Accolon.
I sucked in a breath of dank, dark air and tried again. “I suppose we are the only two males to have ever loved a female with the power of the void.” I sighed, only because there was no one around to hear it. “Not exactly an easy path.”
No answer. No response. Not even a memory. But I did not get up.
“I love her,” I breathed, so quietly. I was not afraid of the words. But I was afraid. And once the words started, I could not keep them in.
“I love her. But… I am hurting her. Every moment I cannot remember is a knife in her heart. Even if I tell her, I am afraid… that it will not be enough. That it is not what we had before, and that even what I can offer… it will carve her out until there is nothing of the female she is. The one she deserves to be.”
Veyka was trying. So was I. But maybe it was not enough. Maybe…
“Maybe it would be better to let her live with the memory of what was, rather than to have that memory constantly mocked by comparison.”
There it was. The thought that had haunted every breath since I acknowledged to myself that I loved her, and had lingered unseen even before, a dark, ever-present specter.
“Maybe she would be happier with the memory than with the male.”
My beast growled.Igrowled. There was no delineation. We were one, male and beast. And we loved Veyka. But loving her… it might mean letting her go.
There was nothing more to say. No answer came from the ancient Ancestors. I had not expected one.
But I lingered on in the darkness and wondered when, or if, I would find the strength for what needed to be done.
90
CYARA
Cyara summoned every skill at her disposal. The curious young child, hiding behind a cracked door while her father recounted his days in the goldstone palace library to her mother. The watchful older sister, nearby but silent, ready if needed to jump in and defray an argument between her siblings. The royal handmaiden, seen but not noticed, unheard and unbothersome.
Not a feather moved. No twitch of her white wings to give her away. She had pulled them in tight to her body, shrinking into the pocket of shadow as much as she could. It still was not far enough for her to help overhearing Arran’s prayers.
When he finally stood, she said a prayer of her own, beseeching the Ancestors to hide her from view long enough—
“Cyara.” Arran’s voice was a mix of surprise and resignation.
She eased her wings down her back. “Your Majesty,” she said, bowing her head.
She kept it there, giving him the chance to pass her by without having to meet her eyes. His thoughts were private and deserved to remain so. She had only come to the temple because on the opposite end of it was the door that led to the priestess’s sanctum, where Percival and Diana awaited her.
But the king did not move.
“Does a harpy pray to the shifters?”
Slowly, she lifted her eyes to his, finding the black orbs unreadable. Her wings relaxed another inch. “I am a fire-wielder. An elemental,” she said. “But before all of that, I am a Knight of the Round Table.”
Arran inclined his head, the corner of his mouth twitching. Not quite a smile. Maybe a grimace. Even after months of observing him, Cyara struggled to understand his small tells. Veyka was easy. But the Brutal Prince… High King…
“She is lucky to have you at her side.”
Her throat threatened to close with emotion. “I would say the same about you, Majesty.”
“Arran,” he corrected.
Cyara dipped her head again. “As you wish. It is time.”
His dark eyes asked the question.
“Diana is going to cast her spell. Very soon, we may finally have answers.”
