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So exactly where was the missing tall, wild-haired, hawk-nosed daughter of Princess Atanial?

I left off standing there in Jehan’s arms while we lit up the sky with a supernova kiss.

At least, that’s what it felt like.

The thing about sensory firestorms is, there’s that rock of common sense sitting somewhere in the center of all the heat. Or so it is with me. Because when I came up for air, the rock was right there inside me with all its insistent weight, and I gasped, nearly choking on rain, and pushed Jehan away.

“Sasharia?” he asked.

Lightning crackled, striking the sea not far away. He held his hands out to me, but when I braced myself to resist, he dropped them to his sides.

In the glow from the cabin door, his eyes looked black, his expression changing from passion to puzzlement. “What’s wrong?”

I looked at the fine strands of white hair lying across his brow. Tenderness made the insides of my arms ache to hold him, and my fingers twitched, wanting to smooth back his hair, which (I had discovered) was as soft as a bunny’s fur, only long. I clenched my hands behind my back, wishing the lightning would do me a big favor and strike me now. “I hate Fatal Attraction movies,” I snarled.

Of course that made no sense to him whatsoever.

I shook my own wet mop impatiently out of my face, but did not move, despite the lightning and thunder, and the stinging needles of rain. The thunder smash had died away to a distant growl. “I was going to make a joke about sleeping with the enemy and being stupid, but it’s not funny, is it?”

“Enemy?” He stepped back, his chin jerking up as if I’d slapped him.

“Oh, Jehan, I didn’t mean that. I mean I did, but not—oh, I don’t know what I mean.” I gave a strangled excuse for a laugh and tried desperately to smooth a horrible moment over with a joke. “So what’s your place in”—my life?—“Great Events? Did some mysterious mage cast a Shadow of Destiny on you when you were little? Or some weird prophesy turn up with your name in it in reference to a Path of Fate?”

“Fate? Destiny?” he repeated.

The words had come out in English, and I remembered Mom telling me years ago they didn’t have any such concepts. Nor did they talk about luck, either bad or good. Chance, yes.

My “joke” was about as funny as mud, but I kept trying to turn the most serious conversation of my life into light banter because if you laugh you can’t get hurt, right? “I mean do you have a life membership in the Villains’ Guild? Now would be the time to zip it from your wallet and get started with the har har har.”

“Villains?” He looked skyward. “How can you think that, Sasharia? What have I done? What have I not done?”

Lightning. Thunder. Neither of us moved. We stared at one another, as if anger and passion and desperate questions could reach past locked gazes into skulls and decode the thoughts there. But though people walked in the world who could do that, neither of us had been born with that particular gift. Or curse.

“Call me Sasha.” I knew it was inane, that I was being the kind of weak female I despise. But I so wanted to hear him say my name. Just once more. Because I was going to stick to my guns, and leave as soon as I could.

“Sasha.” He said my name on an outgoing breath, which sent shivers all through my nerves. “Why won’t you let me explain?”

The rainsquall ended abruptly, a wave of slanting gray diminishing over the sea, leaving us standing under the dripping sails on the wet deck. I fought to keep my voice steady. “You. Are. Your father’s. Son.”

His eyes closed. Then opened. “Didn’t you listen to anything I’ve told you?”

“Oh, I listened. Heard everything you said. Which was, mostly, everything I want to hear. Just as your father talked to my mother twenty years ago your time, using every smile, every charm at his command.”

He gripped the rail with both hands, and looked at me over his shoulder. “You’re never going to trust me, are you? No matter what I do. What I say. Because of who my father is.”

“Let’s skip right past the fact that you lied to me. Your lying to Randart I have no problem with. But you’re also lying to your dad. I know you don’t want anybody killed, but for whose good? Here’s the real question: what would you do with your dad if you won some kind of battle against him? Put him on trial for his life, or stab him in the back?”

“Neither.” Jehan faced the sea and let his breath out slowly. “But you won’t believe me even on that. Will you.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I’m sorry for my sarcasm. I’m not trying to be a crank. It’s just that everything you say, I hear my mom warning me…and more questions sprout like tentacles in my mind.”

He did not answer, just stared at me, grim in expression, his mouth a white line.

My righteous anger vanished like the heat in the sudden thunder, leaving me just as unhappy. “Don’t you see, Jehan? I wish I could believe you. I wish I could trust you, because there’s no denying we’ve got some major chemistry going between us. But all I can think of is my mother’s stories about Canary trying to seduce her over to his side. And, well, there we were a few minutes ago—”

“I follow.” He flung up a hand. Looked out to sea. “You’ve said enough.”