"My contacts say the Ghosts have a safe house not far from the border," Raven answers, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "If we're lucky, we'll find Plague there, or at least someone who can lead us to him."
Plague. Azarel's brother. The Ghost who delivered me to Nikolai's compound like a package to be signed for. Just the thought of him pisses me off, but he's my best chance at getting answers about Azarel.
About why he lied.
About whether any of it was real.
I take a longer sip of wine. The pleasant warmth isn't enough to dull everything, but it does take the edge off. "And if we're not lucky?" I ask, voicing the question no one else seems willing to.
A heavy silence falls over the car, broken only by the steady rhythm of the train.
"Then we improvise," Geo says finally. His eyes meet Raven's, a knowing glance passing between them. "We always do."
The corners of Raven's lips tip up slightly.
"Question is," Geo continues, studying me thoughtfully, "what are you gonna do if you don't like the answers to your questions?"
And that's the million-dollar question, isn't it? What if Azarel never cared? What if it was all part of some elaborate game, some political strategy I can't even begin to comprehend? What if I've been a fool all along?
"It's not like I haven't considered it," I murmur, turning to look out at the distant mountains and dead trees passing by in the darkness through the windows. "The possibility that Azarel was just using me. I mean, he's a prince from enemy lands," I say with a dry laugh, toying with the stem of my wine glass. "Playing defector. Falling in love with the daughter of the most powerful man in all of Reinmich. I can put two and two together."
"You think he infiltrated Reinmich as a Surhiiran spy?" Raven asks carefully. "That he was using you?"
"What else?" I can't keep the bitterness out of my tone. Or the pain.
No matter how many times I've tried to convince myself there's another explanation, my brain simply can't concoct any thatmy heart wants to latch onto. Only the obvious remains. The ugly likelihood that Azarel was a spy, and our relationship was nothing more than him doing what every other alpha before him has done.
Using me.
"You don't believe that."
Nikolai's words cut through the silence, jarring me from my thoughts. I look up to find him watching me.
"What are you talking about?" I mutter.
"You may think he betrayed you," he answers, his expression stone and steel, "but you don't believe it. Not where it counts."
I bristle at his words, annoyed by their accuracy more than anything. "You don't know anything," I say through my teeth, turning away.
"No?" he challenges. His voice lowers, softening with something dangerously close to sympathy as he switches to our native tongue. "Venthrov vyn skavik."
I clench my jaw, my grip tightening around the wine glass. Knight growls softly and I rein my anger in, if only because the last thing we need is him tearing this car apart in my defense.
Raven's brow furrows, as if he's trying to make sense of the words. "Can't say I've heard that one."
"It's a saying from Old Vrissian," I mutter. It was one of my mother's favorites. But of course, Nikolai wouldn't know that, and I'm not in the mood to translate.
Fortunately, none of them presses me on it. Even Nikolai knows when to keep his mouth shut, I suppose.
The wine, the gentle rocking of the train, and the events of the day conspire to make my eyelids grow heavy. I yawn, not bothering to cover my mouth. Manners seem rather pointless given everything else we've been through.
"You should rest," Raven says, noticing my fatigue. "Tomorrow will be challenging."
I nod, setting my glass aside before curling closer into Knight's side, snuggling against his warmth. His body heat is a welcome comfort against the chill that seeps through the train's metal walls in spite of all the blankets and cushions.
Raven moves a bit closer, warming me from my other side. In another life, I might have pushed him away or told him to back off. Instead, I let him, taking another sip of wine and sinking deeper into the nest of pillows between the two alphas.
As I settle in, Knight's fingers tentatively brush against my hair, the touch so gentle it's barely there. I glance up to find him studying a lock of my silver hair caught between his fingers. Then he tucks the strand behind my ear.
