“Oh, never,” he grinned, feeling better than he had in weeks. Xenia coming on his fingers probably had something to do with it. “I was serious about the research though. I’ve given you the perfect cover. See what you can find about both the tracking device and the dragon while you’re in here.”
Xenia swiveled her gaze across the titles, a giddy child in a well-stocked candy store. Her grateful smile nearly stopped his heart.
“I’ve got to run,” he said, reluctantly. “My father’s expecting me to brief him on my meetings today. You’ll be okay alone?”
“I will be now.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t get distracted. You know what we’re looking for.”
“Yeah, yeah. Tracking device. Dragon. Flute. Any books on what a massive asshole your father is. Got it.”
Cael chuckled, glancing left and right to ensure they lacked an audience, then kissed her temple. “Have fun, Blondie. Behave. Message me on the cuff if you find anything and we can meet in the stable loft.”
She waved him away, then took off down the stacks, vibrating with excitement.
Cael shook his head ruefully as he left, thanking Margaret again, and trudged up the path to the main house.
With Xenia safely ensconced within the library, he felt like he could breathe for the first time in days.
It was unfamiliar, this thing blooming in his chest.
It almost felt like hope.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Sunlight sparkled off the milky turquoise water as Ione pulled oars through the canal.
The fresh breeze on Tristan’s face and the warmth on his feathers inspired flashbacks of a time two centuries ago when he’d been the one steering their boat.
“I can help, you know.” He offered her a small smile.
“I know you can,” she said, returning it. “But the exercise is good for me.” She raised an arm and flexed her biceps, showing off the muscle tone of the mythic Fae warrior she’d become. “Keeps me big and strong.”
Tristan huffed a laugh, turning to the floating city around them.
Delos was arranged on a series of islands, radiating out from the largest which housed the Imperial Palace. That one in particular wasatrueisland, rising up from the seabed thousands of feet below. Very few of the others were connected to the land; most floated atop Lake Phaeban and stayed above the water by some feat of magical engineering. The islands were connected by curved bridges, underneath which flowed the canals that small boats used to traverse the city.
Delos had been built by a Beastrunner king from a time when the vast majority of Ethyrios, both Fae and humans, had worshiped Adelphinae. Legend had it the king and his wife were powerful water magic wielders and had decided to build their kingdom on the largest lake in Ethyrios. And they’d crafted the Crystal Throne in honor of their preferred element.
It was Tristan’s great-grandfather Phaeban who’d taken the city. The Beastrunner king and his queen had passed by then, the water magic in their bloodline barely a trickle, so his progeny hadn’t been able to challenge Phaeban, who renamed the lake for himself.
Yet another example of Tristan’s terrible family taking whatever they wanted from whomever they wanted.
Tristan and Ione had used their cuffs to portal to a smaller island on the city’s western edge this morning, where Ione had procured them this boat.
They wore hooded cloaks to hide their faces, and Ione had coated her feathers with mud before they’d left Lebaedia. Though white wings weren’t rare, the shimmery iridescence of hers was, so she’d done her best to dull it. Tristan’s black beauties were less of an issue, as they were sported by every member of the Erabis family including cousins and distant relatives still living in Delos.
There were plenty of boats on the canals, so he and Ione didn’t inspire any more than a few passing glances. She guided them on a circuitous route, cutting back and passing the same islands multiple times to throw off attempts to follow their progress.
As the little boat glided across the water, Tristan drank in the sights and smells of this glittering jewel of a city: its winding waterways, its majestic multistory homes with their arched windows and ornate balconies. The opulent Imperial Palaceperched like a bleached, bloated grande dame atop the center island.
He’d loved Delos as a boy. The Imperial capital was a cross-section of Fae from every continental territory, every sub-species. A city of strivers with grandiose dreams. Of artists and chefs, musicians and scientists, architects and storytellers. All who’d wanted nothing more than to showcase their talents in the most important city on the continent.
At least, that had been his impression at the time. Now there was something sinister about the wealth on display—a pristine facade masking a tormented history.
The tip of the boat bumped against the stony lakebed, and Tristan and Ione hopped out to drag it onto a small sliver of shore beneath a rocky cliff.
Above, Tristan could barely make out the white marble walls of the Imperial Palace. He was sure there must be Vasilikans up there on patrol, but the entrance was well hidden. The top of the cliff jutted out over the water, creating an overhang that led into a small cave where they hid the boat.
