Tristan was too antsy to sleep. Hence why he’d been pacing by the window.
Wormwood hadn’t been lying; Tristan could spy the archers in the east tower windows, plus down in the yard and along the walls. He could also hear Brethren guards shuffling around on the stairs. He hadn’t spied the Koenig yet. Wondered what the male was doing while Wormwood and his Brethren were executing this siege.
Tristan sighed, then crossed the room to sit down next to Ronin. Mireille had fallen asleep with her head in Ronin’s lap, and he was brushing tattooed fingers through her hair. She stirred when Tristan plopped down, and Ronin checked the makeshift bandage around her neck, torn from one of his shirt sleeves.
“How is she?” Tristan asked. “Is it healing?”
“It was much deeper than any of my wounds,” Ronin whispered. “It’s starting to heal, but it will likely take another day or so. And she needs to get some food into her system. Her body can’t help without fuel. So, if you have any grand plans to take a stand against these assholes, we should probably do that soon.”
“She means that much to you?”
“Too much,” Ronin grumbled. “More than I’d like to admit.” He leaned his head back against the stone. “But I fucked it all up.”
“How?”
“I should have done something—anything—over the years to get her out of this place. I just… Ilefther in here.” He turned to Tristan, his mottled blue-and-yellow eye bright with anguish. “For centuries, Tristan. I should have gotten myself thrown in here sooner. Could’ve been here to watch over her. Could have protected her. I could have?—”
“A very wise male once told me that if we spend too much time fretting over the choices we made in the past, we’ll never move forward. She’s forgiven you, has she not?”
“Yeah, but only because she thought shedeservedto be in here. Only because she’s been punishing herself for this.” He gestured to his eyepatch.
Tristan cocked his head. “And have you not been punishingyourselfalso? Atoning for your sins against the humans—including her father—by joining the Teles Chrysos? You’ve spent the past two hundred years fighting for a world where Mireille’s half-human heritage won’t make her a second-class citizen. A world where her father might not have been killed in the first place.”
“I guess,” Ronin said, scrubbing a hand down his face. “If we get out of here?—”
“Whenwe get out of here.”
“—I’m going to make it up to her. All that time we lost. Restore our friendship and do this therightway.” Ronin stroked a hand down Mireille’s coppery waves, and she nuzzled in closer. “Enough about my shit. How areyoudoing? We haven’t had a chance to talk since you arrived. I can’t imagine Ione is pleased that you’re here.”
“She’s not,” Tristan said, without an ounce of guilt. “But as soon as Trophonios told me how to get through the wards, there was only one place in the world I wanted to be.”
Tristan looked toward Cassandra, sleeping peacefully within her feathers, her dark lashes kissing her cheeks and her full lips parted.
Here. Here was where he was supposed to be. With her. Always. Anywhere.
He rested his head against the rough stone, listening to the soft breathing around him. Ronin’s own joined the sleepy symphony seconds later.
Tristan had no idea how long he sat there savoring the peace and quiet and watching the sun move across the floor.
He’d nearly slipped into slumber himself when a shrill voice called out from the other tower. He looked out the window, and his stomach plummeted.
Ronin ambled up beside him, rubbing the sleep from his eye and readjusting his patch. “What’s going on? What does that mean?”
Tristan glanced at Cassandra, a grimace pulling down his lips as she stirred, waking. He swiveled his gaze back out the window.
“It means we’re well and truly fucked.”
“I will not lethim do this,” Cassandra said, standing by the tower window next to Tristan.
“I was afraid you’d say that,” Tristan grumbled, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.
Mireille and Silas were awake now, too, the former allowing Ronin to check beneath the bandage on her neck. The woundstill looked red and angry, but it wasn’t infected, thank the High Gods.
Tristan turned Cassandra from the window, then brought his face level with hers. She hated the fear and worry crawling through his honey-brown eyes. Would doanythingto erase it.
Just not what he was about to ask her to do.
“He’s using them as bait, Cass.” Tristan’s voice wobbled. “Don’t fall for it. Cael is coming. With Signys. And as soon as those wards are down, you, me, and Silas will all have our wind back.”
