“Lesson number one,” said Ranka. “Never drop your guard.”

Ranka put her hand on Galen’s back—and shoved him over the cliff.

He vanished immediately, his scream swallowed by the wind. Ranka peered over the edge. Galen flipped in the air as he plummeted, flailing like a broken doll as the sea churned below, his face the picture of pure shock as he looked up at her. For a brief, terrible moment, she wondered if she’d made a horrible mistake. Just because he had wind magic didn’t mean he’d be able to fly.

Galen howled something as he plummeted toward the sea—and then wind roared around him, launching him skyward.

Galen landed on his toes, lighter than a cat, eyes popping out of his head as he shouted, “Did you just push me off a cliff?!”

Ranka raised an eyebrow. “That was impressive. Have you done that before?”

“Have you lost your mind?” Galen shrieked. “You nearly killed me!”

“Talk to me.”

“I don’t want to talk to you!”

“Talk to Percy.”

“Percy’s annoying—”

“Talk to your sister.”

“I don’t want to talk to anyone!”

“Good.” Her entire body jittered, bouncing under an anger that was weeks—years—building. Here was a boy with a kingdom at his fingertips and a power that rivaled her own, afforded the luxury of ignoring them both in a way she could never dream. But war was coming; blood had been spilled. More would before this was all over.

It was time for Galen Sunra to grow up.

“You don’t want to talk? Don’t talk,” Ranka said. “Fight back.”

Dust swirled around Galen’s ankles and wrists. The sea churned, disturbed by the gale-force winds that Galen had summoned from nothing. “Did you hit your head in that alley?”

“You’re angry,” Ranka said. “And you’re scared of that anger. That rage you’re feeling? The yawning pit of it? The jittering hopelessness? That need to lie down and do nothing—and burn down the world in the same breath, if only so it’ll stop spinning? I understand more than anyone, Galen. So if you don’t want to talk, don’t talk. Fight back.”

Galen stared at her, and Ranka caught a glimpse of the boy she’d seen in the alley—the prince who could summon winds so powerful they toppled buildings, the heir who’d left behind the guard he loved to save his sister. There was understanding there, and grief, but there was also anger, the kind of anger boys like Galen spent their entire lives being told they weren’t allowed to have.

It was that anger Ranka wanted to meet. “Come on, princeling.”

Overhead, the skies began to darken.

“Come on, princeling,” Ranka goaded. “For once in your life—fight back.”

The prince’s lips thinned. “I’ll hurt you.”

Ranka locked eyes with Galen and crooked a finger. “You can try.”

The temperature dropped.