The expression on his face as he looks down at my sister—passion, protection, need, patience—it all combines to tell me that she’s confided in him, trusted him with things that happened at the hands—and body—of Galen Tarva that she’s hardly even hinted at to me, and that Lycheron was worthy of her trust. And that means that no matter his strange past behavior toward me or his dubious dealings with Griffin, for as long as Ianthe wants him in her life, he has a place with us.
Unfortunately,lifemay be a problematic term for them. Eternity rarely mixes well with mortality. There are things about it that simply don’t work.
But Lycheron and Ianthe don’t seem to care—at least not right now. They’re more interested in the kiss that begins heating up between them. It turns positively scorching.
Lycheron breaks the embrace to drag Ianthe’s roaming hand over his heart. Breathing hard, he holds it there.
“Do you feel this?” His powerful rumble of a voice could never be soothing, and his eyes glow with a heated intensity that’s not even close to being metaphorical. Everything about him screamsdanger, but Ianthe isn’t threatened at all.
“I feel it,” she answers huskily.
“It beats for you.”
My breath catches. Ianthe molds herself to her surprising creature and seeks his mouth again with hers. I reach out and smear my blood across their images, wiping the scene from the rock. She’s in good hands, safe, and whatever happens next is no one’s business but their own.
I close my eyes, still seeing them. Ianthe and Lycheron are two beings that needed each other. As individuals they were one thing. Together they’re something else. A new creation. Somethingmore.
And that reminds me of the person I most need to get back to, of how in Griffin my jagged pieces found a safe place to become a whole. He shored up my foundation, but I’ve always been the mason of my own construction. I know the placement of every stone. I know that each building block has a flip side that’s shown itself and will show itself again—light, dark, forgiving, vengeful, protective, violent. I know there are things I’ll do, things I won’t, and things I’ll always struggle with. And in the perpetual gray of Tartarus, I take a deep breath and finally decide that that’s okay.
CHAPTER 28
The sudden burn in my shoulder blades catches me off guard. The unexpected rip and pop and grow lasts mere seconds, but for the time it takes for my wings to spring free, it hurts like Cerberus is scraping poisonous fangs down my back.
The throbbing quickly fades. I glance over my shoulder, and my new wings reveal a regular pattern of white and black. White is the more dominant color, with only the tips of each feather steeped in shadow. The root is light. The periphery is tarnished. I look at them, and know that each individual feather is a reflection of me.
Deeply satisfied with the fitting new shading, I flex my wings.Balance. I have it now. Or at least I know what it looks and feels like. I understand how it functions inside me. Some days the scales will tip one way, some days the other, and as long as I don’t lose sight of what’s at my center, I can accept that, just as Griffin always has. I don’t need to be perfect, or have all the answers. I just have to be me, and fair, and do my best for the people and place I love.
I kiss my fingertips and then press them against the still-open window to Griffin. As I drop my hand, I wipe the scene from the stone. I won’t leave any part of him here when I go.
My lightning strike still marks a slashing door in front of me over the valley. The blaze intensifies, as if beckoning me, and my heart pulls me straight toward it. I take a step toward the edge of the ledge. I don’t have any idea how this works, and I can’t see anything beyond the bright tear in the air, but I know Thalyria is on the other side. I hope if I concentrate hard enough on Griffin, I’ll go to him first.
Soon, though, because I’m not done here yet.
I turn to Prometheus. This is going to be tough.
“Fly,” he whispers when our gazes connect. His eyes are bright and alive with something for the first time since the fog lifted and revealed the tortured Titan. It’s happiness. Hope. Not for himself, but for me.
I smile, my own joy reaching out to meet his. “Not without you, my friend.”
Two flaps of my wings take me across the space that’s separated us all this time. I hover before him, the steady beat of my feathers fanning us both. Prometheus flinches away from me, pressing himself against the cliff. I understand—a winged creature coming at him usually spells pain and organ loss.
“Look at me.” I keep my voice soft but firm.
Slowly, he turns his head, his eyes uncertain now.
“Do you know the world of Thalyria?”
He shakes his head, making me wonder where he roamed before he ended up in Tartarus. His story certainly spread. As did his gift of fire.
“Thalyria is my world. I want to take you there. Will you come with me?”
His eyes dart to one of the thick chains holding him tightly against the rock wall and then back to me again. I read the question there. His four limbs are shackled to the cliff.
“I’m going to melt the chains off you. It might hurt.”
His stare is blank for a moment, but then he gives a quick nod, little more than a jerk of his bearded chin.
I glance at the air behind me, assuring myself that my vertical door home continues well down toward the valley floor. Once the Titan is loose, we won’t be going up—or even out very far. Wings or no wings, with his weight, we’ll drop.
