Cael laughed bitterly. “No. He took a rather more permanent means of quashing the issue. He stabbed her in the stomach and slit her throat. Then strung her up in front of the estate. Left her there to rot as a warning. As much for my brothers as for the human staff. Arran Zephyrus never misses an opportunity to flaunt his cruelty. Toward humansorFae.”
Bile crawled across the back of Xenia’s tongue, and tears pricked her eyes.
“Cassandra is probably going out of her mind with worry.” Cael scrubbed a hand down his face. “The last I spoke with Tristan, I told him we would be back in the colonies in a few days. That was several weeks ago at this point.”
“Have you talked to him since? Perhaps you can send him a windwhisper. Let him and Cass know that I’m safe.”
“You’re not safe,” Cael grumbled.
“Relativelysafe. Not dead at least.”
Cael’s face grew serious as he ran a knuckle along her jaw. She leaned into his touch. “I will do everything in my power to protect you while we figure out how to get that tracking device out. But we need to be careful. And we need to do thisright.”
Xenia wanted to say she knew that. Wanted to beg him to leave with her right now, tracking device be damned. To run away to some deserted area of the continent—if such a place existed—and let her heal him, body and spirit. But she knew it wasn’t possible yet.
She yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand, her fear and adrenaline giving way to exhaustion.
“You should get some sleep,” Cael said. “Lock the door behind me. I don’t think anyone will bother you tonight. Thank the High Gods Tomas hasn’t seen you yet.” He flexed his hand, then balled it into a fist at his side. “Especially in that outfit.”
Her heart trilled as he stepped over to cup her face again. He tilted his head down, and she closed her eyes, desire a hot pulse between her legs.
But his lips landed on her temple, not her mouth. Her shoulders dipped in disappointment.
He stepped around her, then waved away his windshield and strode for the door. Before he opened it and without turning to face her, he whispered, “I missed you, Blondie.”
He exited the room and she shuddered out a relieved breath.
Despite the danger of her current circumstances, despite her terror and fatigue and anger, a small spark of her persistent optimism flared behind her ribs.
She’d found him again. Against all odds, and across a fucking continent.
If she could dothat, Mighty Anaemos, she could do anything.
Even convince a stubborn, one-winged, century-and-a-half-old Fae male to run away with her.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Cassandra followed Mireille through the sun-dappled city, taking the time to review her surroundings. A luxury which Wormwood had not afforded her last night when she’d arrived.
This morning, there were more Fae—citizens? prisoners? Cassandra didn’t know what to call them—gathered in weary groups on stoops and before storefronts. They lowered their conversations whenever Mireille and Cassandra neared, passing establishments so ordinary Cassandra nearly laughed despite her circumstances: grocers, tailors, salons and barber shops, even a bookstore.
Cassandra wondered where that inventory would have come from. Did the Koenig summon books with his magic warhammer, or were there authors behind the wards that supplied the stories?
Xenia would have been so curious.
That hole beneath Cassandra’s ribs widened as thoughts of Xenia turned to thoughts of Reena turned to thoughts of Tristan.
All she wanted to do was return to Mireille’s apartment, crawl back into bed, and slip into an unconsciousness where she wouldn’t be forced to think about everyone she’d lost.
Thelastthing she wanted to be doing this morning was sword training.
So she was pleasantly surprised when they arrived at a bathhouse instead. “What are we… I thought we were starting training this morning?”
“We are,” Mireille said flatly.
Cassandra’s spirits dipped again as Mireille led her around the back of the building, then into a humid hallway lined with metal doors.
“What is this place?” Cassandra asked, swatting away steam.
