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“I was not bossy.”
“No, you were being queen.”
Epilogue
• Alessia •
THE OLD TRUCK complains the entire way into town, rattling over the uneven road.
Eagan keeps one hand steady on the wheel and the other resting near the gearstick as if the machine is a temperamental beast he expects to kick into gear.
Purgatory looks different from the rear passenger seat. Alive in ways it never used to be, with fields cleared of storm debris, broken fences being rebuilt, cottages patched, smoke rising steadily from chimneys, and people moving through the roads without the same fearful hunch of their shoulders.
Kylian sits beside me in the back, one arm stretched along the seat behind me, his fingers brushing absently over my shoulder every time the truck jolts, and I try not to smile at the way he glares at Eagan every time he hits a pothole.
“You do not have to look so offended,” I say, watching the corner of his mouth twitch.
“I am not offended,” he replies, though his gaze remains fixed on the road ahead. “I am wondering why anyone willingly travels in this rusted truck. The horse carriages are smoother.”
Eagan snorts from the front seat. “Because horses need feeding, and this old rust bucket only needs threatening.”
“It needs burning. I can walk faster,” Kylian mutters.
“It is all that was available, and unless you’re volunteering to carry everything, the truck is useful,” I say softly.
Kylian’s hand shifts from my shoulder to the back of my neck, his thumb moving once against my skin.
“Then I suppose we won’t burn it,” he says after a moment, his voice quieter.
The town appears beyond the next rise, its roofs patched with mismatched sheets of metal and old sailcloth, its streets busier than they used to be, its market stalls still open despite the cold wind that moves through the island, and for one brief moment, I let myself believe Purgatory might survive what has been done to it.
“The ships are gathering faster than expected,” Kylian says, his tone shifting back into the one he uses when speaking of kings and war and things that wait behind polite dinners. “Xavian’s ship docked this morning, Kaiser’s arrived before noon, and Zander came yesterday, though he has decided to remain just off the coast like a coward.”
I glance toward him. “And Draven?”
Kylian’s jaw tightens, and the bond gives a low, dark pulse beneath my ribs. “Absent,” he says. “For now.”
Eagan’s eyes flick toward us in the mirror. “He saw what a mage is capable of. He’d be wary of attending.”
“This is still the annual meeting. He’ll show up,” Kylian continues, looking at me. “Which means tonight, you will try not to turn anyone to ash during dinner.”
I turn slowly toward him and study him for a moment, taking in the way his gaze keeps moving from the road to the windows, the way his fingers do not quite still, the way his mouth has been set in a hard line since we left the castle.
“You’re nervous,” I say.
His eyes cut to mine. “I am not nervous.”
Eagan makes a low sound from the front. “He is nervous.”
“I can still remove your tongue while you drive,” Kylian says.
“You could try, my king, but then who would keep this rust bucket driving long enough to get us back home?”
Kylian’s gaze does not leave mine, and beneath the dry exchange, I feel the truth he does not want to give voice to. He is nervous knowing tonight’s meeting puts me in danger with all of the kings present.
Then Eagan inhales sharply, and the truck slows.
“I smell fire,” he says.
