She tried to focus on her exercises, the ones Ronin had shown her to strengthen her back muscles and ensure she could hold her wings properly. He’d instructed her to perform them wherever and whenever possible, so she spent the majority of the hours outside her cell in this empty training room.
Cassandra welcomed the physical distractions—the deep ache in her shoulders, the stiffness in her quads, the sting of her knuckles against the bag.
Lift. Stretch. Lower.
Thwap.
161803, the number on her gray linen shirt, shifted with her movements, rippling over her left breast. Right over that empty place where her heart should’ve been.
She hadn’t yet tested her wind-summoning power. Couldn’t, even if she’d wanted to. It had flickered out mere seconds after her Turning, thanks to the elemental magic suppressants woven into the prison’s impenetrable wards.
But she could feel that she was stronger, even before she’d begun these exercises. Though that strength seemed as inconsequential as her missing heart and the two iridescent white wings springing from her shoulder blades.
The wings were a constant nuisance. It was difficult to get comfortable at night. Before she’d acquired these monstrosities, she’d been a back sleeper. Now, that position was almost painful, what with the itchy bedsheets pulling at her sensitive feathers.
Something she’d never considered before being Turned Fae—how the fuck to get used to a completely new sleeping position.
Shewasenjoying her newfound ability to curse.
She tried not to think about what had inspired it. That blissful night when she’d given Tristan everything—her heart, her body, her innocence.Herself.
What had happened to him after she was arrested? Eamon hadn’t sent him here to Tartarus, obviously. Was he still his brother’s captive? Or had Eamon already ended him?
Her anxiety about Tristan’s safety was matched only by her anxiety about her sentencing. Not just what it would be, but how Eamon would react when he saw her. When he’d have no doubt about who had Turned her.
Lift. Stretch. Lower.
Thwap.
She attempted to quell her anxieties by running through the list of tasks that lay before her.
First, figure out how in the name of Stygios she was going to hide what she was from Eamon when he arrived.
Second, find Mireille Valette, Ronin’s long-lost…whatever…to see if she had any idea of how they might escape the prison she’d been locked in for two centuries.
And third, after Cassandra, Mireille, Reena, Ronin, and Ronin’s sister, Selene, accomplished said escape, find Tristan. Join the Teles Chrysos. End the Empire.
Those last three goals were so daunting that she didn’t dare ponder them for long. When she did, her lungs seized, her head pounded, and her breath dissolved into a faint wheeze.
The clouds outside shifted, and a beam of sunlight speared into the room. Cassandra lowered her wings and opened the window, sniffing the crisp mountain air. Such a tease to feel the wind on her face but not be able to harness it. To smell her lost freedom.
Had Tristan lost his, too?
The thought stirred Cassandra’s rage, and she volleyed a series of jabs into the bag.
“You done fighting that thing this morning?” Reena stepped into the room, her auburn hair glinting.
“It never fights back.” Cassandra sighed, rustling her feathers.
“Come on.” Reena held out claw-tipped fingers covered with white fur as her striped tail swished lazily behind her.
“Where are we going?” Cassandra asked as Reena dragged her from the training room.
“Ronin wants to talk to us.”
“About what?”
Reena dragged a reverent gaze down Cassandra’s feathered wings.
