Page 128 of The Isles of the Gods
I will not lose him.
I hold tight, pulling him closer as whatever raw magic is running through him begins to flow into me. Like lightning that needs to ground itself, the energy within him needs a way to escape, somewhere to go before it burns him up entirely.
And that somewhere isme.
I will not let him go.
We slam together, and his arms are around me, and beyond the discordant undertones of his unearthly screams, I can hearhim,the boy I know, the boy who’s laughed and teased and shown me his fears in the dark of the night.
He’s still Leander, and I can’t bear his pain.
My instincts drive me, and without thinking, I pull his head down, pressing my lips to his. I kiss him with all the desperation, all the fear in me, and with all the love as well. It’s a plea, and an offering, and a surrender.
The world turns white around me, and I know nothing but pain. I can’t feel the ground beneath my feet, can’t see anything but brightness, can’t hear anything but my own heart pounding—and a secondthump-thumpthat runs right through me, which I know is Leander’s heartbeat matching mine.
I cannot—I will not—let him go, and I hold fast as the raw power within him, the gift of the goddess herself, travels through me and out into the stone of the temple once more.
And then, in an instant, it’s over.
The storm has passed, though the air is still heavy, pressing down on me like a weight. I pull back from the kiss, my arms still wrapped around the boy before me, panting for breath as though I’ve been running. My body aches, my very bones feel bruised, and I’m swaying on my feet—but I’ve practiced for that on stormy decks all my life, and I hold fast.
Leander’s eyes are no longer brown—they’re pure green, not a hint of white showing. They’re glowing with magic, and tiny bolts of it leap between us, like sparks before a storm. And then I catch sight of my arms and the backs of my hands.
My new magician’s marks—the ones he said he’d neverseen before—are glowing too, pulsing softly in time with my heartbeat.
Were they made for this moment?
“Leander?” I croak, but he doesn’t reply. With his emerald-green eyes, I can’t even tell if he’s looking at me. If he can hear me at all. “Leander, are you there?”
“He’s—” It’s Keegan, barely whispering. “Selly, I think he’s…”
“He’s what? Quick, Keegan!”
“I think he’s a Messenger,” he manages. “Like King Anselm, the first king who sacrificed himself. Those stories about him becoming a warrior for the goddess, I think he’s…”
He trails off, and when I glance back at him, he’s looking down at the altar. At the girl, who lies there, perfectly still. Barrica reached out to touch Leander, but Macean didn’t awaken for Laskia. And perhaps someone else would feel sorry for her, but with the trail of death she left—the progress fleet, theLizabetta,Leander’s friends and mine—I don’t.
Keegan lifts his head, his gaze snapping across to me once more. “We should go. We should leave this place.”
Leander doesn’t seem to hear our conversation. He keeps one of my hands twined in his and turns away, as if he’s going to walk all the way along the balcony to the end, near where the temple opens up to the perfectly flat lagoon—to the Still Waters.
I let him lead me, waiting to see what he’ll do, and though he gives no sign of a command, or even of seeing his surroundings, the black stone around us starts to twist and melt.
I catch my breath as it forms into a set of rough stairsleading down from where we stand to the altar where Laskia lies, and past her, along a smooth path and out toward the sea.
Without looking back at me again, Leander descends, still leading me by the hand, and he begins to half walk, half stumble along that path, moving toward the water.
When he reaches the edge of the sea, its surface smooth as glass, he simply steps out onto it, and it holds his weight like it’s made of stone. I can hear Keegan hurrying after us, but he isn’t the one who calls out as I’m about to follow Leander onto the surface of the Still Waters.
“Leander!”
Jude stands helplessly on the balcony, staring down at us.
I pause, and Leander stops with me, making a soft noise of pain, his grip on my hand tightening as he bows his head.
I hesitate, looking up at the boy on the balcony covered in blood and bruises. He’s supposed to be our enemy. But he was Leander’s friend—Leander wanted to help him back in Port Naranda. And Jude offered us something in return. He called out a warning, saved Leander from a bullet to the back.
“Jude, come with us,” I call. “Quick.”
