She found Ryne at the top of the Grand Palace.

He was sitting at a long table, surrounded by quills and parchment. A salty breeze ruffled his dark hair. She could see a glimpse of the sea just past Ryne's left shoulder, framed by the white onion dome. A dragon dove toward the waves, accompanied by the screaming laughter of children on its back.

"Delafort," Anna said.

Ryne bent closer to the table, scribbling. She leaned against the wall.

"Delafort. Stop."

Ryne flipped over a piece of parchment. "You should be resting."

"I'm fine," Anna said.

It was mostly true; the somnium had numbed the worst of the pain, and she'd managed to choke down half a ham-and-cheese toastie (which had, conveniently, been toasted by a smug-looking Hellart). Her lungs burned a little from the stairs, but then again, Anna reflected, there were a lot of damn stairs. This palace was a bloody mountain.

Anna crossed her arms. "Are you writing to Penny?"

She could already guess the answer, but she wanted confirmation. Ryne didn't look up from his scribbling.

"No," he said.

Anna rubbed her chest. "Don't you want to tell her that you're alive?"

Ryne's mouth tightened. "I think we both know the answer to that."

"You could risk it," Anna offered. "Take the chance."

"Strategically, it would be a mistake." Ryne set down the quill, lacing his fingers. "If the letter was intercepted..."

He didn't need to finish the sentence. A shiver ran down her spine. "Lucia would know you're alive. She'd work out that we're together, and then she'd hunt us down."

Ryne inclined his head. "I'm buying us time." He picked up the quill. "Penny is strong. She'll be fine without me."

Anna crossed to the window. "The same goes for Grayson and Tristan, I suppose."

Ryne's quill bobbed. "As I said, I can't take the risk."

"And Isaac?"

The quill stilled. "What about him?"

"Do you think he knows about Camille?" Anna asked.

Ryne's shoulders tensed. "I think all of Wynterlynn knows by now." The quill started moving again, gliding smoothly over the parchment. "Isaac wants nothing to do with me. He's made that very clear over the last few months."

Anna turned. "And it's safer for him, isn't it? To stay away."

"I suppose." Ryne shrugged. "I hadn't really thought about it."

She studied him. Ryne's mouth was slack, his hand rotating in great loops across the parchment. He was a good liar, Anna thought; it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. But she knew him. Knew the way his mind worked. Even now, Ryne would cut off his right hand to keep Isaac safe.

She had never met someone so afraid to admit to their better impulses.

Anna blew out a breath. "Delafort..."

He continued to scribble. A warm breeze ruffled the parchment, sending several pages skittering across the desk. Anna crossed her arms.

"You should talk about it," she said.

Ryne didn't look up. "About what?"

Anna waited. Outside, a dragon roared, plummeting toward the sea like a blazing red star. Ryne set his quill down.

"I'm fine," he said.

His hands were stained with black ink. It looked almost like blood, Anna thought. "She was your mother. You loved her."

Ryne lifted a shoulder. "There's no point dwelling on it. She's dead." He looked toward the window. "There's nothing more I can do for her."

A knot tightened in her chest. "You can mourn for her."

Ryne's smile was humourless. "Brigid detested sentiment." He picked up the quill, tearing absently at the feathers. "The best way that I can honour her is vengeance. But then, I suppose you can understand that."

"How?"

"Because I killed your parents." His smile was a blade. "You've wanted vengeance for years. Don't tell me you've forgotten them so easily."

Anna surveyed him. He was trying to get under her skin, she realized; Ryne did that sometimes. He reached for anger instead of sadness, pulling emotions from his belt like knives. He had some that he preferred to wield; others, he never reached for.

Still.

She refused to rise to it.

Anna stepped closer. "What are you writing?"

To her surprise, Ryne shoved the parchment closer. "Have a look."

Anna leaned over his shoulder. He'd written two letters, she observed; the first letter was a missive, directing a banker to transfer an obscene amount of rukka into the account of Bren Lightseeker. That had to be Lyra's son, Anna realized, a lump rising in her throat; he would be an orphan, now.

And the second letter...

She leaned closer. The second letter was addressed to the Zarobian Citadel, telling them to expect two travellers in a fortnight.

Anna frowned. "Who's sailing for Zarob?"

"We are," Ryne said.

He folded each letter crisply, dripping red wax onto the parchment. Anna's pulse picked up. "Did you find something more? About God-Slayer?"

"No," Ryne said.

He stamped each letter with his ring, embedding a tower into the soft wax. Anna leaned against the table, her frown deepening.

"Then why...?" Realization struck her. "No. I don't need coddling."

Ryne's face was impassive. "You collapsed on the beach today."

"I had heatstroke."

It was a bad lie. A terrible lie, Anna reflected; she would have been better off saying that she'd been attacked by an invisible swarm of bees. Ryne rose.

"You have a curse." His voice was flat. "My curse. I'm not going to let you die because of a foolish mistake that I made when I was fourteen."

She looked away. "We're wasting time."

"You might not have much more time to waste."

The knot in her chest tightened. "You don't understand."

"Don't I?" Ryne's voice was low. Dangerous. "You forget that I am the only other person in the world that understands what it feels like. The burning pain. The sweats. The dizziness." He took a step closer. "You're dying, Cidarius. It's as simple as that."

She lifted her chin. "And you think the Zarobian healers will be willing to help us?"

"No," Ryne said. "I think they'll be willing to help you."

He was a heartbeat away. Pink peppercorn and orange clung to his skin, mixing with the smell of brine. His warm breath fanned the hollow of her ear. Heat spread through her chest, making her skin prickle.

"I'm not going," Anna said.

Exasperation filled his face. "Cidarius..."

"Well, I'm not."

He rubbed his temples. "Think of the journey as having a dual purpose. We can appeal to the Zarobians to join our cause."

"They're not warriors," Anna pointed out.

"No." Ryne dropped his hand. "But we'll need healers, in the battle ahead."

Anna raised an eyebrow. "You think it will come to war?"

"Don't you?"

They surveyed one another. His eyes were spring leaves today, soft and saturated green. Ryne's dark hair fell into his eyes, and for a bizarre moment, Anna had the impulse to push it back. The heat spread down her arms, so forceful that it was almost dizzying.

"Fine," Anna said. "I'll go. But as soon as we return," she added hurriedly, seeing the triumph on his face, "I'm looking for God-Slayer. This won't stop me."

Ryne's mouth curled up. "No. I don't expect so."

Something pinched her chest. She rubbed at the skin, half-closing her eyes. The heat was devouring her lungs, nibbling at her ribs with fanged teeth. The somnium must be wearing off, she realized; and she'd pushed herself too hard climbing the stairs.

Ryne's smile fell away. "Cidarius? Are you alright?"

She held up a hand.

"Anna?" Footsteps moved closer. "Are you going to—?"

She pitched forward slightly.

Strong hands caught her. Her head collided with something firm. A muscled chest, she realized. A heartbeat hammered under her ear. Ryne lifted a hand to her forehead; it felt ice cold against her skin, and she shook him off.

"Stars above," Ryne muttered. "You're so bloody stubborn."

Anna closed her eyes. Nausea crawled up her throat, and the whole room seemed to sway. She wouldn't be sick. She wouldn't.

"Here," Ryne said. "Sit."

Ryne gave her a gentle push. Anna twisted, knocking them both off balance. There was a low grunt, and then she was sitting on something warm and hard. It took her a moment to realize that it was Ryne's lap. Anna shifted, and Ryne went very still.

"Cidarius." His voice sounded pained. "Stop."

A pulse pounded in her head. She twisted again, and a strong arm tightened around her waist. Anna glared. "I'm trying to stand."

"Well," Ryne said, his voice tight, "you're not doing a very good job of it."

His jaw was a hard line. Anna glowered, trying to ignore the way the room was pulsating slightly. Typical Ryne bloody Delafort. Always barking orders. She shifted again, and his hand tightened on her waist.

Exasperation filled her. "Let me go, Delafort."

"Stop moving."

"For gods' sake!" She swatted his hand away. "I'm perfectly capable of standing up."

Ryne's voice was rough. "That's not what I'm worried about."

"Then what—?"

The door swung open.

"Anna!" Seraena strode in. "I thought you'd like to know that— Oh." She stopped, taking in the scattered papers. Anna on Ryne's lap, their breathing laboured. "My apologies. I'll just..." She gestured at the door. "See you later."

She turned.

Anna closed her eyes, and she forced herself to breathe. Later. She could die of embarrassment later. "Like to know what?"

"It can wait," Seraena said.

"Seraena!"

The other girl paused at the door. She was dressed in black riding leathers, her dark hair braided away from her face. A golden bangle dangled from her wrist. And so, Anna noted, did a slip of parchment.

Anna nodded at the letter. "What does that say?"

Seraena hesitated, clearly torn between delivering the information and running as fast as she could in the opposite direction. "My cousin Vulcan has landed in Wynterlynn. Scouts report that he's riding for Stillwater Castle."

Ryne's voice rumbled through her chest. "You think he's planning to join Lucia?"

"I fear it." Seraena looked down at the letter. "Vulcan and Eris were always... close."

"How close?" Anna asked.

Seraena met her gaze. "Close enough that they've shared lovers over the years. Often at the same time."

Anna blew out a breath. "Shit."

Seraena's voice was mild. "I rather think that sums it up, yes."

Ryne's grip on her waist tightened. "What will you do?"

"For now?" Seraena lifted an eyebrow. "Nothing. But if Vulcan makes a move on the islands..." Her amber eyes were dark. "He will find that I have little mercy in my heart."

The room was motionless now. Anna rose; she felt a little like a sailor on a ship deck, sloshing from side-to-side. Still. She was standing, which was a great improvement to a few moments prior.

Ryne rose, his expression unruffled. "We leave tomorrow."

Seraena pursed her lips. "For Zarob?"

Ryne nodded, and Anna frowned. They must have discussed the idea while she was sleeping in the infirmary, she realized. Something about the discovery made her uncomfortable. Ryne rarely shared his plans with other people, and the fact that he turned to Seraena instead of her first...

Her throat tightened.

Anna turned to Seraena. "Will you come with us?"

The other girl shook her head. "I can't leave my kingdom defenseless. The risk is too great."

Ryne hesitated. "Teagan—"

"She's installed in my quarters," Seraena said. "Just as we discussed." She smiled. "I won't let her out of my sight; I promise."

Ryne nodded. "Thank-you."

There was something like admiration in Ryne's gaze. Anna looked away. A strange sort of hollowness yawned open in her chest, both hot and cold at the same time. She wasn't sure that Ryne had ever looked at her that way before.

Seraena glided to the window. She really was very pretty, Anna thought; the other girl had a sort of tall, feminine grace that she'd never quite been able to master. She'd heard rumours that Seraena Agnirian was beautiful, of course, but to actually see how she could command a room just by walking into it...

Anna glanced at Ryne. He was still looking at Seraena, his gaze thoughtful.

That strange hollowness intensified.

Seraena braced her hands against the window ledge. "The wind is howling, but the dragons keep going."

Anna blinked. "What?"

"It's a saying here." She offered them a half-smile. "It means that we must keep going, even in times of adversity."

Anna sighed. "What if the dragon is really bloody tired?"

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that." Seraena tipped her face up to the sun. "Every dragon has a fire in her belly. She just has to dig deep enough to use it."