What if they had never come here? Would the Stormlord have thought them dead? Or did he have some way of knowing? Of tracking them? Was it only his father’s greed for another kingdom that had brought him upon them once more? Cassius liked power, but he was not naive enough to think becoming king was the only way to gain it. There were a hundred different lives he could have lived if he had done as he threatened, if he had split from his father on the day his homeland fell. With the magic he possessed, he could have gone anywhere, seen anything, but instead he was here, doing this all over again—watching the world fall, piece by piece.

Perhaps this time he would not stick around for the end. What did he care for this land, for these people? And thanks to his father’s careful raising, he had never grown too affectionate of anyone else in his family either—emotions were vulnerabilities, after all. There was nothing at all tying him to this place.

When he re-entered his rooms, he ripped at the buttons on his shirt, needing the fabric off and away from his burns. He hissed as he pulled the fabric free, opening up wounds that had already clotted.

Let it bleed. The pain helped dull his rage.

Cassius grabbed a glass and poured a drink from the sideboard, and moved to his desk. He was about to sit when he noticed a piece of parchment directly in front of him. He tended to be rather meticulous with his belongings, and he did not recall doing any writing recently.

With two fingertips, he dragged it closer to the edge of the table where he could read it more clearly. After the first read, he sank into his chair, tossing back what remained of his drink. Then he pulled the parchment close to his face and read the words again.

I have my mother.

I’ll be coming for my kingdom next.

And whatever cruelty you’ve shown to Novaya, I’ll make sure is visited upon you a thousandfold.

Aurora

Cassius sat back in his chair, a burn on his shoulder stinging at the contact with the wood. One corner of his mouth pulled upward in a ghost of a smile.

It seemed he still had one thing tying him to this place after all.

Those with the gift of water were often lonesome creatures, for they knew the depths of the ocean and the farthest reaches of the world in a way no other could.

—An Examination of the Original Magics

12

Thirteen Years Earlier

Cruze was not sure of the days any longer. More than a dozen had passed, of that he was certain, but sometimes the days and nights blurred during tempests and it was difficult to know the difference when dark clouds blocked out the sun for endless lengths of time.