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Nesta’s fingers bit into her palms. And with a final gasp of air, she winnowed. Darkness, wind, pressure all around her, spinning through the in-between, and then—

Icy, towering waves slammed into her body, so frigid they knocked the breath from her. Her boots became a weight pulling her down, down, down.

Instinct had her limbs flailing, kicking and pushing toward the surface. It was so dark, so cold. She was in the Cauldron again—

She’d winnowed right into the middle of the thrashing sea. Her body locked up, the surface so far, too far, and no matter what she did, she’d never reach it—

No. She wouldn’t let panic drag her down, as surely as the ocean was trying to. She closed her eyes, just for a beat. A pause, enough to settle her mind. Assess her surroundings. Mind-Stilling—without the breathing, of course.

Up and down aligned properly. The surface was that way—she could make it. Stay calm, stay steady, and she could make it.

Nesta focused on her legs. Her arms. On the breath she’d barely managed to hold in her chest as she pulled and kicked her way upward.

The air above the water was worse. Spray stung her cheeks, the wind howled so loud her gasp was instantly swallowed, and a wave came cascading onto her head, shoving her back under.

She pushed and thrashed her way up once more, breaking the surface again, desperate for air. Nothing but wild waves and wind and blinding spray surrounded her, no sign of land, no sign of help.

Another wave rose, this one bigger, slamming her back into the silence below. Hitting her so hard that any stillness, any calm, was knocked from her. Along with any remaining breath.

Air. She needed air.

The effort to reach the surface this time sent every muscle in her body burning. And that silver fire in her . . . it was doused. She’d depleted it. There was nothing left.

No air. No magic. No strength. She’d never be able to survive out here long enough for it to slowly replenish. She was going to drown.

The next wave struck in a stunning blow to the top of her head, sending her flipping into the silent depths. The impact echoed through her very bones.

She twisted, trying to find her way up again, to find that calm in her mind, but the force pulling her down was so strong, and up was increasingly so, so far away—

There was something below her. Shining. Not the Mask. Not the Harp or the Crown. But of a similar ilk, somehow.

It was one, and yet—not. Two pieces, together forming a whole. Twins, joined in spirit, hardened into something razor-sharp and unified.

It was there, glimmering on the ocean floor, and then it was gone, as if it had been spirited away by dark hands. It seemed to cry out, to summon her to it.

Her lungs were burning. The surface was too far. She had to take a breath, had to open her mouth.

Find me.

Was it her imagination in her last moments? Or was whatever she had seen truly calling out? She couldn’t tell.

Find me. Find me. Find me.

She couldn’t stand it, the pressure in her chest. The urge to take a breath, even if it would kill her. Couldn’t stop herself—

Nesta opened her mouth, and water flooded in. A force like a boulder barreled into her side. And then she was surrounded by light and warmth and air and air and air.

“What”—a male voice panted nearby—“were you”—another pant—“thinking?”

Nesta gasped down another breath, and nothing had ever tasted so precious and beautiful. Her eyes stung with tears or salt water, she didn’t know, didn’t care. She lifted her head—she was on a carpet, in a room—and found Rhysand gaping at her. Dripping water. All his finery soaked. Utterly shocked. His eyes were as wide as she’d ever seen them.

The High Lord’s expression didn’t improve when Nesta vomited seawater all over the woven carpet between them.

CHAPTER

5

Azriel