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The numbness spreads, dulling the edges of my thoughts as her words settle over me like frost.
“Aella, you will leave Aerilos,” she says, her voice rising. “And you will not—”
“No.”
A collective gasp hisses through the pavilion, the sound like a gust of wind rushing past me.
Queen Khione’s gaze sharpens, her wings flaring slightly as she regards me with icy disdain. “You dare defy me?”
The crowd ripples at my back. Cloth shifts, feathers settle, and a dozen unsaid things gather at the backs of throats. The murmur swells, fracturing into pockets of sound, and my pulse stutters in time with it.
But I don’t take my eyes off the queen as I force the words past my throat.
“I want to take Iphigenia’s Leap.”
Chapter 40
Nyssa
“You’re sure you don’t need anything?”
From my prone position on the bed, I angle my face toward where Thena stands in the doorway of our small room; her servant’s gown is immaculately pressed but a crease lines her brow.
I offer a smile—just enough to reassure her—but it barely sticks. Every instinct urges me to get up, to do something, but I hold myself still and pretend to be someone too drained to fight off the pull of rest.
“No point in both of us being in Master Dimos’s crosshairs,” I say softly, adding a rasp to my voice for effect. “Besides, you’ve been looking forward to the final trial for weeks.”
Thena’s lips purse as she stands her ground. Since I found her with the guard in the Artery, she’s softened toward me.
“Go,” I insist. “I’ll be fine.”
Finally, she jerks her chin in a nod. “All right. I’ll see you soon.”
Her skirt rustles as she steps back and pulls the door shut behind her. I wait, forcing every muscle to stay slack, every breath to remain steady, until her footsteps fade down the hallway. The faint murmurs of servants heading to their tasks follow, and silence settles over the space like a weighted shroud. I count out fifteen minutes. Then thirty. A full hour.
When I’m sure it’s safe, I move.
The blanket slips off me in one swift motion. I’m already dressed underneath—worn pants over soft-soled boots, a loose tunic—ready for the night ahead. Reaching under the bed, I grab the pack of supplies I stashed there and sling it across my shoulder. The weight reassures me as I step into the hall and slink toward the rose garden, pausing at every corner to check for guards or wandering eyes.
With most of the servants and court out in the city to watch the final trial, the palace is eerily quiet. Instead of the comfort I expected that to provide, it only sets me on edge.
The boats Kallias arranged should be enough to transport the captive nymphai. Maybe even a few extra, in case someone’s injured. Maxim made sure the oarsmen aren’t tied to the palace—people who won’t ask questions. The plan has to go perfectly. There’s no room for mistakes. I can’t let myself think about what happens if it doesn’t.
When I reach Kallias’s chambers, the two of them are waiting for me. Maxim greets me with a tight smile, while the prince rakes his eyes over me, looking far too relaxed as he reclines in a chair.
I drop my pack to the floor and pull out two bundles of clothing: plain tunics, pants, and hooded wraps identical to my own. With Kallias and Maxim managing most of the details of our plan, this was one of the only things I could do. I’d stolen the items from the storage rooms in the servants’ quarters and made the wraps by shredding linens. “Change,” I say briskly, tossing them both a bundle. I throw another at Maxim, a metallic clink sounding as he fumbles it. “Lockpicks. For our lessons.”
He smiles, genuinely this time, then places them on the table at his side.
Kallias holds up the clothes with exaggerated distaste. “Really going for the ‘scoundrel in disguise’ look, are we?”
“Wear it or stay behind,” I say as I dig through the rest of my supplies.
Maxim laughs under his breath but shrugs and retreats to a corner out of my line of sight. Kallias moves quietly, standing with a strange grace as he unwraps his royal finery, shedding gleaming fabrics that seem completely out of place in this shadowed room. It feels surreal watching him trade luxury for plain cloth.
A throat clears, and my eyes snap up, only to meet his amused gaze. His shirt hangs loosely in his hand, exposing his toned chest that I definitely shouldn’t be staring at right now.
I turn away, kneeling by my pack as I pull out a square of thick cloth streaked with crushed charcoal. When I face him again, he’s dressed in the dark tunic and pants, tucking his wooden medallion beneath the collar as I step toward him.
