“No. Spoken like someone who doesn’t agree thatallwyverns should be punished for the actions ofsome,” I snap back.
“Well of course you don’t agree,” Tove coos acerbically. “You’ve practically been held hostage by them and fed a steady diet of excuses andpoor mebullshit. You can buy thenot all wyvernsclaim all you want, but the rest of us know better, Frills. We were there for the investigation and the subsequent interrogations. Not every wyvern clan participated, but they knew or suspected something and didn’t offer so much as a sniffle of warning. There’s no coming back from that kind of fracture in trust, and you know it. Which is why you’re so jumpy just being here.”
Tove’s smile is smug, and I fight the growing urge to jab a fist right through the center of it.
“I really don’t like you,” I declare in a tone dripping with caustic honey.
“I really don’t care,” she lobs back, and then the doors to the lirocar open, and the Royal Wing starts to file out.
Karis takes point, Tove and Ogdan flank each side of me, and Farrow brings up the rear. Chastain drifts to the periphery, his gaze sweeping and sharp as he puts himself in a support position. It’s a protective configuration I know well, only it’s typically Enslee at the center and me guarding her back.
Jori also takes up position somewhere behind me, but I don’t lock in on where before the stone wall in front of us starts to shift and a hidden door slides open. Azo, the human from King’s Keep, steps out to greet us. But it isn’t the human that makes the blood drain from my face and my heart lurch. It’s the wyvern next to him.
Her hair is a riot of short espresso corkscrew curls that float around her head as she draws closer. Her dress is the color of the blood that dripped down the cell walls the night I escaped the blood brokers. Her olive complexion is flawless, but it’s her eyes, Ren’s eyes, a unique blue-hazel hue that’s burned into my very soul, that tells me I’ve read this situation all wrong. It wasn’t King Noctis setting me up to be cut down by the wyverns.
This wyvern isn’t an enemy, she’s an ally…or at least she used to be.
She’s Ren’s little sister.
Relief should be flooding me at the sight of her, but I feel the exact opposite because I don’t know how I’m going to face her.
How do I tell her what happened to her kindred?
How do I tell her it was all my fault?
Chapter 19
HER PRESENCE SCOOPS MY INSIDES out, and devastation pings around the emptied space. Shame and uncertainty weigh down my steps, and a million inadequate apologies dance across my tongue. Fenox Lael doesn’t look my way. Her blue-hazel eyes are fixed on Karis as she discreetly sizes him and the others up.
When the human mentioned the designer’s name, it didn’t ring with any kind of recognition. But it wouldn’t, Ren always called her little sister Nixy, never Fenox. And I’ve never heard the last name Lael before; Renatta’s surname was Sagefor. I knew Nixy lived in Paragon and that she and Ren spoke every couple of months when they could, but last I heard Nixy worked for a tailor in the goblin district. I have no idea what she’s doing here.
Azo bows and Nixy drops into a deep curtsy. Her stare finally shifts to me, and the sorrow I find there is like a shot to the gut. The blow is visceral and I feel like I’m suddenly bleeding out right here in front of everyone as my worlds collide. Nixy blinks and the emotion is masked. The echo of it, however, reverberates within me, ringing like a haunting lament in the depths of my soul.
She knows.
She knows her big sister is gone.
I want to beg her forgiveness, explain what happened, and vow to avenge the incredible person we both loved, but I can’t do any of that. Not here. Not in front of Aeson’s drakes. This gaping wound needs to stay hidden. I won’t be the reason that Fenox Lael becomes a target.
I failed Ren.
I won’t fail her little sister.
Which means I can’t say or do anything that might tip my hand and clue the drakes in on any kind of history or connection here.
I lift the drawbridge and slam a portcullis down on the throng of emotion attempting to storm me. Blinking all recognition from my gaze, I wait for Fenox to speak while I discreetly watch Tove for any sign that she’s picked up on a tether between me and the wyvern. Thankfully, the observant drake’s attention is on our surroundings and not me.
“It is an honor, dragoness. My assistant has filled me in on your requests. I’ve endeavored to put together a small collection that I hope will meet with your approval. If you and your companions will follow me, I can show it to you. Then we can discuss anything else you might need.” With that, Fenox rises from her position of supplication and turns to lead us into the building.
The drakes move as one, a well-practiced unit with me at the center. I want to stop, to tell them I’ve changed my mind and then turn around and get as far away from Ren’s little sister as I can. Right now, Nixy is still on the fringes of what’s happening, but the minute I step into the building, that changes. She’ll be right in the thick of it with me. If I say something though, if I ask to leave, it will just make the guards suspicious, and the last thing I want to do is anything that will have them looking any closer at the wyvern than they already are.
With a heavy and conflicted heart, I follow the drakes into the building, silently screaming in protest every step I take. It’s brighter inside the windowless building than I anticipated. The interior is a wash of dark charcoal finishes, and it’s more modern than the outside facade would lead one to believe. It’s mostly empty, with the exception of a large couch shaped like an undulating snake, and a low glass table that’s the size of a small pond. Against the long wall of the barren room, several displays of clothing await my inspection, but I couldn’t care less about anything hanging over there. All I can focus on is Fenox.
That flash of loss I momentarily caught in her eyes haunts me. I can’t imagine she’s handling the loss of her sister well.
I know I’m not.
Yet here we both stand like strangers, pretending nothing’s wrong. Making believe that our hearts haven’t been ripped from our chests and pulverized beyond recognition.
