You enjoy your power, she told him. You enjoy what you can do, and the feeling of rightness that fills you when you use your mind as it was made to be used.

Corien considered her for a moment, and then, his breath hot against her mouth, said, You’re only partially correct, my darling. For I do love my power, yes, but in fact I very much do enjoy hurting them. All of them. Every single one.

Then he had kissed her, long and hard, until her slight sick dismay at his words had vanished, until she had forgotten about the dead man at her feet and all the other bodies they had left in their wake.

She wasn’t even entirely sure where they were traveling.

When she had asked Corien, only once, he had answered by sending her his thoughts, but they were so jumbled and confusing that thinking about them hurt her eyes, as if she’d gazed directly at the sun. She was forced to look away from them, and soon she had forgotten all about her questions, only occasionally noticing them there on her mind’s horizon before they disappeared once more.

We must continue on, Corien told her. That’s all that matters.

He was right, of course. They had to keep traveling southeast. There was no need to know more than that.

They rested only when Obritsa needed it, which was far too often for Rielle’s liking. Didn’t she understand? They had to keep moving. It was important, and Corien didn’t care for delays.

But the horrible girl could only carry them a hundred miles at a time before collapsing from exhaustion, which forced them to stop far too often and rest for a night or two in some dreadful filthy inn, or in a shabby cottage after disposing of its occupants, or even out in the open, in the dirt, like beasts.

And in this blur of interminable eastward movement, during which every day brought a new landscape, an unfamiliar dialect or style of clothing, each of which made Rielle feel more unsettled, more alarmingly far away from home, Corien was her only anchor. The only steadfast thing that knew her and loved her.

So, on the dry, flat bank of the canyon river, she touched him. She touched him as often as she could, even when the nausea of traveling through Obritsa’s threads left her shaking and damp with sweat.

“Do you want to stay here for a while?” she asked, ignoring Obritsa’s muted cries of pain as the girl caught her breath nearby. “We could explore the ruins. Maybe artifacts remain that we can salvage.”

Corien’s gaze softened, which happened only when he looked upon her face. The relief of this constancy brought tears to Rielle’s eyes. He was a bright moon shining down upon the gray, fog-draped sea in which she now lived.

He kissed her brow. “For a night. We’ll find an old house, an angelic house, one that used to be as grand and glorious as you, and sleep there until dawn.”

Then, without turning, he addressed the girl and her guard.

“Onward, Your Majesty.” He loved mocking Obritsa, which tickled Rielle. “You and your noble companion may lead the way.”

He pointed down a broad footpath that followed the river, waited for Artem to trudge ahead and Obritsa to limp after him, her small body trembling with exhaustion. Artem loomed over her, tall and sturdy, with light-brown skin and shaggy brown hair, his eyes bleary and troubled. Tied around his torso with six leather straps, resting against his back and shoulders, was an enormous canvas pack. Every time Rielle looked at it, her head spun and her throat tightened until she was forced to look away, then promptly forgot it existed. This happened again now, and when she swayed, Corien’s hands at her waist steadied her.

Then he lifted her palm to his mouth and drew her other arm through his. So joined, they walked on.

• • •

It wasn’t until later that night, curled up on a filthy pile of furs and blankets they had found—most likely, Corien had said with contempt, left behind by one of the roving bands of treasure-hunters that roamed Vindica’s ruined cities, seeking angelic loot—that Rielle remembered seeing Tal.

The memory returned as she slept, slamming into her with the force of a physical blow. Her eyes snapped open, and she barely managed to stifle a sharp cry.

Several things occurred to her simultaneously:

Corien was sitting a few paces from her, gazing out the open window of the manor house they were occupying for the night. The ceilings were high and the corridors wide, designed to accommodate the flaring wings of angels who stood at least eight feet tall. The proportions made Rielle dizzy. His eyes were open but glazed. When she slept, he often used his mind to “work,” he had told her, refusing to offer more information. He was doing that now, his chin propped in his hand as if he were lazily inspecting the horizon for clouds.

So occupied, he hadn’t yet realized she was awake—nor that she had remembered the memory he had hidden from her. Tal, lying in the mud, reaching for her, calling for her. I’m here, Rielle! And with that single heartbreaking memory came all the others, right on its heels. The fog in which she had lived vanished, and she saw everything clearly at last, as if she had been violently thrust from darkness into stark light.

She had to leave. Now.

Rising shakily to her feet, Rielle’s eyes flooded with furious tears. She now understood with devastating clarity how she had been living for the past fortnight. It seemed obvious now, and she raged to think of how stupid she must have seemed, how pliable and senseless.

With his power, Corien had muddled her mind, then dragged her across the world through Obritsa’s threads. Oblivious, Rielle had let him lead her, and in the moments when her memories had threatened to resurface, her power flaring in protest, he had increased his hold on her and pulled her back into a numb, padded cage. He had coaxed her to sleep and rewarded her with fevered dreams.

Swallowing a sob, trembling with the effort of staying quiet, Rielle silently stood and crept away from him. The stone floor was squalid; her feet carved a ragged path through long centuries of dust and decay.

That he would keep so much from her, that he would deceive her so fully, that she had seen Tal not long ago, that he had been mere yards from her—and yet Corien had prevented them from speaking, had taken the choice from her, had not even allowed her to remember the moment, or any moment he did not want her to…

On her feet, she edged backward out of the room, not daring to blink, pushing hard against her fury and disappointment and the grief of her recovered memories until she felt dizzy. She saw it all unfurl unimpeded before her: her wedding, and the vision that revealed she had killed King Bastien; Audric shouting at her in the gardens; fleeing the city; following Corien’s voice into the forest outside Âme de la Terre until, at last, she had collapsed into his arms. And then…

And then, nothing. A gray ocean. Occasional flashes of color. A dreamscape of Corien’s making. A stolen carriage. Tearing her wedding gown from her body as she wept, then staggering through a black Celdarian wood in her shift and boots until Corien found her, forced her into a gown still warm from its previous wearer, kissed her until her crying ceased and she found herself drifting on a quiet gray sea once more.