwyneth and our host to board. With one hand on her father's arm, the other lifting the hem of her skirt, she looked delicate and helpless, like the sun might be too rough on her skin.

Once we were all on deck, Leo showed us the bowsprit, and the mainsails and topsails, listing off the schooner's attributes in the manner of a boasting parent. For an instant, I understood Zabriel's weakness for this life. It was bold, almost primal in its challenge, an alternate world where nothing existed except the sea, and man's only mission was to dominate it. I instinctively knew it could grip a person like an addiction.

We gathered along the railing as Dementya sailors saw us out of the harbor, and I watched the shore drift away, tuning out our host's impassioned voice. The rocking of the vessel had my heart pounding, and I couldn't bear to glance over the edge at the froth we were creating as we cut through the ocean at great speed. The serenity I'd found with regard to the ocean on the day we'd arrived in Sheness hadn't been permanent, and my stomach gave a subtle lift like I might toss my breakfast. It wouldn't be long before we were too far from land for me to swim to the docks if something went wrong. I gripped the balustrade, trying to resign myself to the fact that I could drown out here, a fatalistic approach the only one that might permit me some enjoyment on this excursion.

To my surprise, I heard Shea laughing with Leo, her guard dropped, and I was glad that one of us was exhilarated by the outing. Gwyneth stepped up beside me, increasing my discomfort even more. Despite her kindness and her connection to Zabriel, I still didn't like or trust her.

"Not a seafarer?" Gwyneth asked, resting her elbows on the carved wood, a tease in her voice that made my skin itch.

"I didn't come to Sheness to tour around in your little boats," I retorted, nerves overpowering my manners.

"I know why you're here."

I cocked an eyebrow, waiting for her to elaborate as the brisk, salty air annoyingly tugged strands of my auburn hair loose from my ponytail. Zabriel must have told her a thing or two about me. Gwyneth sighed, wispy curls breaking free from beneath her pinned hat, the faraway look on her face granting her the appearance of a mythical siren instead of a victim of the wind. This was also annoying. Her beauty was unparalleled, her amber eyes insightful as they rested on me.

"I know his real name, Anya. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

Her words troubled me. Legend, law, and probably most of Zabriel's acquaintances in the Warckum Territory knew him as William Wolfram Pyrite. Why had he revealed his true identity to Gwyneth?

"We met by accident," she resumed, barely audible over the rush of water and the whipping of the schooner's sails. "This may come as a shock to you, but my father's business isn't always a shining emblem for ethics. I won't bore you with the reasons I oppose certain of his practices, but suffice it to say, Zabriel and I ended up running in similar circles. And once I recognized him as Fae, he wasn't able to ignore me."

"How did you find out?" I hedged. Zabriel would have been careful to conceal his heritage and to shroud his wings.

Gwyneth smiled, the corners of her claret lips dimpling her cheeks. "Because I can see. Do you understand what that means? That's why Zabriel and I trust each other. My skills are in high demand among a certain class of people, and I need to avoid those people as much as he does. My own father doesn't know of my talent. So your cousin and I keep each other's secrets, and in return, there are no secrets between us."

"You can see magic, and you help Zabriel rob your father?"

"Say that a little louder, why don't you?" Gwyneth looked over her shoulder at her father, though there was little risk of being overheard as far as I could tell. Leo was still sharing the experience of the open sea with Shea. "I give Zabriel pieces of information here and there. Deals that were going to hurt hundreds of people might have gone through without his intervention."

"So he's a hero, is that it? Because the men on the riverboat were calling him a demon. How many people have been hurt because of his intervention? He's a thief, and apparently he's been involved in a few deaths. I'm sure he's convinced himself and everyone else of his noble intentions, but you may as well save your breath with me, Gwyneth. There are other ways to accomplish what he's doing, and the romance of being a pirate won't impress me. I'm not about to be persuaded that this is the life he ought to be leading."

"Zabriel told me you were stubborn." She laughed, clamping a hand over her hat to keep it in place. "Well, don't forget that he is, too. The only difference is that you're a natural politician and he's a man of action. Right now he has a name for himself and a platform he can manipulate to his advantage. His reputation is overblown, which you've probably guessed, but having every act of piracy on this coast blamed on him gives him quite a mystique. You're not just going to drag him away from this."

Shouts from the sailors drew Gwyneth's attention, and she would have let this be the end of our conversation, but I grabbed the fine, crimped fabric of her upper sleeve and brought her back around. Indignation flashed in her eyes, and she laid a hand over mine, warning me to let go. I matched her resolve with my own, refusing to budge.

"I have to see him soon, Gwyneth. Not on his time. There are more factors at play than he knows about. It's obvious that you can get in touch with him, so do it. Right away."

The tension lasted another moment, then we released each other. To my consternation, she offered me an expansive smile. I couldn't tell if it was sincere or for the benefit of those who might have noticed our power struggle.

"I respect you, Anya. You know what you want and you go after it, to hell with the obstacles in your path. But what you or I want isn't going to matter. Zabriel will make up his own mind."

She gazed out over the water once more, and I watched the way she leaned into the blue of the ocean and the sky, thinking she belonged at the helm of the ship rather than on its deck.

"Look out there."

Gwyneth pointed into the distance with one hand, hanging on to her hat with the other. I followed her finger and saw a mountainous isle covered with trees and grass just starting to come to life after the winter. The schooner gave it a wide berth, and I recalled Zabriel's note. Ask about the island.