Or were they the most significant?
The tiny scar on Ione’s chin from a misguided childhood trek up a tall tree. The way her nose crinkled and her eyes squeezed shut in terror every time he took her flying. The caress of her warm fingertips along his feathers the first time he’d entered her.
Time, in its merciless procession, had worn away the skin, muscles, and beating heart of their relationship, leaving only picked-clean bones in its wake.
And what time hadn’t ripped away, Letha had.
He closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths and a bolstering sip of his bourbon, then turned to face Cassandra.
To her credit, she displayed no judgment or accusation. Her striking features were carefully devoid of any emotion—a rarity for his feisty, passionate friend. He hoped he’d be able to call her that by the end of this story. Wanted to throw himself at her feet and beg for it. But he didn’t want to manipulate her into excusing him due to guilt or pity. He would tell her the whole truth—everything he could remember, anyway—and leave the decision up to her.
“She was the daughter of a mortal chef at the palace in Delos. Her mother’s culinary skills had impressed Empress Mila, my mother, on a visit to their restaurant in Vaengya several years before I was born. My motherinvitedIone’s parents to come work for our family, Ione’s mother in the kitchens, her father in the gardens. The Empress had her own private collection of mortals whose talents she used for her own purposes. She’d compel them to take jobs at the palace, for which she paid them handsomely, but none truly had the option to decline the invitation.”
He tilted his head up, greeted the moon shining through the ashen clouds. Strange to think it was the same moon that had witnessed this earlier era of his life.
“Ione was an only child, born at the palace two years after me to far less pomp and circumstance.”
A small huff escaped Cassandra’s nostrils.
“Not every day that a future emperor is born,” Tristan continued, opening and closing his left palm, flexing his scar. “And my parents had been trying to conceive for decades. When I finally arrived, the entire continent shut down for a whole week to celebrate.”
“That explains a lot,” Cassandra said with a faint twinkle in her eye that tugged a smile from Tristan.
“My birth must’ve caused my mother’s flood gates to open—”
“Gross.”
Tristan chuckled softly. “—because my siblings were born in swift succession. Well, swift for the Fae. My brother Eamon, who you had the misfortune to meet, arrived five years after me, followed by our younger sister Belen eight years later.”
“Your parents had a thing for names ending inN, didn’t they?”
“My mother liked the way it flowed into Erabis.
“My childhood was suffocating. As soon as I was old enough to stand on two feet, every day was crammed with hours of lessons, some of which I enjoyed. Especially flying and combat training. And I found the history and language classes riveting.
“But as I grew into a young man, so much of my time was spent on classes that I couldn’t have given less of a shit about: etiquette, diplomacy, court politics. My parents used to parade me around like a prize stallion, dangling me in front of their advisers and allies, merely a pawn to solidify their own power.
“Food was my only spark of joy during all those endlessly boring lunches, dinners, soirées, and balls. I was fascinated by the creativity, these mouth-watering creations pouring out of the kitchens.
“I started journeying there whenever I had a free minute, offering to help the chefs and kitchen staff with anything, no task too small, in exchange for their instruction. I wanted to learn how to do what they did, which I was shocked to find was not magic. Most of the chefs were mortals like Ione’s mother.
“I was not very good help in those early years. I would’ve been about fourteen at the time, and my onion chopping skills were nearly as terrible as yours.”
She shot him a sharp look but the left side of her gorgeous mouth twitched upwards.
“No one had the balls to correct the preciousheir, so they just let me screw up their dishes for months.
“Then one day I’m slicing carrots, and a voice behind me, as haughty as the Empress herself, says ‘You’re doing that wrong. Your slices are uneven.’
“I think I fell in love with her before I even saw her face. No one had ever spoken to me like that and I was sick to death of being coddled and catered to.
“I whip around and there’s this young girl glaring at me, utterly disgusted, not a hint of intimidation though she must’ve known I was the heirandshe was easily half my size or less. I was a tall, gangly teenager—came into my height and wings early and it took the rest of my body a few more years to catch up.
“She had these sassy, blond pigtails that swung when she walked and I swore they were mocking me as she strutted over, knocked me out of the way with her hip, and proceeded to correct my mistakes.”
“Meaning, she threw out your work and started over, did it herself?” Cassandra chimed in.
“Pretty much.”
