“No time for that,” Cael ground out, pointing to Xenia. “Fix her.”
Trophonios reared back. “Fixher? What do you mean? I can’t?—”
“Fucking.Fix. Her,” Cael snarled. “Or the Teles Chrysos doesn’t get the dragon.” He pulled the flute from his pocket. “I played the note. I said her name. And she’s on her way to me now. I can feel her.”
And it was true, hecouldfeel Signys. Heat thrummed through his blood and colossal wings flapped in his mind.
His destiny racing toward him at several miles a minute.
Trophonios knelt beside the bed, feeling Xenia’s wrist for a pulse. “She’s still alive. For now. But her pulse is extremely faint. Any other mortal would have already died from the loss of blood.” He sniffed her wrist. “You’ve given her yours.”
“Yes,” Cael bit out. “Several times. You told me to.”
Trophonios cocked his head. “It may be the very thing that saves her.” Cael braced himself against the bureau, his knees sagging. “Maybe, I said. Even I may not be clever enough to bring her back.”
“Try.” Cael gnashed his teeth. “Or I swear by your fucking Creator, I will?—”
“Now, now.” Trophonios flashed his own blindingly white fangs. “There’s no need for blasphemy. Especially since she’ll likely need Adelphinae’s help.” Trophonios wrapped Xenia in Cael’s plaid blanket and lifted her into his arms.
Cael ran his lips across Xenia’s forehead. “Please. She’s… I cannot live without her.”
Trophonios’s teal eyes softened. “I will do everything in my power to bring her back to you. Once you have the dragon, message me on the cuff and I’ll tell you where to meet us.
It’s time to free our Prince.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
“You.”
Arran’s voice was as terrifying as ever as it boomed across the killing field that had been a wedding celebration less than an hour ago. Wild strands escaped Arran’s braided hair and a gash on his cheek spilled blood into his copper beard.
Bodies were strewn everywhere, piled among the red-and-green-smeared chairs that had been white at the start of the ceremony.
It was impossible to tell which side had won. Though Cael wasn’t entirely sure victory could be claimed by either.
This had been a massacre—an explosion of senseless, avoidable violence fueled by a centuries-long feud that had chewed up far too many innocents.
Phidion and Zosime were nowhere in sight, neither live nor as bodies on the field. Cael wondered if they’d escaped.
Not important at the moment.
Right now, Cael’s sights were set on the three males atop the altar using wind and Typhon steel to fight off the few remaining members of the Cynn Drakan.
Arran left Viktor and Tomas to the task and stomped down the aisle toward Cael, who approached with a casualness that belied his volcanic rage.
Arran had done this. Arran had forced this marriage. Arran had endangered them all for betrayals committed half a millennium ago.
And Arran was the reason Xenia was barely clinging to life and on her way to Akti.
Arran and Cael paused before each other in the center of the aisle.
“This isyourfault,” Arran ground out. “You and that meddling human bitch.”
“Donotspeak about her that way,” Cael said, voice low and dangerous.
Arran stepped forward, attempting to loom over Cael. But Cael was far from the skinny youth he’d been, cowed by his father’s beatings. Cael’s shoulders were at least as broad as Arran’s, his arms threaded with sleek, lean muscle where his father’s were doughy bulk.
Even despite all that, fear coursed through Cael’s veins.
