They encountered Layla at the entrance, her white and black hair twisted in two buns atop her head and her throwing knives glittering at her waist. Always ready to leap into action. Tristan couldn’t remember if he’d ever seen herwithoutthem.
“General Fetar,” Ione nodded. “A momentous night.”
“It is that, indeed,” Layla purred, her brown eyes roving over Tristan. “Bless the Creator.”
The rest of the group were gathered around the table already. Felix tried, and failed, to keep the sneer from his face when Tristan and Ione arrived together, but Seraavi offered a warm smile as they took their seats.
Trophonios was as still as a windless night, his long fingers resting on the cover of the Compendium. As if he alone were the keeper of the book’s mysteries.
Tristan’s anxiety rose.
How drastically was his life about to change?
Trophonios waited until everyone had settled, then signaled to the recruit at the side of the room. The young Deathstalker darted over and placed a bottle of Aguaver and a stack of shot glasses in the center of the table.
“For after,” Trophonios said.
“Well?” Felix barked, stirring his persimmon feathers and fidgeting with a shot glass. “Out with it. What does the prophecy say?”
He seemed just as nervous as Tristan to hear these words. Ione had said that whatever had happened between her and Felix was a mistake. Perhaps Felix didn’t see it that way.
Tristan nodded to Trophonios, giving him permission to proceed.
Trophonios opened the Compendium and traced a fingertip down the page. The room was so dead silent that Tristan could hear the male’s skin scrape down every fiber of the paper.
The gathered leaders held their breath, then Trophonios began to speak in his deep, measured voice:
“Two futures sown, one future known.
Born from phantom wings and mortal bones,
a new Delphine will rise to light
the way.
A story told ten thousand fold,
has but one ending to be told,
until the eight can interweave
their play.
A journey drowned, again is found.
To long-lost power, their fates are bound.
A crown exchanged, divine, will win
the day.”
The words echoed until the only sound Tristan heard was the rush of his own blood pounding through his head. He glanced across the table, ensnared by Trophonios’s teal gaze before shouting erupted.
Exclamations piled atop one another, tripping and tangling until Tristan couldn’t even tell who was speaking.
“…could meananything…”
“…very clear what the next path is. Isn’t it obvious…”
