Page 49
Think, Aella.
My eyes fix on the far wall—a large arched window, shuttered against the night. I cross the room and push the shutters open, their hinges shrieking in protest.
The air doesn’t rush in as I expect it to; instead, it coils beyond, as though held back by some unseen force. It’s not until I pull myself onto the window ledge that it slices against my skin.
I look down, and the sight makes my stomach swoop.
I’m in a tower, nothing but a yawning, dark chasm below.
A voice calls out from somewhere behind me, and I don’t give myself another moment to hesitate. Pushing to my feet, I inch sideways, flattening my back against the wall and following the ledge that arcs around the tower’s side, slick and treacherous with frost. My progress is slow, but I keep moving.
I need to find a spot where I can see the ground beneath.
Edging past another window, I stumble as a ripple of motion stirs on the other side.
My balance slips. The world tilts. The aether claws at my body as the sky warps sideways, and stone and air blur into an indistinct, spinning chaos.
The roar of the wind drowns everything—my thoughts, my scream, the frantic drumbeat of my heart. My arms flail, grasping at the void for something solid, but the night offers only emptiness. Cold air rushes past me, clawing desperately at my skin as if trying to hold me up, but its grip falters.
Glass explodes above me. Around me. Shards catching the moonlight as they slice through the air like frozen raindrops. Thin slivers streak across my face, biting into my skin, leaving trails of stinging fire in their wake.
The world is a tempest of noise and light, spinning so fast I can hardly tell where one sensation ends and another begins.
And then there’s only him.
Lyxander’s wings unfurl with a force that seems to shatter the night itself. They gleam as though carved from moonlight and shadow. My name—or a curse—rips from his throat as he dives.
He slams into me mid-fall, his arms snapping around my torso with a force that knocks the last remnants of air from my lungs, and we tumble together in a wild, chaotic spiral. His wings beat furiously against the pull of the aether. The wind tears past us, screaming in my ears as I grapple for purchase.
“Hold still!” he growls, his voice tight with effort.
His wings snap wide, catching the air in a powerful arc that steadies our descent into a jarring lift.
The momentum wrenches us upward, the mountain slopes rushing past in a dizzying blur. The air stings my cheeks as we ascend, bitter cold slicing through the heat still coursing under my skin.
We breach the top of the tower. Lyxander tilts sharply, banking us through one of the open stone archways that circle the upper floor. The world rights itself abruptly as we enter an open-air chamber, the wind fading to a low whisper behind us. He lands heavily, his boots skidding against the stone as his wings fold back.
My feet hit the floor as I wrench myself free from his grasp.
“What…” I gasp out, “the fuck?”
Lyxander raises his hands slowly, palms out in a gesture of surrender. His wings shift behind him, their massive span folding inward. The movement stirs something primal in me, a lurching dissonance I can’t reconcile.
“Ae—”
“What are you?”
Lyxander’s mouth tightens. For a moment, he looks like I’ve struck him.
I’m not even sure why I asked, when the only possible answer echoes in my mind. Bedtime stories I’d heard long ago. A conversation beneath a beheaded statue. Myths. Stories. Fantasies.
Don’t all stories start with truth?
The question curls through my mind. Insidious. Taunting.
“You already know.”
“I need to hear you say it,” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper.
