to wooden buildings, carved bridges, gliding boats, and most of all, people. Hundreds stood in wait, their eyes on the ship sailing toward them. Some stood on decks, many on floating walkways, others poking their heads through the windows of their homes. Nerves swarmed in Lyana's stomach like a flock unleashed. Were they all there waiting for her?
"Time to make our arrival," he said with a sigh that sounded weary in a way she didn't quite understand. "Please, Lyana, don’t use your magic. Your control has improved, but the open ocean is much different from the concentrated quarters of the city. Look with your spirit eyes if you'd like, but don't touch the power, not until I tell you. You'll understand soon, I promise."
He offered his hand, waiting.
She took it with a nod.
Raising their joined palms overhead, Malek released a wave of spirit magic. The golden power arched across the sea to settle over the crowd at the nearest edge of the docks. A cheer emerged, cries and screams mixing as the masses turned into his power, soaking it in like the rays of the sun, their cheeks upturned to bask in the might of their king. Lyana watched through her spirit eyes, the world a swirling rainbow of light and magic. He was healing them, she realized quickly, the prickle of power so familiar yet so foreign. Restorative waves of magic sank into their bodies, not as concentrated as the magic she'd once poured into Rafe's wings and Xander's chest, but a more diluted form that gave off the sense of vitality without its force.
"Can they all see it?" she asked, so used to magic being her dirty secret.
"Most can't," he said, still letting his power flood across the water and crash over his people. "But even those without magic themselves can feel my touch, and that's why they cheer. For the promise of our power, for the hope it brings."
As they neared, more magic lit the skies, so dazzling her only wish was for Rafe to be there and see it. Nearly all the sailors on the surrounding ships sent shimmering swirls into the air—blues and greens and yellows and reds exploding in celebration. Among the crowd, there were far fewer displays of power, but the occasional spark of color flared. Even the swathes of people without magic looked on with awe. Their faces held no fear, only joy. No hesitation, only pride. Glistening cheeks caught the light. Tears of happiness. Sobs of relief. Every eye seemed turned on her with that same expression Malek always held—as though waiting for more. They wanted their Queen Bred of Snow. They wanted someone she wasn't sure she knew how to be, but beneath the weight of their stares, she needed to do something. Guided by instinct, Lyana flared her wings as wide as they could go, her white feathers bright against the dreary gray.
The crowd roared.
Malek squeezed her fingers in silent approval, a gleam in his eyes unlike any she'd seen before. Despite the strain of his magic, he was content. For the first time since she'd met him, there was a hint of satisfaction woven through his spirit, a sense of peace.
The ship came to a halt by the mouth of a canal. A richly painted boat bobbed in the middle of the water with two gilded thrones resting at its center. Lyana couldn’t for the life of her see a pathway through the crowd, a means of getting to the spot. But Malek seemed unbothered. He cleared his throat as the din quieted. Shouts gave way to soft weeping, which gave way to nothing but the gentle slap of waves, the creak of wood, and the subtle howl of wind.
"People of Da'Kin," he said, no strain in his voice. Magic followed his words, carrying the sound on the wind so all those gathered could hear. "I, King Malek'da'Nerri, the King Born in Fire, present to you Queen Lyana Aethionus, our long-awaited Queen Bred of Snow. For generations, we have suffered, but the time of the prophecy is finally upon us. Together, we will see the dragons defeated and our people liberated. Together, we will see the world healed."
A flurry stirred in her chest, making her dizzy.
She wasn't ready for this—ready for the hope in their eyes shining brighter than Malek's magic, the collective held breath of so many people waiting for her to speak, hanging on her every word, the weight of all their dreams settling like a