In fact, I couldn’tstopwanting him, and this close, with my face pressed into his shirt, with his power pounding around me, something inside of me roared back.
“Lyrae.” His voice was low, rough as he dipped his head to peer into my face. “Breathe for me, princess, just breathe. You’re okay. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
I did—once, twice—my pulse beating like a drum in the hollow of my throat. His fingers locked around my arms, and I leaned into his strength, let him hold me up, as if I couldn’t trust this new reality, not without him anchoring me to it.
We stood on the highest street level of Tempeste, just a step below the Citadelle.
In one jump, without even ruffling his perfect hair, Kaden Rooke had flown me halfway across the world with only a thought and a wish.
Straight to my city.
To the exact spot I’d pictured in my mind.
My favorite bakery was still open, the front window piled with breads and croissants and pastries, the palaces of the wealthier royals stacked up the street behind us, snow dusting their roofs, fir branches and bright red berries decorating their window boxes for the coming Yule.
Tempeste’s walled levels climbed the front of Mount Sylvan in a proud, spiraling ascent—beige cut-stone walls layered like steps toward the snow-peaked heavens. The uppermost tier—where the Citadelle dominated the city—caught the winter sun and turned it into a spiked crown. Below that, terraces and districts were stacked in neat, orderly rings, each separated by decorative gates and sweeping stairways that zigzagged back and forth in pale, marble ribbons.
Like Tempeste had been carved from the mountain’s bones.
And maybe it had.
Legend said the city was built over top an ancient temple to the Old Gods, one that predated the arrival of the Fae, and after seeing the catacombs for myself, I heartily agreed.
“That trip took six hours by dragon,” I whispered, more to myself than to him.
Rooke’s gaze remained on my face, not the city. That same strange intensity—like he was trying to memorize a map—remained on his face, turning his gaze into a force of nature. “My magic…works differently than any other I know about. It’s older, I suppose,” he said simply, with a one-shouldered shrug, as if his magic was…nothing special.
That simple statement sent another sharp spike of fear through me. He was too formidable, too proud, too…Rooke.
Anaria—and the others—would take one look at him and see the same thing I had, the first time I’d met him.
A cruel, pompous aristocrat who should not be trusted with power.
“Is this…the right place?” Rooke asked, suddenly looking…nervous.
I swallowed, my throat suddenly tight. “This is…perfect, Kaden.”
I turned my head, heart swelling like a balloon as I took in the snow-dusted cobblestones, lights starting to appear below us in the lower levels, down in the shadows of the mountain, while up here, the higher levels still caught the last of the watery sunset.
Above us, a new watchtower spiked against the sky, wispy tendrils of smoke rose from chimneys in steady lines. Banners stirred along the ramparts—Anaria’s silver crest, a white wolf—stitched in fresh thread onto pale blue fabric.
“Ryland and Varian will be hours behind, then,” Rooke murmured, threading his fingers through mine, turning to face me, his soul shining through his glittering blue-gold eyes.
“Hours behind,” I murmured. My mouth twisted. “They’ll be freezing their asses off, and complaining beforetheir boots hit the ground. Ariel’s bundled up between them, though. I made sure of that.”
“Your sister is going to love this city,” the corner of his mouth pulled, almost-smiling as he pulled in a breath of that fresh-baked, bready smell. “I’ve…after dreaming about this place most of my life, I have to say, it does not disappoint.”
“My sister is going to be a menace in this city,” I corrected him. “But I’m hoping Torin will find Ariel something that keeps her busy.” I slanted him a look. “Something that doesn’t involve thievery. Or her Wyrdtracker skills.”
I’d have to rely on Torin, because my own future was too tentative right now to make plans for my own sister. Or for myself. For all I knew, I’d be spending the next few months in a cell while Anaria and the rest of the court decided my fate.
Trust was a hard thing to earn, and taking my own tarnished history into account, they would have every right to see me as—at worst, a traitor, and at best, as someone incapable of following a simple order.
As the commander of her armies, I would make the same decision, if one of my Dreadwatch stood in front of me, feeding me some song and dance about trusting a complete stranger, capable of destroying everything I’d built with a snap of his fingers.
Rooke’s grip tightened on mine, just slightly, as if he, too, realized I stood on shaky ground.
I forced my shoulders down, my posture into something less like armor. “We have six hours,” I said briskly. “Until they arrive and we stand in front of Anaria and convince her you are not a threat.”
