“I know where we are.”
“You do?” she choked out. “How? I haven’t seen pictures or read descriptions of landscapes like this anywhere.”
“We’re in the Desolation, the far southwest region of the continent and site of the final battle during the war, just before the Accord negotiations began.”
“The Desolation? I’ve never heard of it.”
“My father led the dragon of Typhon Mountain to the battlefield and it decimated everything in its path, both the opposing human army and the land beneath their feet.”
Xenia shivered at the loss of human life on such a massive scale. “Odd that I wouldn’t have read about it.”
“Every single human who was there that day perished.” Cael’s voice betrayed not a hint of emotion.
Xenia had always found it difficult to discern his stance on humans. She had a feeling his opinion lay somewhere just above disdain for the species, maybe a tad more generous for specific individuals like herself.
“The Empire thought it best to suppress that knowledge, lest it lead to outrage among future generations of humans. This place is vast and extremely unforgiving.”
“Who in the world would want to live here?”
Cael snorted. “A deranged zealot apparently. The question is, how far into the area are we? Maksym must be having supplies brought in, and he’s been taking you out. We can’t be too far from Rhamnos.”
The port city at the mouth of the Dordenne, where the river flowed into the Sea of Thetis, was referred to as the cesspool of the continent—the place all the dregs and outcasts washed up. And despite its proximity to the colonies, it was said to be the most dangerous place in Ethyrios for mortals.
Cael continued. “If we can bust out of here and get to the city, there’s plenty of ships that could take you south to the colonies. And high-speed trains that could take me north into the continent.”
“Why would you want to do that?”
“Zee,” Cael said, his voice drenched in weariness, “do you really think the Vestians will take me back like this? There’s a reason you have to be a Windrider to join the ranks. The ability to fly is a non-negotiable skill.”
Xenia swallowed, blinking back tears.
“My duty now is at home,” he said. “My father will no doubt findsomeuse for his crippled son.”
Xenia’s heart sank at the quiet bitterness in his tone, the hopelessness.
Technology on the continent was fuckingmagic. Surely someone could fashion him a prosthetic wing?
She wracked her brain for a memory of one, whether in real life or in a book, and came up empty. But that wasn’t proof that such a solution didn’t exist. Only that she didn’t know about it or it hadn’t been invented. Yet.
Xenia had always been an optimistic person. And even in the frankly hopeless situation in which she found herself, she refused to give up or wallow. She just needed a plan.
First step, escape the filthy sex dungeon.
Second step, survive the Desolation, the non-life-sustaining, dragon-fire-scorched wasteland outside the walls of Maksym’s fortress.
Third step, don’t get killed, eaten, or sold into slavery in Rhamnos, the dangerous shit-hole of a city they’d be passing through.
And the final step, once she’d slayed all of the above, was to help Cael heal. Both his wing—if possible—and his fractured spirit. It was the least she could do, since she’d gotten him into this mess in the first place. If he hadn’t rushed into the bowels of Maksym’s yacht to save her from Alexei, he could’ve gotten away. Wouldn’t have been captured.
Would still have two wings.
“Are you in pain?” she asked, squeezing his fingers tighter.
“Less than I thought I’d be. Not that I’ve spent much time wondering what it would feel like to lose a wing.”
Xenia’s mouth dried up as she forced herself to ask her next question. “Are you sure it won’t grow back?”
“I’m sure. The Typhon steel assured it.” Cael’s voice was as sharp and flat as the weapon he’d referenced as he unclasped her fingers. It felt like a punishment.
