Cyran was already waiting.
He stood beside his desk, arms crossed, bathed in golden light from the hanging lanterns. His eyes narrowed as we entered, first at me, then at Zander, but it was Solei he focused on.
“The dragons have stopped flying,” she said, wasting no time.
Cyran’s eyes snapped to me as if the words couldn’t be real until I confirmed them.
I nodded once. “They’ve stopped answering. None will come to their riders.”
He stared, stunned silence rippling through him.
Then—he laughed.
Not out of amusement, but something colder.
“The dragons are doing what we should’ve done,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his dark hair. “Let the liars hang themselves. Let the courts feed on each other.”
He looked at each of us now, a calculating light in his eyes.
“Let’s wait,” he said, voice quiet but firm. “Until the lies burn themselves out.”
ChapterNineteen
Ipushed open the door to my old room and stepped inside, the familiar scent of dried herbs and ink greeting me like an old friend. The space was small, but it was mine. Still untouched.
Zander stepped in behind me, his eyes scanning the room with quiet curiosity. He moved toward the desk where a few of my old things had been left, candles melted down to stubby wax nubs, a few pieces of charcoal in a cracked jar.
His hand settled on a sketchbook. I didn’t stop him when he flipped it open.
He turned a few pages slowly, charcoal etchings of the alley behind the tavern, a few portraits of Solei mid-laugh, some dragons in flight drawn from memory.
Then his hand stilled.
He stared down at one page, his thumb brushing the edge as if the image might vanish.
It was Remy.
Sitting in the corner chair of his room, head bowed over a book, one leg crossed over the other. There was a softness to his expression in the drawing. Peaceful. Content. The opposite of the storm-wrought version of him that haunted the world now.
“You did these?” Zander asked, his voice quiet.
I nodded. “Obviously, I didn’t have time to pack before I was relegated to the guild,” I said with a small shrug. “I’m surprised Cyran hasn’t gotten rid of my stuff.”
Zander set the sketchbook down gently, but didn’t look at me right away.
“You really loved him, didn’t you?” His voice was tight, something brittle just beneath the surface.
I didn’t flinch. I didn’t lie.
“Yes,” I said softly. “I was going to marry him.”
He finally looked at me, and there was something raw in his eyes. Hurt, maybe, or fear that he didn’t dare name.
“But…” I let the word hang between us like smoke. “You can’t build a life on a lie.”
Zander’s jaw clenched, but he gave a curt nod, as if he understood far too well.
And for a moment, the air between us hummed with all the things we weren’t saying.
