Shock tightened Xenia’s chest. She didn’t believe it.
“Our trip to Primarvia has been postponed,” he said as he stalked out of the dungeon and slammed the door.
Xenia sank onto her mattress. Didn’t touch her breakfast.
She remembered Cael’s fingers slipping away from hers last night when she’d asked about his wing. As if he could no longer bear to touch her after the pain she’d caused him.
She hadn’t thought he’d been angry enough to abandon her, but perhaps she’d been wrong. She berated herself for only ever seeing the good in people. Berated herself for her foolishness. For believing that Cael could ever care about a human.
She lay down and scratchy straw dug into her cheek as her tears began to flow.
CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE
Tristan slunk into a white leather chair in the Vicereine’s office, rubbing at his temples and trying to will away the pressure forming behind his eyeballs.
Fae healing abilities only worked at their fullest when the subject took care of himself. And last night, he most decidedly had not. Had instead drunk an entire bottle of bourbon to try to force himself to sleep.
It hadn’t helped.
He hadn’t gotten a wink last night, had tossed and turned trying not to think about Cassandra, about her reaction to his final confession. His pessimistic side—an admittedly small part of him, but the part that had been holding back his story in the first place—knew that it would turn out this way. That she’d want nothing to do with him once she learned that he’d had the chance to save her species and had botched it. And though he knew telling her was the right thing to do, in the cold, harsh light of the morning in his lonely barracks room, he’d questioned that decision.
His brother sat behind the Vicereine’s desk, the colonial leader herself standing beside him. Their black and gold wings tangled together in a wall of shimmering feathers, the only flashes of color in the stark white office.
Tristan was not in any kind of mood to be dealing with their bullshit this morning.
“Tell me again what you told me last night,” Eamon said, leaning back in his chair with his hands resting on his stomach, a smug smile forming. “I want Varuna to hear it.”
“You haven’t already told her?” Tristan grumbled. “No pillow talk, huh?”
Eamon leaned forward and slammed his hands against the glass. “You are awfully flippant for someone whose mission was a complete and utter failure. Especially when I warned you of the consequences.”
Tristan’s stomach dropped. Eamon had threatened harm against Cassandra if they didn’t bring him the necklace. He sat up straighter, needing to use every ounce of cunning to twist this meeting to his advantage.
“Would we call it a failure?” Tristan asked, glancing around the room as if seeking confirmation from an invisible audience. “Firstly, Maksym didn’t get the necklace. Win.” He listed their achievements, ticking them off on his fingers. “Secondly, we know Sister Cirillo is alive.Andthat no Sisters were abducted from the Temple in Meridon. Win, win. Thirdly, and thanks to Mistress Fortin’s exceptional memory-pulling abilities, we have clues about the fire-wielding Windrider who managed to snatch the necklace. Win, win, win.”
He sat back in his chair, folded his arms across his chest, and aimed a smug smile at his stone-faced brother. “All in all, I’d say it was a fairly successful trip.”
Eamon dipped his chin, spearing Tristan with narrowed hazel eyes. “You and I have very different definitions of the wordsuccessful,brother.”
He stood from his chair and rounded the desk, towering over Tristan in an effort to intimidate. Tristan merely gazed up at him, refusing to let the smile fall from his face.
“You failed to avert disaster on that ship, leading to the deaths of six of my citizens.”
Tristan scoffed. Since when did his brother care about the deaths ofhumans?
Eamon sneered. “And you let an essential object slip through your fingers and into the hands of yet another enemy. You said you have clues about them. What are they?”
“We initially thought she might have been working with Maksym, since she also has re-awakened elemental powers. She destroyed that ship using fire magic.” Eamon remained still, not a single flicker of emotion crossing his face. “She was burning a symbol into the wall—a circle bisected by a vertical line. Based on our research, it has some association with the Fallen Goddess. Any ideas?”
Eamon nodded, almost as if he’d been waiting for this confirmation. “There’s an emerging rebel group on the continent using that symbol. We’ve been monitoring them for months. They’ve been stirring in a few cities in Cernodas and Akti, especially along the coast. Spreading lies about the restoration of the Fallen Goddess. Plus all the usual traitorous posturing; stolen artifacts, bombings of key Imperial buildings, terrorizing those loyal to the Empire. We were concerned that Maksym might be working with them. The only good news to come out of your trip is that he appears to be a rogue agent.”
“Seems like something you should have warned me about beforehand,” Tristan grunted.
“You had all of the information I deemed necessary at the time.” Eamon pulled a hand through his short, black waves.
“You seem ruffled today, brother,” Tristan jabbed, wanting to pierce through Eamon’s defenses, get him to slip up and reveal something. His brother surely wasn’t telling him everything.
Eamon clenched his teeth, a vein in his jaw jumping. “You have no idea the delicate balance it takes to sustain order among six continental territories and three different sub-species. While you’ve been off gallivanting in the colonies for the past two centuries, I’ve been working with Father to maintain peace in Ethyrios.”
