Mettius frowned. “Then we die. Cassia will welcome us in the Valley, and none of this will matter.”
Except Augustus wouldn’t see the Valley, would he? He and Selene would eventually start over, and maybe they’ll live a long, peaceful life free of these prophetic chains. The gods owed them that much, didn’t they? At the very least, they owed Selene—she was the good one.
“You will die,” Thorne said. “In good time. We leave tomorrow. I suggest you say your goodbyes while you still can.”
Thorne started away, but the Vorash waited several agonizing seconds. Its eyes, like black holes, watched Augustus sink deeper into despair. He could have sworn it smiled before it followed after its master.
Augustus waited for their footsteps to fade before approaching the bars. “Tell me there’s a plan, Dad. The fleet wouldn’t just leave us.”
What he couldn’t say was that Selene, of all people, would never willingly leave him. That fact only solidified his worst fear.
Mettius held his gaze for what felt like an eternity, then lowered his eyes to the floor. “I hope they have, son. For their sakes… I hope they have.”
To Alexandra Vidalatos, princess of nowhere
From Selene Marinea, advisor to His Majesty, the King of Perean
I don’t want to write you this letter, but there is something my dearest friend wished you to know.
Petrina Minili, the woman you used and discarded like waste, kept me alive. She’s gone now, but she wanted you to know that I am still alive, and it’s because of her.
How many more of your Eyes will turn their backs on you? Will there be any left when your death finally comes? Will there be anyone left to shed a tear over your corpse? I don’t think there will be, and that’s not remotely the worst thing I dream for you.
Enjoy your remaining breaths while you can,
Selene
P.S. Oskar Dahlin knows you murdered Emanouella. Sleep well knowing that I was the one who told the Master Blade of the Assassin’s Guild that you poisoned the love of his life and their unborn child.
Selene blinked out of the missive, reality pressing from every side. She couldn’t escape what she’d lost. Not even in a cabin that once belonged to Cassia Rutiliana.
Not even at this mahogany desk, where evidence of Augustus’s last occupation still sat on the surface. Scribbled notes and charts, weighted down by some of Mettius’s personal artifacts. His favorite dented mug sat precariously on the edge beside a small knife he fidgeted with whenever he was deep in thought.
It hurt to be in the space they shared for a short time. In quarters he was familiar with, which were foreign to her. It wasn’t home. Not without him.
Chest tight, Selene crossed beneath the swaying lanterns hanging from low beams and strode outside onto the balcony. Stars blanketed the sky, and the moon lit theEntia’s wake.
Only nights ago, she’d stood in this exact spot with Augustus at her back, his warmth pressed into her spine.
“Nights like this remind me how small I am,”he’d whispered, his gaze cast to the vast net of stars.
“You’ve never felt small a day in your life,”Selene said with a soft laugh.
“I didn’t use to.”He straightened and turned her around to face him. As he tucked hair behind her ear, he said,“I bleed. I feel pain. I crave.”Augustus set his forehead to hers, and his hands tightened around her waist.“I love.”
Her heart squeezed.“Augustus.”
“You’ve pulled me down from the sky and reminded me how mortal I am.”He stared into her eyes.“It’s not all bad, is it? Being a small, insignificant human in the grand scheme of things?”
“As long as I get to be in your arms in the end, everything else we have to face makes it all worth it.”
Selene spun free of the memory, and she gripped the railing, her back cold with his absence, her tears a hot trail down her cheeks. This wasn’t fair. They’d just found each other again.
Suddenly, the air clamped too tight around her ribs. His scent was everywhere—in the grain of wood, in the fabric, in her own skin.
Selene ran from the room, swiping the tears from her face, and burst onto the deck above.
Roman, perched on a crate, startled and half-rolled out of his slouch. The wind plastered his untucked shirt against his strong chest. “Eva?”
