She woke to rocking.

Penny blinked. A wooden ceiling hovered inches from her face, smelling faintly of balsam and lemon polish. There was a slapping sound, like water striking rock. Waves? She rolled over in the narrow bunk bed, and her head gave a painful throb. Stars above. What had she been doing last night?

Her vision cleared.

Grayson sat below her, scribbling something on a sheet of parchment. His white shirt was rolled up to the elbows, and his blond hair was mussed, as if he'd been running his hands through it. They were on a ship, Penny realized, taking in the cramped wooden walls; she must have fallen asleep on the top bunk.

Grayson looked up. Paused.

"You're awake," he said.

Penny rubbed at her head. "Where are we?"

"A ship," Grayson said. "Sailing for Lox."

Penny frowned. She scanned the room; only one trunk lay open on the wooden floor, and it was stuffed with wool hats, gloves, and heavy gowns. One of the dresses looked familiar. She'd seen it on someone before. After a moment, it came to her: Maribel. Grayson's sister must be on the ship somewhere, too.

Penny propped her head up. "How long was I out for?"

"Two days." Grayson's eyes were careful. "How much do you remember?"

Penny closed her eyes. "I remember..."

The citadel. Camille, in a golden wedding dress. Her mother bleeding all over the tiled floor. Ryne's neck snapping. Images came back to her in painful bursts, knocking the air from her lungs. Penny sat bolt upright, cracking her head on the ceiling.

Pain radiated through her skull. "You took me away from them."

Grayson's mouth tightened, but he remained silent. Her rage doubled.

"You hit me in the head with a sword," she said.

Grayson's voice was cool. "I did what I had to."

Something in her snapped.

Penny shot down the ladder. She was aware of what she must look like — dressed in a white shift, barefoot, her red hair wild and frizzy — but she didn't care. Blood pounded in her ears, striking in time with the waves.

"Turn this ship around," she said.

Grayson looked away. "It's too late."

"Turn. It. Around."

Penny punctuated each word with a step closer. Frenzied energy filled her. She wanted to climb the walls. Wanted to rip each board off the ceiling. Stars, she would swim back to Wynterlynn if she had to. She was going to put a sword in that bitch's heart, and she was going to make it hurt.

"Penny." Grayson's voice was gratingly gentle. "There's no point. We need God-Slayer before we can even consider—"

"Where's Tristan?" she demanded.

Grayson's eyes shuttered. There were purple smudges beneath them, as if he hadn't been sleeping properly, and a dark sense of satisfaction filled her. Good. Let him suffer. "Tristan didn't make it out."

"So you left him," Penny said.

Grayson's jaw tightened. "He was injured, Penny; he'd spent weeks in that tower without proper food or water. Tristan knew he was a liability."

Acid rose in her throat. "And now he's probably dead."

Grayson's eyes were arctic waters. "Do you think I wanted to leave him?" He crossed to the sideboard, pouring a generous amount of brandy. "Do you think I enjoyed it?"

"I don't know," Penny said. "Did you?"

She was being cruel, Penny thought, but she couldn't seem to stop herself from digging her nails in further. From twisting the blade deeper. Grayson paused, his back facing her; his shoulders were hunched to his ears.

"This is ridiculous," Grayson said. "You're being childish."

Blood rushed to her face. "And you're being an arsehole."

"I saved your life." Grayson turned, and his face was dangerous. "If we had stayed in that citadel, then we'd both be dead. I got us out, Penny."

"You should have left me!" The words were half-hysterical now, ripped from somewhere deep in her chest. "You had no right — absolutely no right — to do what you did. You..." She shook her head, taking shuddering breaths. "I hate you."

Grayson went very still. "You don't mean that."

"Yes," Penny said. "I do."

Her throat felt thick. Grayson knocked back the whisky. His hands shook as he set the glass on the table, swiping at his mouth.

"You don't have to see me, then," Grayson said. "When we dock at Flurry Port, you may ride with Maribel." His voice was maddeningly calm. "I will take a separate carriage, and then we can decide—"

"For gods' sake," Penny snapped. "Don't do that."

"What?"

"Don't speak like that!" She was shouting now, her voice swallowing the small cabin. "Just say how you feel. Don't — don't condescend to me."

Grayson's jaw tightened. "You don't need to shout."

Her hands shook. "Stop treating me like a godsdamn child."

"You really want me to say how I feel?" Grayson moved forward, his steps measured and dangerous. "You want the honest truth?"

"Yes!"

Grayson seized her shoulders. "Wherever we are, my first impulse is — and always will be — to protect you. There's no line that I wouldn't cross. No city I wouldn't rip apart. When you almost died in that citadel..." His blue eyes blazed. "I need you, Penelope Delafort. I would tear down the godsdamn sky for you. Haven't you realized that yet?"

Her breath caught in her chest.

Grayson was breathing hard, his chest pumping up and down. Twin red spots burned high on his cheekbones. His fingers dug into her arms — so hard that it was almost painful — but she welcomed the sensation; it anchored her to the floor. To this moment, here.

Her voice was a whisper. "Grayson..."

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "You don't have to say anything."

Penny kissed him.

She buried her hands in his hair, tugging so hard that it must have been painful. He tasted of brandy, she thought; of smoke and something caramel. She pushed him against the wall — hard enough to bruise — and Grayson made a sound that could have been pleasure or pain. Fury coursed through her. She wanted to hit him; she wanted to kiss him; she wanted to crawl inside his skin and never come out.

His mouth moved against hers. "Penny—"

She kissed him harder. A low groan rose in the back of his throat.

"Penny," Grayson repeated. "Stop."

His hands were gentle on her hips. Penny squirmed in frustration, trying to press closer. She wanted him to flatten her against the desk. Wanted him to kiss her so hard that she forgot who she was. And Grayson wanted her too, she realized; she could feel the pulse hammering at his throat, hear the sleepy desire in his voice. She pressed her mouth to his neck, sucking and licking and—

"Stop," Grayson said.

He wrenched backward. There was the sense of being airborne, and then Penny collided with the wood. Grayson's hand pinned her to the wall. His eyes were the deep blue of the sea, so dark that they looked black.

"Stop." His voice was ragged. "Not like this."

A pulse beat at her throat. "Like what?"

"Like you want to punish me," Grayson said.

He released her. Penny stumbled forward, catching herself on the desk. Warmth flooded her cheeks. She couldn't bring herself to look at him. Tears were gathering in her eyes, so hot that they burned.

Grayson moved closer. "Penny..."

She hugged her arms to her chest. His steps faltered.

"Penny." Grayson's voice was hoarse. "Look at me."

She turned, fixing her eyes about three inches above his head. "If you don't want me right now, you can just say. I can take it."

Grayson's laugh was humourless. "That's not the problem. Trust me."

"Then what?" Penny asked.

Grayson just looked at her. A small sob caught in her throat.

And suddenly, the floor slid out from beneath her. Penny fetched up against the desk; her entire body seemed to be shuddering apart. Her cheeks were hot and wet, and she scrubbed at them, as if she could take off her own skin. Strong arms went around her, and she felt the weight of Grayson's chin on her head.

"I'm sorry." Penny covered her eyes. "I don't know why I'm crying. And I shouldn't have done that. I just feel so — so..." Her voice broke. "I think sometimes I feel so full of things that I feel empty. Does that make any sense?"

Grayson's arms tightened around her. "I'm sorry, too. Not for taking you away — gods help me, I can't be sorry for that — but for Ryne. And Brigid." His hands squeezed her back. "I know how much you loved them."

Penny fisted her hand in his shirt. "I could have helped Mum."

"No." Grayson's voice was soft. "You couldn't have."

She wiped at her eyes. "It should have been me."

"I know." Grayson's grip on her tightened. "When I saw that sword moving toward you..." She could feel him swallow. "You have no idea how close it was, Penny. No idea."

Penny shuddered. The bands in her chest relaxed, melting into the floor. She felt oddly hollow and wrung out, as if she'd gone for a long swim and now she was lying on the sand, gasping for air.

She shifted to meet his gaze. "You make me so happy, Grayson. So fucking happy." A lump rose in her throat. "You're the last person left in this world that makes me want to keep fighting. That makes me want to believe in something."

"But you don't have feelings for me," Grayson said.

Grayson's voice was matter of fact, as if he was telling her that he'd eaten a cheese sandwich for lunch. The lump in her throat grew thicker. "For months, I couldn't even remember who you were."

"No," Grayson said slowly. "I suppose that's true."

Penny squeezed his hand. "I care about you. Just... give me time."

Grayson's smile was wry. "Luckily for you, I'm a patient man." He rose, pouring a glass of whisky. Then he held it out to her. "Here. This should help with the..." He gestured toward the lump on her head. "Sorry about that, by the way."

Penny smiled. She took a sip of whisky; the alcohol burned as it went down, warming her chest. She handed the glass back, and a wave of fondness filled her. It was amazing, she thought, that someone who had once been a footnote in her story could become the main narrative in a matter of seconds.

She glanced at the door. "Is Maribel here?"

Grayson nodded. "She went to fetch breakfast."

"How long until we reach the Lox Empire?"

"Eight days." He set the glass on the sideboard. "Give or take a day, depending on the weather."

Penny frowned. "Why Lox?"

"I happen to know Emperor Halson." Grayson leaned against the desk, crossing his arms. "He'll shelter us for a time."

"What's he like?" Penny asked.

Something flickered in Grayson's eyes. "He's our only option."

He turned for the desk. Something like dread knotted in her chest. That hadn't really been an answer, Penny thought, which suggested that the real answer was a bad one. Still, Grayson was right; they weren't exactly spoiled for choice.

Penny leaned back against the cabin wall. "It all seems so stupid, doesn't it? We spent weeks searching for a cure, and now Camille is possessed, and Ryne is..." She closed her eyes, focusing on the rocking sensation of the boat. That damn lump in her throat grew thicker. "What was the point of it?"

"We got your memory back," Grayson pointed out.

She blew out a breath. "Yeah."

"And I got you back."

She opened her eyes. But Grayson was busy rummaging through the desk, stacking pieces of parchment and books. His tattoo flashed at her.

Penny frowned. "What is all that?"

Grayson tapped the stack of parchment on the desk. "I've been doing some research on God-Slayer. It's real, Penny; it exists." The papers fell into a neat line. "And I think I know where to find it."

She sat up. "Where?"

Her heart was pounding. This could change everything, Penny realized; if they found God-Slayer, then they could destroy Lucia. They could kill Eris. They could take back Wynterlynn and maybe salvage some sort of sense out of it all.

Grayson set down the papers. His eyes were bright as morning stars.

"In the heart of the Empire," he said. "Bardan."