Transcend

PROLOGUE

IN THE BEGINNING, the Goddesses and Gods ran rampant with their power. Their magic flowed through the world, and they reveled in it. Over time, they grew bored with one another; their magic grew dull, their power brought little joy to their lives. One of the Goddesses, Cretia, dug a fathomless depth in the center of the world. She searched within herself and found her divinity sparkling. She gripped it, enticing it forward, coaxing it with soft words until it formed within her hands. It was brilliant, the color a mixture none had seen before. She cradled it close to her body and with a toss of faith, threw a pebble of her essence within the chasm.

It fell. 

The light dropped and dropped, never hitting the bottom. Cretia peered over the edge. The light eventually came to a stop. It was alone at the bottom of the chasm, the faint light swallowed up by the commanding darkness. The magical light needed more. Cretia showed her brothers and sisters her creation and persuaded them to step forward to donate their own kernels of magic. They lined up, each excited for the results that brewed beneath the earth. The Goddesses and Gods who grew tired of their immortality, bored with each other, gave a part of themselves. The chasm of magic grew and swelled. As its depths filled, the colors eddied, swirled, and shifted, the magic conjoining with each new gift. The magic multiplied and grew in abundance, the amorphous kaleidoscope filling the enormous cavity. The Goddesses and Gods stood around the edge silently observing their power. 

Satisfied, Cretia strode forward. She walked on top of the chasm, her graceful footsteps causing small ripples throughout the pool of magic. At the center of the Well she reached a tanned arm down and grasped the magic below. It writhed in her grip. She molded it, pushing and pulling the magical substance. Her keen eyes narrowed in concentration, and she splayed her arms up to the crystal blue sky above. The magic burst forth and erupted. Tendrils of light punctured the sky and rippled below—a firework display of magic, in brilliant hues.

The magic left a mark like residual paint splatters. From each spray of magic, a faint stream of light wove together, an intricate pattern. The patterns grew and altered, the light wove back and forth until no darkness and no gaps showed through. It glowed, sealing itself together. The glow subsided and out of each block of light, a person filled the space. The Gods and Goddesses twisted their heads, looking at each person that spawned from their magic. Small grins overtook their faces, their thoughts of boredom drifting away with the setting sun. 

CHAPTER ONE

WE HAVE DONE it. We captured her, but I do not like what I see. She has been enthralled by Cruvo.

Nivet’s private journal.

Aza was unbound, unchained. They did not fear her anymore. Her magic—gone. Not gone, but like a full bottle topped with a stopper preventing its release. They dosed her with an unknown herb mixture once a day at a scheduled time to prevent her magic from rising in retribution. They would rue the day it did. She already imagined her magic swelling and overcoming them, their quaint ship capsizing. Why bother keeping her chained when they were known to be the strongest and fiercest warriors? Aza had only received weapons training over the last few months; her skills were like that of a toddler compared to a Nerian warrior.

Despite the Nerians’ polite disposition, she never let herself forget that she was surrounded by battle-hardened warriors. Instead, she cultivated her anger, keeping it fueled like a well-kept fire, the embers burning deep within her—an errant, stray spark could escape, one that could light everything up and devour them all.

How dare they kidnap her? 

The taste of regret was bitter in her mouth as she reflected on Lilit's words, replaying on a constant loop when the ocean waves did nothing to quell her madness. Do not trust anyone.

Aza should have known better. If only she had not followed Anwin down that hallway. If only she held an ounce of mistrust in her body and listened to the warning bells that should have stopped her in her tracks. Warning bells muted because of her curiosity. Muted because she had misplaced her trust in Anwin. 

Aza heaved a sigh and pushed herself away from the prow of the ship. She felt herself slowly going insane. Watching the relentless autumn waves smash in protest against their ship while diving into the free-fall of her mind wasn't helping the situation.

By her estimate, they had been at sea for three days. Three days and no sign of Cruvo. Aza didn't know what she expected. She thought he would upend the entire world to come looking for her. Their magics and their beings were in complete harmony, and now instead of having this aching emptiness it was...hollow. 

Unable to contact him, Aza searched for him, but he was missing in her dreams. She didn't know if it was the distance between them, or her magic being tampered with, but she had not heard from him. Disappointment flooded through her, and she could only quell the overflow of emotion with what was familiar and easier to handle, her anger. Her fists clenched against the splintered railing.

With the Wyra ocean to her back, she turned and faced the rest of the meager crew—Xira, Anwin, the tall thin man who she learned was Reed, and Rune. Rune, the leader of Neria, who was inhabited by the god Nivet.

She needed to direct her anger at someone and Nivet stood on the opposite end of the ship, his face scanning the ocean. She stalked up to him. Aza didn't bother with the pretense of calling him Rune, she knew the god who dwelt within was called Nivet. Even though they danced this particular routine many times, she went through the motions, the predictability a soothing balm for her chaotic situation. The ability to argue with him helped to diminish her rising anger. She needed an outlet, and he was an easy target.

How long will you keep me captive? 

Nivet sighed as he usually did when Aza demanded the same information. As I have told you before, until you learn. Nivet didn’t even bother to look at her, his eyes locked onto the churning ocean, searching for some unknown danger.

She pushed his shoulder, forcing him to turn and address her properly. He furrowed his brows at her and readjusted his stance to face her, a fire within his eyes. Learn what? Aza barked at him. 

Usually, he would drop the topic and ignore her, unwilling to give into her unceasing demands, but this time a spark was lit and he decided to join her in their game of verbal battering. You know nothing, Aza. He stepped closer. Aza damned herself as she yielded a step. The power flowed off him like the pounding of a waterfall and Aza was getting crushed beneath it. Was this how other people felt in proximity to her? Her deep-seated instinct wanted to roar and fight him—to battle with their magic together and see who would be left standing. However, with her magic stanched, she needed to be careful.

Aza saw his jaw clench. You do not even know, what you don't know. Nivet scoffed and gestured carelessly at the distant province of Iyera. Anwin and Xira told me.

Aza stood firm, not wanting to back down from the fight she craved. The fight she needed. Told you what exactly? Told you to kidnap me? she seethed. Her fingers curled in anger, wanting action, wanting to grab her dagger and plunge it into his self-righteous heart. 

Nivet barked a dry laugh, his vicious smile cutting into her. Do you even know what Cruvo is? Who he is? What he has done? 

Aza bared her teeth at him. I know enough. Hadn't Aza already had those same doubts? They threatened to creep in, wrap around her, and pull her down into a spiral. She did want answers, but not like this, kidnapped and forced into a foreign province against her will. 

Nivet's eyes hardened, and he shook his head slowly. You have no idea who the God of the Hunt truly is. He turned back to the ocean, dismissing her.

Aza stormed away and faintly heard Nivet add, his voice drifting by her on the stormy autumn breeze. And so you will learn. 

Xira, Anwin, and Reed were perched around the ship, nosily listening to their conversation and rushed to busy themselves as Aza stomped their way. She glared at them and shouted, What are you looking at? The edge of the boat beckoned her, and Aza resigned herself to staring out listlessly at the endless Wyra ocean. 

Aza. Xira's voice cracked like a whip through the air.

Aza huffed a breath, content to stare at the ocean and ignore all these pesky Nerians, but she conceded and glanced over her shoulder to see what Xira had to say.

Xira expertly descended the ropes from the mast and leaped into an elegant crouch near Aza. Let's fight. 

Aza turned her back on Xira and responded with a brief, No thanks. 

You have anger, rightfully so. And nothing better to do. Come spar with me.

Aza ignored her and let herself be hypnotized by the cresting waves. She wondered if a storm would plague their ship. The clouds gathered ominously, their purple and deep blue hues were cause for concern. The distinct sound of boots on wooden planks clanked behind her as Xira stood next to her shoulder to shoulder. 

Would you want to spar with this? Aza stifled a gasp. Xira held out Aza's sword. The sword she thought was lost and left to gather dust. Unable to adorn it during the masquerade ball, she left her beloved, gifted sword in her room, naive to believe she would be returning to it shortly. The blade glistened from the small tendrils of light overhead, the iron and steel artfully intertwined, two pieces forming one.

Her prior experience sparring with Xira had gone poorly. The Nerian had expertly disarmed her and highlighted Aza’s constant reliance on her magic. Her eyes flicked from the sword to Xira, her honey-colored eyes not a sweet entreaty, but a trap. They drew a person in believing there only to be kindness, and instead was swallowed alive.

Aza grunted her assent. She curled her fingers around the hilt of the sword and took her place among the only spacious area on board, the center of the ship. Up till now, she had only practiced within the safety of the El’en castle with stable ground beneath her feet and a trustworthy opponent. So much had changed. The ship rocked atop the tumultuous waves like some writhing creature underneath was displeased with the Nerians’ escape.

Although Anwin, Reed, and Nivet didn't gather around, she could feel their prying eyes on her back. She squared off with Xira, the warrior's raven black hair, reminiscent of Lorn's, was swept back, her narrowed eyes coolly assessing Aza.

Pangs of regret struck Aza like physical blows, images of Lorn as they practiced their swordplay together flashed in her memories. The familiar comfort of her rage rose within. She should be with him, not with these foreign interlopers. Yet, her anger was hollow and empty. There was no magic for her to draw upon, but she still yearned for it. Blinded by hope, she desperately tried to draw upon her magic and found it lacking.

Xira held her sword at the ready. Aza didn't bother waiting, instead she allowed her anger to fuel her. Xira met her stroke for stroke, easily deflecting Aza's attacks. The clang of metal rang out, providing the only sound besides the tearing of waves. They circled and slashed. Aza wanted to shout, both from exertion and emotion. She was fighting sloppily. Her side was exposed as she hauled her sword down in a giant arc to cleave Xira. The warrior dodged easily, parried, circled, a look of concentration and a trace of boredom lined her elegant features. Aza attempted another wild, undisciplined attack and Xira disarmed her. 

The sword clattered on the deck, but the defeat did not slow Aza. No, she wasn't done yet. Xira wanted her to let off some steam, release some of her pent-up anger. She was the whistling scream of a tempestuous wind. She harnessed the anger to drive her forward and not let the humiliation of defeat stop her. Aza brought her fists up. Xira noted the hungry edge in Aza—the urge to fight and gave a nod in assent. She obliged and tossed her sword to the side, mirroring Aza, her fists raised and ready to brawl. 

Reed discreetly grabbed the discarded swords and hauled them out of their makeshift sparring ring. Aza and Xira circled each other, assessing, waiting. The storm around them grew, as if in anticipation of the fight about to erupt. The unforgiving wind whipped around their faces. Xira's cloying honey colored eyes did not falter for one second, and Aza realized the begrudging respect she held for her. Xira would not hold back, would not treat her differently than so many others would. She would respect her as a proper opponent.

Aza steadied herself. She did not fear the Nerian warrior, rather she was hesitant over her own disappointing combat skills. For a moment, Aza was aware of Anwin, Reed and Nivet watching, their eyes transfixed to the duel. The very ocean itself seemed to hold its waves content to watch what unfolded on top of its waters. 

Xira unleashed herself. She was fast and agile. Too fast. Aza was unable to keep up. The Nerian's movements were rapid, her feet following some internal dance only Xira understood. Aza could only block the incoming assault. She was unable to strike with any of her own hits. The blows were softened, but still struck true, and Aza faltered under the onslaught. Her body cried out in response, but Aza's pride would not let her yield. Not yet.

She was so damn fast. Too fast. Too agile. And she was still being pummeled with her lethal attacks, her fists pounded into Aza's face, chest, back, stomach. 

From a distance she heard Nivet growl a warning, Xira...enough.

But Xira did not yield. She saw the spark within Aza, the spark of the fight to keep going, and Aza would have been disappointed if she stopped now. No, Xira would not stop until Aza herself yelled yield.

She never realized how much she relied on her magic. Even when she trained with Lorn and didn't use her magic, knowing the powerful ability was there if she needed it had been enough of a crutch to not let her truly excel. She would always be held back by the untapped potential writhing inside her begging to be used. Although she would not deem being kidnapped and sapped of her magic as a fortuitous turn of events, she couldn't help but acknowledge how it forced her perspective to change on how much she relied on it.

If she could only land one punch on Xira, she would be content.

Aza focused her mind. She forgot about the metallic tang of blood in her mouth and the drips of blood running down her face. She pushed those thoughts aside, only allowing herself to be consumed with making contact with Xira.  

Aza saw her opportunity and seized it. Xira left a brief opening on the left side of her face and Aza swung. Aza reverberated with the impact as her knuckles met flesh and bone. She was able to glance a brief flash of surprise on Xira's face, before Xira grabbed Aza's over-extended arm, used her hips as a fulcrum, and flipped Aza over her shoulder, and onto the hard, wooden deck. The air was knocked out of Aza in one swift blow, her eyes taking in the expansive sky above. Swirls of purple and cobalt were pulled around in violent streaks.

Aza tried to suck in a breath, but it came to her in wheezes. Xira's face popped into view. Yield? her unassumingly sweet voice asked. 

Aza felt a flurry of emotions, she wanted to smack her, embrace her, beg for tutelage, yet she decided on nodding her head. 

A sly grin crooked the corner of Xira's mouth as she extended her hand to help Aza to her feet. 

Her breath came back to her in gasps. Aza begrudgingly took the proffered hand, her feet a bit wobbly. She couldn't help but give a responding grin, despite the blood dripping from her face and the bruises that smarted as she took a breath. 

Solid hit, Aza. Xira clapped her on the back. You have potential. You just need more time and training. 

"Actual training from a Nerian warrior," Reed interjected, shouting from the side of the ship, a good-natured chuckle following his proclamation. 

Aza rolled her eyes and a flicker of approval flashed in Xira's. Anwin appeared beside Aza. Let me clean you up a bit, I don't need your blood coating the whole ship because Xira is trying to prove a point. 

Aza let Anwin lead, mulling over what she said. What point was Xira trying to prove? Anwin sat Aza down and pulled out a tiny chest. She rifled through it and faced her with bandages and small glass vials. She pushed her long red braid behind her back and situated Aza so she could properly treat her. Aza watched as Anwin wiped off the trail of blood on her face, from a cut on her brow. Anwin opened one of the tiny glass vials and poured some of the concoction onto a washcloth, dabbing the mixture onto Aza's wounds. It stung and Aza fought cringing from it. 

Why don't you… Aza's question trailed off, unsure how to phrase her question without coming across as ungrateful. 

While tending to another wound, Anwin finished the question for her. Why don't I use magic to heal it? 

Aza nodded, curious to hear her response. Maybe they didn't have any healing powers? 

Anwin paused from her ministrations and pulled back from Aza, her green eyes locking onto Aza's silver. She pursed her lips and responded, Magic is power. It is strong and glorious. The problem with magic is people, Ithilieans, become reliant. She gestured to Aza, Even you can see the proof in that statement. She added more of the mixture onto a cloth and softly wiped it on Aza's face, putting some on the myriad of bruises starting to form. We Nerians are trained from birth to not rely on it. We are not against the use of our magic, but we know what it is. It is a force. It is a power. One you can't wholly control or believe you have the right to. Who knows? Maybe tomorrow we all wake up and our magic is gone. Our people need to learn how to survive with it and without it. The magic was never truly ours to begin with. 

The sincerity in Anwin's tone caught Aza from responding with an acerbic remark. Her magic was hers and it belonged to her. Why bother with rejecting your magic or not utilizing it all the time? 

Anwin paused waiting for a response. When Aza remained silent, Anwin brushed her hands against her pants and gave a sigh. This is not the time to get philosophical. My point is, we believe in being well-rounded. Having other items in our arsenal to use. These tonics and medicines we crafted from the plants in the mountains surrounding Neria. We have studied their properties, and these can heal you as well, without being exhausted or depleting your magic. Anwin stood and gathered her supplies back into the tiny wooden chest. With her back to Aza, she looked over her shoulder adding, Plus we pride ourselves on fighting. We believe you don't truly learn from your mistakes, your wounds, her eyes gently roved Aza's body taking in the multitude of wounds she just endured, if you heal it. You must live with those errors and improve upon them next time. Anwin left to help Reed with another task on the ship.

With the bitter autumn storm approaching, the ship was taking the brunt of the waves. Aza couldn't help but admire the teachings Anwin described, but thoughts of Lorn being abandoned in El'en swooped in. Her admiration turned sour in her mouth like eating a fruit one thought was ripe, but it turned out to be rotten instead.

Aza instantly wiped off the unconscious smile that had crept into her face. She sat up and marched over to her discarded sword and clenched the hilt, cursing herself at her guard being let down so easily. These Nerians wormed their way around her heart. Their words were misleading, often causing her to have hope in what they offered. False. Everything they said was false. Their actions belied their words. Aza hated how she was lulled into a false sense of security. 

A scream of frustration died in her throat. She had a sword in her hand. She could have attempted to stab them, threaten them, take them hostage. Her lack of effort at escaping weighed on her, her shoulders sagged in defeat. She had only been at sea for a handful of days and she was already cracking a smile with the enemy.

Restless anger at herself and those around her caused Aza to rise onto her feet and storm away to the edge of the boat. The waves tested her balance and footing, but she didn't care. Better to be swallowed up by this wild ocean than to have camaraderie with her captors. She reached for her magic, like an item of comfort meant for a child and found it still missing. Instead an aching hollowness rose up to greet her and she fought the tears that threatened to break. Better to embrace the warm heat of anger, than the bitter taste of her tears. 

Her thoughts of retribution quickly changed to thoughts of Lorn. She knew the grizzled hunter would fare well without her, but she missed his company all the same; his steadfast guidance and loyalty. Beyond that, he was someone to share her musings with. It was something she sorely needed and missed. At least Lorn was safe back in El’en.

The night she was captured flashed before her in rough-cut snippets. Her following Anwin down the hall. Instinct telling her to do otherwise. The pitch-black room. Reed bursting into the room and a confused looking Lorn accompanying him. Her on the floor pinned by Xira. Lilit refusing to help. The faint prick from Anwin’s hand to hers, the intrusion which caused her magic to fail her.

Since her capture she replayed the thoughts one by one, like reading a storybook page by page. She flipped through them, trying to dissect what happened. What went wrong. This was not a time for emotions, rather a cold detached viewing. One she would learn from and one she would pay back in kind. One image she couldn't erase from her mind was Lorn rushing forward in a panic to help her. His thoughts were focused solely on her. He failed to use his years of training to protect himself. For someone with his skill to be caught unaware due to her poor judgment caused Aza’s teeth to grind together, her jaw near locking from the pressure she exerted. 

She replayed the memories again and again, but she couldn't let herself stray to Cruvo. The god who inhabited Lord Aldrich's body. If her mind veered to him, she would crumble. While her magic was muted, so was her connection to him. No more dreams with him in it. Her body ached at the sudden isolation. She had grown accustomed to meeting him at night. Their dream meetings forced her to hone her magic and were a general outlet for stress she gathered throughout the day. Aza couldn't dwell on his possible reactions to her capture. A thread of hope wrapped itself around her heart and pulled tight; he would stop at nothing to get her back. Without her magic she felt useless, unable to find a way back to him, unable to banish the Hinterlands and free him, returning him to his body. 

She tempered the inferno of her anger. She would hone the fire, like a blacksmith using the heat to forge a sword from the iron. Aza would do the same. She would exact her vengeance, return to Lorn and return to Cruvo. The battle-hardened Nerians wouldn't stand a chance against her wrath. She would feign complicity for now—it wouldn't be hard—and work towards her freedom.

Forcing herself to uproot her feet from the scuffed, wooden boards beneath her, she headed back to her small cabin below deck and climbed into her net bedding. With how small the ship was, she doubted anyone had an actual bed on board. Everyone was too practical to want something of comfort on their rough journey. The swaying motion did nothing to soothe her as she attempted to sleep. Only the banked embers of her anger kept her warm against the onslaught of the autumnal storms. The ship rocked violently like her thinly veiled emotions. 

~

The seemingly perpetual storm clouds did not relent the following day. Aza helplessly paced the deck like a caged mountain lion. She refused to offer a hand to her kidnappers and instead stood by, her anger rolling off her in waves. No one bothered to make conversation, too busy keeping their ship operating with only the four of them. They were constantly running back and forth scurrying to the next task needed. When the Nerians had a moment of brief respite, they would have conversations in hushed tones, deliberately keeping Aza out of the talks. She felt the pointed stares and discreet glances.

Near evening Aza had a hard time discerning the time based on the dark clouds obscuring the skies. The clouds finally broke, bringing heavy rain down upon them. The water droplets were thick and weighed her down, drenching her cloak and clothes. Aza was thankful she wasn’t stuck in the gown she wore to the masquerade. The Nerians had supplied her with clothing upon her capture. She ignored the irritation of wet clothes against her skin and let her head loll back, her arms outstretched welcoming the deluge. The storm was an echo to the torrent of emotions roiling within her and she welcomed the chaos of nature. She reached for her power again, a vain attempt, yielding a fruitless result. She fought back the curse that rose, her spirit wanting to manipulate the water around her and use it to play and form. A part of her was silenced, restrained. She vowed she would spend every second to unchain it, unleash it. In this moment, she felt a small pull to her origins. The chaotic nature that swirled around her was calling to her and she was returning to its comforting embrace. Completely lost to the storm, Aza was not aware of her body, nor of the wave that caught the ship. Carelessly standing near the edge of the boat, her balance faltered, and she tumbled down into the frothy water below. 

Aza struggled to breathe. The water slammed into her; her body collided with the side of the ship. She sputtered as another wave hit her. Salty water filled her mouth. Aza tried coughing, but another wave crashed into her. Her body was being pummeled as wave after wave overtook her. Her arms floundered briefly above the surface. Aza sucked in a ragged gasp of air, and she was sucked underneath. She needed air. Her lungs burned. Disoriented, she had no idea where the ship had gone, and she imagined hearing distant voices shouting somewhere around her.

Pushed under. She was being pushed under.

With no grip for her legs, she kicked and helplessly moved her arms. It was too much. Everything was too much. The weight of her clothes, the sudden tiredness of her body. Her cuts and bruises from sparring with Xira. Fatigue set in, and a faint inkling spread through her body.

A whisper to give up. She couldn't. There was so much to do, and she needed to return to Lorn.

Before she could kick above the water, another wave crashed into her. Blackness filled her vision as she succumbed to the demanding ocean. It wanted her. Who was she to fight such a request? With only a shred of consciousness remaining, she sank under water. It was not peaceful, the water beneath as raging and chaotic as the waves above. Her mind dimmed as the heaviness dragged her down to the depths. Then a voice, one both ancient and slippery wrapped itself around her. Panic flared through her numb body. Not them. She couldn't let them have her. 

Daughter of the night, I have searched for you. All are searching for you. Eonas' voice was like the cold tendrils of seaweed that brushed against her legs. She recoiled from it. Despite her fear, she could not get her body to respond, the impending blackness overtaking her. Curious to find you here. You are difficult to trace. Where is your magic, Daughter of the Night? Why is it shrouded and hidden like the fish that cower in the depths of my darkness? The voice paused, like they were thinking about Aza's capture. No matter. You are here now in my ocean, and it is time for you to belong to me. 

Unbridled anger flared throughout her body. Aza fought the inevitability of unconsciousness a moment longer. She belonged to no one. Eonas, the Nerians, even Cruvo thought they owned her. She belonged to herself and would not be used. Only Lorn supported her and did not use her for his own ill-gains. He was her true friend. Aza didn't know how far she had sunk into the ocean, her eyes closed in defeat, but with this sudden declaration her eyes flashed open in rage. She wanted to speak, to yell, to fight against the Eonas’ words. Her lungs burned with the lack of air, her vision tunneling to a single speck of water. 

Suddenly, strong hands gripped around her, and she was yanked up. Her eyes could barely remain open with how fast they jolted up through the dark water. The purple storm clouds greeted her as she broke the surface. A wracking cough sent spurts of ocean water from her mouth. Her savior’s arm around her remained firm. Her eyes stung from salt water, and the heavy rain obscured her vision. Even the wind whipped around them, blurring Aza's sight further. Shouts dragged away by the wind were lost to her ears. Her shoulders drooped from the weight, but those steady arms only gripped her tighter.

Aza was swiftly lifted, and other arms clasped onto her, dragging her on board. She flopped onto the deck, grasping the rough wooden planks underneath her fingers. More coughs wracked her body, her body rejecting the ocean water she inhaled. Eyes stinging, she tried to peel them open and see what was happening around her. 

Nivet crouched beside her, his steady head a warm weighted reassurance on her back. He was soaked, rivulets of water dripped from his clothes and puddled onto the deck of the ship. His eyes were narrowed in concern, the color changing, flickering between warm brown and bright gold. The familiar boots of Xira, Anwin, and Reed circled her. She spewed more sea water. Silver coils of hair flopped in her face. Her body throbbed in pain.

Daughter of Night, you will not escape me so easily. Eonas' voice was a soft whisper cutting through the torrent of wind and downpour circling her. I will take care of your captors and then you will finally come to me. 

All of the icy water and depths of the Wyra Ocean she had experienced so far did not chill her bones until now. Aza felt the sincerity of the threat. Her throat was raspy as she attempted to warn the Nerians around her. Her captors, yes but right now they had a common enemy, and she would not go defenseless to this God of the Sea. 

Watch...out. Aza's voice was rough and only one person caught what she was trying to say. Reed crouched down, his lips slightly downturned. 

What did you say? 

Before Aza could utter her warning again, all four of the Nerians stood to attention. Something in the distance caused them to grip their weapons. 

Say goodbye to your captors, Daughter of Night. They will not live to see the next day, Eonas confidently proclaimed. 

Nivet reached his arm down to assist Aza as she scrambled to her feet to witness what everyone else was watching. The ocean parted effortlessly. A large wave cleaved the ocean in two. It wasn't the wave that made Aza gasp but the giant fins that followed the curve of it. 

Darkness below, what is that? Aza rasped.

It's a fucking sea serpent, Xira answered.

CHAPTER TWO

AZA IS GONE. I cannot feel her anymore.

Cruvo’s private journal

Lorn paced in his opulent room for the fifth time that day. He needed to do something, to go somewhere, to put his restless energy into action. 

They hadn't found her. No clues to her whereabouts. No clues as to where those backstabbing Nerians had taken her. His fists clenched, the nails embedding into his palm. He never should have trusted them. Guilt and anger fought for supremacy within Lorn's mind. The prior week he had torn himself apart from the guilt that bombarded him.

Flashes of that night knifed through him, lancing apart any shred of self-control he had. Blindly following Reed, trusting him because he had saved him from Brafter. No, Reed had only silenced Brafter to save himself and aid in his own malicious plan. He should have questioned it, questioned the timing, but he was so lost in the moment to think clearly. Seeing Aza pinned beneath Xira, her surprise as Lorn sprinted into the room. Where was her magic? She could have easily disarmed and destroyed all of them in the blink of an eye. He had seen it before. Why couldn't she use her magic? 

The days following the masquerade ball and Aza’s capture, were a combination of sheer luck and people wanting to return to their own respective courts. Everyone failed to notice the absence of Aza and the Nerians, most too self-absorbed in their own return trip to pay it any heed. Cruvo swore his advisors and Lorn to secrecy. If word got out of Aza’s disappearance, the province’s leaders would immediately begin conspiring, potentially jeopardizing Cruvo’s secret rescue mission.  

Most visitors packed up immediately and left the following day, but a few stragglers lingered trying to reap any remaining benefits of the Iyerian castle. He couldn’t speak freely about Aza’s capture with other people occupying the castle. Through Cruvo’s smooth talking, he was able to usher the remaining people out, preventing Lorn from throwing them out himself.

During that dreaded night, the marble floor was cold upon his cheek as he woke to find himself with a splitting headache. The chill of the floor was nothing compared to the ice in his veins when he realized his friend was stolen. Only thoughts of vengeance and violence filled him as he imagined Aza’s capture.

However, a small sliver of reason had pierced through. Lord Aldrich was actually Cruvo. A god’s power was at his disposal to find his friend. He couldn’t dismiss that advantage. The Nerians must have had some sort of foul power on their side to nullify Aza’s own magic.

When he found the Nerians, he would restrain them while Aza stripped them bare with her restored power. Although he had an aversion to the death and killing of people, for her vengeance he would turn a blind eye and allow her this retribution.

Lorn loosened a string of curses and picked up a glass vase, his arm cocked to throw it. Only a moment of clarity forced him to return the vase to its table. His anger was fruitless. It needed an outlet.

After her capture, he had trailed Lord Aldrich, relentlessly questioning him, urging him to utilize him, to send him out to hunt for Aza. Lord Aldrich had refused, instead requesting Lorn to be patient. Lord Aldrich, who Lorn had to remind himself was the god Cruvo, was as unrestrained as Lorn. Although he cautioned patience, Lorn doubted Cruvo followed his own advice—his face failed to mask the anger roiling beneath. Lorn knew Cruvo was as eager to find Aza and save her from the clutches of the Nerians.

After finding Lorn in the abandoned room the following morning, Cruvo had escorted Lorn to his private study. With an ironclad demonstration of self-restraint Cruvo ordered Lorn to go over everything that transpired that night. His face betrayed nothing, but Lorn was skilled at reading people. Just like any beast, people had their tells. He didn't fail to notice the white-knuckled grip Cruvo had on his chair, the tic in his jaw, the cold icy stare—a stare promising revenge. Unbridled fury brewed beneath the surface and one small touch could unleash it upon the world. But Lorn couldn't heed his instincts to let it lie. Instead Lorn riled him up by asking questions, demanding answers, demanding action.

In a night of desperation, he sought Cruvo in private, unsure of who knew of the god hiding in the guise of Lord Aldrich. Not bothering with pretense, Lorn demanded, I know you have a connection with her. In her dreams you can see her. How have you not received answers? Help her! he pleaded. Begged

Cruvo hissed through clenched teeth, I can't. My connection with her is gone, like it has been tampered with. He clutched at his forehead, roughly brushing through his waves of brown hair. I will let you know if I need help. Direct your energy elsewhere. I don't need it right now. Cruvo dismissed him and Lorn had paced the extent of the El'en castle.

Why was he even here? What was the point? He did not require approval for where he went. He needed to get her back—his friend who trusted him, believed in him. The image seared in his head of Aza pinned to the ground like some common thief. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of it. Even countless hours in the archery range and the training room left him wanting. What was the use if he wasn't actually accomplishing anything? 

A knock at the door brought Lorn racing to it. There might be answers. He wrenched it open. A servant handed him a slip of paper and scurried off. Lorn opened the folded paper and broke the seal, a gold embossed ocean with the sun overhead.

After reading the note, he crumpled it, and hurried to meet Cruvo in one of his countless studies. Ever since the revelation of Cruvo within Lord Aldrich's body, he stopped calling him Lord Aldrich in his head and instead used Cruvo. It was confusing at times, but he pushed on, refusing to call a man who wasn't anything other than what they were. 

Abandoning discretion, Lorn yanked the door open only to find Cruvo hunched over a table scanning a map of Ithilia, eerily similar to his first encounter meeting Lord Aldrich and his advisors. Any news?

Cruvo barely raised his head in acknowledgment. No. Nothing. 

Lorn couldn't help the slump of his shoulders, acknowledging the defeat. Each day Aza was farther away, held within the thrall of her captors, and here they were chasing their own tail, achieving nothing. 

Cruvo held up his hand, pausing what was about to be Lorn's long-winded tirade about their lack of effort. I will explain this once. Do not interrupt. 

Lorn bristled at the command, his mouth opening to argue. 

I keep you here in courtesy due to your valiant efforts in retrieving Aza from the Well. Do not mistake this for kindness. His eyes flashed with a hint of green and Lorn fought the instinct to take a step back, to retreat from this powerful being. He was not dealing with a MagicBlessed man. No, he was dealing with a god of old. 

We have not found Aza. Nor will we. His fingers traced the delicate boundary lines of each province. Our strategy is weak. They could be hiding and traveling anywhere within the five provinces. However, I believe their end goal is to enter Neria. His fingers drifted over to Neria on the detailed map, his fingers tracing the mountain range protecting the isolated province. We would waste our efforts trying to track a wisp of smoke on the wind. Instead, we could find the source of the fire. His hand clawed as if he could pluck Neria from the map and crush it within his grasp. My guards will be stationed around the key entry points of Neria, waiting for their moment to strike. 

Lorn nodded, it was a solid plan even though it chafed at him to play the waiting game instead of striking and hunting them down. When can you send me to the Nerian border? 

I won't be. 

Lorn’s fingers instinctively clenched around the hilt of his sword. He couldn’t help himself as his venomous words spewed out each word clearly enunciated, What do you mean? I won't be? A challenge. A threat. 

I need you elsewhere. 

I am not your hired soldier, nor do I even belong in the province of Iyera. You do not command me. 

Cruvo advanced to Lorn, stalking him like a predator. "You are very bold considering you speak to a god. 

"Psh, some god you are, inhabiting someone else's body." 

Cruvo scanned Lorn up and down as if finally finding a worthy opponent. He smirked, You have the backbone I am seeking. Where I am sending you will provide information to help Aza.

Lorn fought the urge to leave the room, but planted his feet on the floor and drew his shoulders back regaining his self-control. Where? 

I need you to go to Gara and spy for me. 

He withheld any snide retort, shock getting the better of him. He never expected Cruvo to mention that province. To Gara? I am no spy. His mind went to Brafter, his body left in the storage room where they had fought. In the chaos after Aza's disappearance, it went unnoticed. No one stepped up to claim the errant spy and Cruvo barely cared about the revelatory information. He simply shrugged his shoulders and ordered his men to clean up the mess. 

You will be attending as a guest in their court—an ambassador. 

Why Gara? I would be more help searching for Aza on the Nerian border. 

You met Lady Rasmina. I have suspicions. 

Suspicions? 

Yes, something nefarious is happening and I need you to find out what it is and report back to me. 

Then send someone else. Lorn turned and stormed back to the door, intending to leave this city once and for all. 

This will help Aza. Cruvo's words were like stones dropped in Lorn’s stomach. They caused him to pause, his hand hovered on the doorknob. 

Without turning, Lorn barked out one word, How? 

The information you uncover could save Aza. Knowledge is power. We need the knowledge of what whispers I have heard. 

Reluctantly, Lorn turned back to Cruvo. What do you mean save Aza? She is in the clutches of those Nerian swine. How could traveling to Gara save her?

When we save her, she will still need to destroy the Hinterlands. Gara might be doing something to inhibit it. 

Lorn marched back up to Cruvo, his face right next to his, fingers itching to clasp the hilt of his sword and run him through with it. The last time she tried to destroy the Hinterlands, she nearly died and so did we. And you want to subject her to that again? 

Cruvo didn't flinch, completely unbothered by Lorn's closeness and the rage brewing beneath. 

We are more prepared. We can banish it. 

Fuck. You. Lorn was done with this conversation, he needed to leave and find Aza on his own. A blast of wind sent him sprawling against the opposite wall. The fierce wind clasped around his throat and tightened. Cruvo took his time, strolling up to Lorn while he hung suspended against the opposite wall. His eyes hardened and another flash of green passed through, the god hiding underneath this fake exterior. Are you done with your little tantrum? 

Struggling to form words, Lorn gasped out, No. His legs kicked against the wall behind him, struggling to hold himself upright, the power holding him both strange and foreign. Aza is not a tool for you. The words were thick and clunky as he choked them out, the air tightening on his windpipe. 

Do not mistake me. I care for her and will not let her come to harm. We need to be prepared. We need the Hinterlands banished so I can return to my physical form. Protect her. Cruvo’s voice firmed, his eyes locked onto Lorn's with a grim announcement. War is coming. 

CHAPTER THREE

I DO NOT understand how, given her history, she has fallen for Cruvo. He does not deserve her desire. He deserves her unbridled rage.

Nivet’s private journal.

Everyone scattered on deck, ropes pulled, weapons gathered, and Nivet took his place at the helm of the ship. The storm raged on, the wind whipping Aza's silver hair in her face as she watched, frozen to her spot. Only the sea serpent’s fins appeared above the water, while the body was hidden beneath the dark, tumultuous waves. It was still only a blip on the horizon, but it gained speed, aiming right for the boat. Aza didn't know where to focus her attention, on the giant creature swimming towards them or the flurry of activity on deck. These Nerians would die a gruesome death. It was inevitable. 

Nivet, we need to face the sea serpent head on. Steer the ship over here, Xira shouted against the raging tempest of the storm. Her face was overcome with a fierce resilience. The face of a captain facing an insurmountable battle. 

Anwin, take your position on the crow’s nest. Anwin didn't wait for further instructions. She grabbed her bow and arrows, her balanced footsteps ran effortlessly over the rocking and tilting of the ship. 

Reed, you and I will fight up close. Grab your axes, Xira barked out her commands and everyone fell into place, including Nivet. Aza was surprised that he listened and deferred to her. Reed's once jovial face was changed with one of grim determination. He disappeared below deck and returned with two battle-worn axes in each hand. Reed and Xira stood side by side in the middle of the ship each keeping an eye on the sea serpent as it converged toward the boat. 

Nivet, be ready. We will need you to shadow us. 

Jolted by Xira's declaration, Aza found herself sprinting to Nivet's side, sloppily climbing the few steps to the helm. She didn't understand how the rest of the Nerians navigated the boat so gracefully during this storm. Her body protested every move, her lungs burned, her bruises smarted, but she needed to place those pains aside. Right now, she needed to survive this encounter.

Nivet! The god barely looked at her, but Aza spotted a hint of gold flash across his eyes. Use your shadows. 

Nivet gripped the helm and steered through the turbulent waters. Aza thought he would ignore her command until he finally answered, I will be using them. 

Her eyebrows furrowed and her heart began to beat erratically. You used your shadows to get me out of the castle in Iyera. Use it now to get us out of this place. Aza's voice cracked hysterically. She could not go to Eonas and be used, not with her magic dulled. 

Despite the storm and the