Tristan stepped away, putting distance between then. “Why didn’t you tell me Trophonios was researching how to breach the wards?”
Ione frowned. “Felix isn’t wrong. You’re the only one of us who can open the chamber. It’s too great a risk to send you into your brother’s orbit. Not to mention doing so could put our spies in danger of exposure. We can retrieve the book when we take the palace. It’s the safest course.”
While his head recognized the rationality, his heart fiercely protested. “Back in Thalenn, Ronin made it sound like you all were desperate to get your hands on it. I’m wondering why you changed your mind.”
“I didn’t change my mind, I…” Ione lifted her head, not looking at him and instead staring off into the middle distance. “You and I are fated, Tristan. Our love will save this world. We will rule Ethyrios together as Emperor and Empress and usher in a new era of peace.” She stopped in her tracks and grabbed his hand. “I don’t need to know the other half of a prophecy to tell me that.”
Didn’t need the other half? Or was afraid of what it might reveal, given how quickly he’d abandoned her after she’d rescued him?
He dropped her hand, some selfish part of him relishing the hurt in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Ione, but Ido. I need to know.”
I need to know for certain that the Goddess is asking me to sacrifice my heart in order to save my people.
“I’d like to head to Delos as soon as possible,” he said. “And I’m going with or without you.”
Ione closed her eyes and let out a resigned sigh. “You’ll have a better chance if I go with you. I spent decades down in those dungeons. I’ll help you get to the chamber.”
His expression softened. “Thank you, I?—”
Someone shouted his name from across the square and they both turned to find General Fetar rushing toward them in a panic.
“Layla?” Tristan asked, gripping the female’s forearm. “What’s wrong?”
“Imperial forces,” she snarled, flashing short, sharp fangs. “They’ve been spotted on the road through the Icthians that leads to the Staurien Pass.”
“Head to the camp,” Tristan said. “Now. Take as many members as we can spare. Go find Trophonios, he’s got plenty of cuffs ready for travel.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Layla said, scuttling off to the workshop.
Concerned for his rebels, annoyed that this meant delaying his trip to Delos, but grateful for the chance to work off some of his anger and frustration, Tristan turned to Ione.
“Wanna go smash some Imperial soldiers?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The formal dining hall at Stoneridge was just as stuffy as Cael remembered.
Before he’d left to join the Vestians, he’d attended plenty of gatherings in the impressive space his father used to entertain far-flung family members, business partners, Imperial Council members—even Emperor Leonin and Empress Mila a time or two.
The hall was a perfect distillation of Stoneridge’s lodge aesthetic, crafted from thick, shellacked logs and littered with hunting scene tapestries. A gallery of antlers decorated the south wall.
When Cael was younger, he’d sneak in here and run his fingers over the pristine bone. Try to figure out if his father’s gruesome trophies were from true animals or Beastrunner Fae. It had been Cael’s favorite, albeit macabre, game as a boy. He’d never been able to tell the difference, though he was convinced, even back then, that at least a few belonged to Arran’s enemies.
The first thing he noticed this evening was how immeasurably his father’s collection had grown. A century and a half ago, it had consisted of around twenty specimens. Now, there were over a hundred. And they were no longer limited toantlers. Yak horns and boar tusks, stuffed foxes and hares—even an ocelot stared back at him.
In the center of the mounted cemetery was a snarling grizzly bear head, its wrinkled muzzle pulled back over substantial fangs that gleamed in the candlelight. Which spilled from a chandelier made of antlers.
Though the estate was outfitted with the all the latest Fae technology, his mother had always preferred to dine by candlelight. Said it imparted a more intimate atmosphere, made her guests feel more relaxed. Whether her goal was mere conviviality or a lowering of defenses—loosened lips and spilled secrets—Cael could never tell.
Probably the latter, given the credenza full of ales, wine, liquors, and glowing bottles of Delirium.
Cael paused before the spread, deliberating. Given his mood, Delirium was thelastsubstance he should be consuming. Sure, he’d get a burst of temporary euphoria. But as soon as that wore off, he’d be plunged into an even deeper despair.
It was tempting, though. To allow the elixir to dull the edges of the evening, to get him through this first meeting with his fiancée.
Hisfiancée.
Fucking Stygios take him.
