Low laughter and a few shocked gasps burbled through the crowd.
“I asked myself, if Adelphinae truly existed, how could she have allowed the beautiful, harmonious world she’d created to devolve into such suffering and hatred? How could a Goddess that purports to love all her creations equally and unconditionally allow them to cause each other such pain?”
Tristan dipped his head, rubbing his thumb into his palm. Across his original Turning scar.
“But then something miraculous happened.” He returned his gaze to the crowd. “The Goddess gave me a gift. One I’m sure I’mnot worthy of, but a gift nonetheless.” He reached a hand toward Cassandra, encouraging her to join him on the platform, and her pulse skyrocketed further. “And the wonderful news is she’s not just a gift for me. Well, in some ways she is.” He winked and the crowd burst into laughter as Cassandra fought the urge to roll her eyes.
Tristan placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her toward his people.
“She’ll be the greatest gift to you as well.”
She flared her wings, incredibly moved by the openness, the joy, in the faces staring up at her. Tristan said he didn’t know if he was worthy of her, but at this moment, she didn’t know ifshewas worthy ofthem.
But Creator help her, she was willing to work for it.
Tristan continued, “She’s borne many titles: Shrouded Sister, Savior Sister, Koenigin of Tartarus, Prince’s Consort. But there’s one more I’m hoping she’ll add to her list.”
The crowd sucked in a collective breath. Which was ironic because Cassandra had ceased to breathe.
Tristan knelt down on one knee, tucking his iridescent black wings down his back, and reached for her hand. Sensing how nervous she was, he ran a gentle thumb across her knuckles.
“Cassandra Fortin,” he asked with tears in his eyes. “Ma’anyu.
Will you be my Empress?”
She wanted to burst into elated tears. Wanted to leap into his arms. Wanted to kiss his face off and scream with delight.
But the responsibilities he’d just asked her to accept—to forge this new world beside him, to uplift these people, to help them repair the rifts created by Eamon and Leonin—were so much larger than Tristan and Cassandra’s own responsibilities toward each other.
They imbued their love with even greater importance. As if Adelphinae had brought them together for exactly this purpose.
So instead of answering Tristan, she turned her gaze upon the gathered rebel hearts. Windriders and Deathstalkers and Beastrunners and half-breeds and humans.
Her people. Each and every one.
And accepted them all with a resounding “YES!”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
The celebrations continued well into the night. Cassandra was grateful her rebels would have a full day to recover before they marched upon Delos the day after.
Shouts and laughter and music echoed through the jungle as she made her way toward a small dwelling at the corner of the square. She knocked on the chipped red door. When no one answered, she tried the handle, found it unlocked, and pushed inside.
It was dark as pitch, the only light a triangular slice down the wooden stairs.
Rustling wings and opening drawers sounded as she crept up to the second floor, then turned into a large, spartan bedroom.
Ione froze in the midst of packing a leather sack, pain and sorrow mingling on her beautiful face.
“Creator, you’re gorgeous,” she said, tossing a square of folded white linen into her bag, then placing her hands on her hips.
Cassandra let out a nervous chuckle. “Uh, so are you.” Then couldn’t think of another single thing to say as Ione stared at her.
This was far more awkward than she’d hoped it was going to be.
She decided to cut the small talk and plow forward to the uncomfortable bits.
“I’m sorry, Ione. If I had?—”
