Music swelled.
Xander tugged on Lyana’s hand, twisting her into a dance. There was a tear in her eye, teetering on the edge, and ready to drop. He lifted his fingers to wipe it away, grazing her cheek, then tracing the edge of her jaw before lifting her chin. Though her smile was wide, there was a shadow in her gaze, one he couldn’t quite understand when the moisture in her eyes had to come from happiness. What else would make her cry?
“Lyana,” he whispered.
“Thank you, Xander,” she murmured, blinking fast as she took his hand and held it firmly. “You’re a better mate than I deserve.”
Before he could respond or refute her assertion, the tune shifted to something livelier. Lyana’s wings stretched as she bounced on her feet, twirling in place, leaning her head back for a moment to look up at the sky. He followed her steps, pushing the questions and the doubts to the place where all his ugliness lay, forcing himself to ignore the subtle confession in her words, something he didn’t understand—or maybe just didn’t want to.
More dancers joined in the merriment. They formed lines and switched partners, and Xander lost himself in the movement, finding Lyana’s eyes through the crowd, watching her bright smile shine against her dark skin, admiring the way her beaded gown glittered in the light. These were his people. That was his mate. And he refused to allow the sinking feeling in his stomach to ruin his good time.
55
Rafe
He watched from the shadows, leaning around the edge of the roofline. The celebration was happening so close and yet so very far away. Rafe couldn’t make out their faces or hear the music or follow the dance, but he could feel the joy in the air, palpable, so rich he feared he might choke on it.
His eyes went straight to the white wings in a sea of black, but that wasn’t what truly caught his attention. It was her gown, glimmering as the golden beads and gems sewn onto the tight bodice and trailing skirt reflected the flames.
She was magic come to life.
Her magic.
Yearning seared his insides. Rafe tore his eyes away and rolled over shingles, returning to the darkness where he belonged. No one noticed his presence, just as no one would notice his absence when he decided to disappear—no one except Xander. But his brother was the very reason he had to leave. Rafe was one breath away from making a mistake he could never take back, right on the brink of a line he knew he should never cross—a line he would cross if he stayed.
But when to leave?
And how?
Would it be a gift to simply leap from this roof and soar away without so much as a goodbye? No explanation he could give Xander would suffice, so maybe it would be best not to even try. To vanish into the night.
No.
He couldn’t do that.
Xander would fear the worst. He’d worry. He’d go looking for him across all the isles. Rafe couldn’t do that to him. Couldn’t cause him more pain.
He would find his brother tomorrow, before the ceremony, and say he needed to chart his own course, forge a new path in a new place without the stigma of his past. He’d promise to return soon, promise to write. He'd do it fast and quick, before Xander had a chance to say no.
That was the only way.
The only plan.
Rafe dropped to his back and stared up at the sky, little more than a black blur as his mind whirled, swirling with all the what ifs. He rubbed his face and placed his arms over his head in an act of surrender. With his wings spread flat across the shingles, he bent his legs to keep from sliding down the roof. It was mindless movement.
Rafe was somewhere else.
He was the little boy sitting by the fire, playing with toys, as his mother hummed softly from the vanity in the corner of the room, brushing her long black hair, a soft smile on her lips. She’d always seemed happy, content with her life. But had that been the naïve musing of a boy who never realized, not until long after she’d died, that loving his father had destroyed her life? Her station had been stripped. She’d been shunned. Even her parents had turned their backs on her, so decisively Rafe didn’t even know who they were. No one had ever stepped forward to claim him, the fire-cursed child who had brought the dragon to their home, though sometimes, when he passed older couples on the street, he searched for some glimmer of recognition in their eyes. Would she do it all again if she knew what her life would be reduced to? Three walls, a balcony so far underground no one would see her if she stepped into the light, and a cursed child who was doomed to repeat all her mistakes.
Given the chance, would she have run?
Would she have turned from his father’s arms before it went too far?
Would she have left when she still had the chance?
Or had love really been worth it?
Rafe stayed on that roof, pondering that question, for he didn’t know how long. But it wasn’t long enough. Because when he eased to his feet and flew back to his room, someone was there waiting—a symbol of the answer he didn’t want to believe, but knew in his broken heart was true.
56
Lyana
She was being stupid—so incredibly stupid.
He’d told her to go. To leave. To never come back.
Lyana didn’t know why she had come, not really. She only knew that as soon as she got back to her room, the urge to fly had overwhelmed her, and her wings had brought her here. What made her stay were the drawers open and emptied in the corner, the twin blades polished and in their scabbards, and the sack of dried foods thrown at the foot of his bed. What made her stay was the understanding that if she left, she might never see him again.
The sound of boots made her heart stop.
Lyana turned, breath catching in her throat. He stood behind her in the shadows of the balcony, visible through the narrow slit in the curtains, his pale face glowing as it caught a sliver of light.
“I told you—”
“I know,” Lyana interjected.
Neither of them moved, as though the line where the rug ended and the stone floor of the balcony began represented something else, something much more difficult to cross.
“You’re leaving,” she said, not a question.
He answered anyway, voice strained. “Yes.”
Ask me to go.
Ask me to go.
Ask me to go.
The thoughts came swift, a strong desire tightening her gut. But she knew he wouldn’t ask—and he didn’t. She was grateful, because if he had, she would have had to find the courage to say no. She’d spent her lifetime staring at the sky, at the clouds above and the mist below, dreaming of disappearing into the adventure on the other end of the horizon. She’d had many chances to run from her responsibilities, with or without his help, but she’d never done it. Deep down, she knew, her dreams were just that—dreams. Ones that could never come true, not for a princess who would one day become a queen, a woman who had the weight of a thousand other lives on her shoulders.
Lyana took a step forward, then another, until her silk slippers silently crossed the threshold. She drew the curtain to the side and walked into the shadows of the balcony, the darkness of the night, the place where maybe they could live in a brief dream together. Her sleeves were long, but her shoulders were bare, and the cool kiss of evening brought a shiver to her skin. Lyana took a deep breath and looked up.
Rafe met her gaze.
The backs of his wings were already squeezed against the rail. He had nowhere else to go but the sky if he wanted to run.
He didn’t.
He stayed, frozen in place, not breathing as she crossed the distance between them and took his hands in hers, letting her magic bubble to the surface so she could feel the spark of their power meeting one more time.
“Let’s play a game, Rafe,” she whispered.
He released a breath, chest caving in as he glanced to the side. “A game.”
“Tomorrow, I take vows,” she continued softly as their fingers danced, shifting together, magic sizzling between
them, the gold of the sun and the silver of the moon, joined for this brief impossible moment. “Vows I will never, ever break. But that’s tomorrow. Tonight, for a few more hours, I get to be free. So, let’s play a game, Rafe. Let’s pretend we’re not in a castle, but a deep, dark cave. Let’s pretend I’m a dove with no name and no title, and you’re a raven with no past. Let’s pretend we have one last night to do whatever we want before the sun rises and the world comes crashing in.”
They lifted their hands, palms pressed together. Lyana stared through the glittering sparks, finding that her words had tempted him. He watched her through the starlight their magic created.
“What would you do, Rafe?”
Lyana stepped closer, the bottom of her skirt catching on the edge of his boots as their thighs pressed together. A bright flare passed over his eyes, like lightning in a storm.
“What would you do, Rafe?” she asked again, licking her lips, drawing his gaze to them for a quick, fiery moment. “I want to know, now, because this is your last chance to show me.”
At first nothing happened.
He was still, so very still. And so was she, as though her heart had spilled from her chest and dropped to the floor, and any movement she made might crush it beyond repair.
Then a shudder passed through him—a surrender.
His hands slipped from her palms, sliding over the sleeves of her gown, following the path of her arms, until his fingers grazed her naked shoulders, making her inhale sharply at the heat of his touch. The searing path kept burning, slow, steady, until he came to a stop with one hand on either side of her neck, cradling her head. His thumb brushed the edge of her cheek, a gentle, coveting touch, as though he’d been waiting to do that for a while.
They moved as one.
Before Lyana had time to process anything, his fingers gripped her braids, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, and they crashed together like a storm against a shore, inevitable, electric, rough and frantic. His lips were on her lips, then her throat, then traveling across her shoulder as her head dropped back with a sigh. Her hands fell along his arms to his abdomen, feeling every muscle tense beneath his jacket, before sliding up his back. Rafe buried his face in her neck, stifling a groan as she ran her fingers over his feathers. Lyana found his lips again, moving fast then slow, sinking into the kiss because they had one night, one short, stolen night, but she intended to take her time, to make the hours stretch, to let every moment count.
Each one would be their last.
They staggered back into the room, tripping over the curtain, wings pumping to keep them balanced as their lips remained glued to each other. They stumbled over the obstacles on the floor, but not badly enough to break apart.
As they fell onto the bed, consumed by a fever spun of skin and magic, neither of them registered the quiet yet resounding click of the door sliding closed.
57
Xander
He fell back against the wall, unable to believe his eyes.
Rafe and Lyana.
His brother and his mate.
He—
She—
They’d been acting strangely, but he never thought…
Not really.
Not in his heart.
Yet in the back of his mind he must have known, understood the signs, because why else would he have been lured awake by a whisper passing across his thoughts, the remnants of a vivid dream murmuring for him to come here?
Xander’s arms began to tremble, true fist and invisible one shaking as something stirred within him, a wild, savage thing he’d never felt before, searing hot and threatening to erupt, a beast crawling from the spot where he’d shoved it, finally spurred to life. All the anger. All the hurt. All the pain. All the awful things he kept locked away kicked and screamed to be unleashed. Fire raged in the center of his chest, focusing his vision until he stared so hard he saw images flashing on the wall opposite him.
Lyana’s surprised eyes as he’d slipped off his mask at the trials. The vehement way her palm had struck Rafe’s cheek. That faraway, broken look in his brother’s eyes. Their bodies entwined beneath the rubble. Her growing excitement. His growing denial. The happiness on his people’s faces as they watched him with their queen, cheered for her, celebrated them both. All of it grew, and spun, and flexed, and settled, until Xander was stone, rigid and full of so many conflicting emotions they all cancelled each other out, leaving nothing but an eerie calm behind.
He pushed away from the wall, squared his shoulders, and returned to his room.
But he didn’t sleep.
He stared at the ceiling for the rest of the night, wondering if this was how his mother had felt all those years ago, when betrayal had burrowed its way in her chest, carving its mark, and the weight of her duty crushed the pieces of her heart to dust, leaving her soul with an empty hole nothing would ever fill, not even her son. His body turned cold as if filled with ice, but it was better than the fire—easier to feel nothing at all. As the sun began to sift through his curtains, Xander mumbled the words he’d been crafting all night and spoke his vows, practicing enough times that his voice no longer cracked and broke, but remained a steady, hollow, empty tone to match the numb feeling in his soul.
58
Cassi
Cassi couldn’t sleep. Her legs bounced. Her fingers twiddled. Her heart pounded in a frenzied, uncontrollable way. She was acting more like Lyana than herself. Every sound made her jump. Every whiff of magic in the air made her pause. Every muscle in her body was tense and taut and ready to fly into action.
The sign would come.
She didn’t know what or when or how, but it would come. Because Lyana was the one they’d all been waiting for. The queen that would save the world. The one who was prophesized.
She was.
Though, to be fair, she hardly looked like a woman of legend as she catapulted into Cassi’s room in the soft light of dawn, flying through the curtains at a breakneck speed and stopping dead at the foot of the bed, wide-eyed and in a panic. No. She looked like absolute hell.
Cassi jumped to her feet immediately, reaching for her friend.
Lyana crumpled into her waiting arms. “Cassi, I— I— Please, just…help.”
They tackled the easy things first—her messy hair, her puffy eyelids, her wrinkled gown. And though Cassi wanted to tell Lyana there was no reason to cry, no reason for all the hurt, that there would be no vows today, that bigger, better things awaited, she kept her mouth shut. She did as her king bid.
She waited, because the sign was coming.
Any second.
Any moment.
It was coming.
It had to.
59
Rafe
He woke alone, in crumpled sheets that still smelled like her. A single white feather sat on the pillow beside his head, mocking him. Rafe snatched it in a fist, and then paused. He sat up and opened his palm, looking at the now bent and wrinkled plume, and used his other fingers to smooth out the rough edges he’d created. In one swift, determined move, he rolled from his bed, gently tucked the feather into his already packed bag, and sealed it shut.
He was leaving.
There was no other option.
Not now.
Movements hasty, he threw on his leathers and shoved his feet into his boots. The only time he slowed down was as he strapped the blades to his back, sliding the scabbards around his shoulders and between his wings. It was the only part of that morning that had felt natural, had felt right. The rest was rushed and wrong, and the worst hadn’t even come yet.
Facing Xander.
Saying goodbye.
Forcing a smile to his lips as he lied through his teeth.
That was the part he dreaded, the part that left his insides in knots.
One step at a time, he told himself. Take it one step at a time. Walk across the room. Open the door. Go to Xander’s suite. Don’t think about what to say or how. Just focus on your feet, and on taking one step a
t a time.
So he did.
He strode across the room, twisted the knob, opened the door, and—
He stopped dead.
Xander was there waiting, a vacant look in his eyes as they lifted to find Rafe’s. Before he had time to gather his wits, Xander stepped past him and made his way inside, attention jumping from the bed to the bags to the balcony, quick, quick, quick, before settling on Rafe.
“Morning, brother.”
The voice sounded unlike anything he’d ever heard from Xander before. A shadow with no color, no light, just dull shades of gray. No life. Just noise.
“Xander, I—” But his own throat choked him, tight and void of both words and breath.
A strange smile passed over Xander’s lips, as though he were laughing at something that wasn’t funny at all. “Are you leaving?”
Rafe’s gaze dropped to the bags on the floor. “I was going to find you first, to say goodbye.”
“How thoughtful."
Though the sentiment expressed was meant to be pleasant, Rafe couldn’t ignore the ominous undertone, as if on a hot summer day a cool lake hid some silent beast, luring one closer before the kill. He licked his lips as he frowned.
Something was wrong.
Something was terribly, terribly wrong.
“I— I’m not sure where I’m going yet, but as soon as I get there, I’ll write…” He trailed off quietly as Xander knelt, black wings expanding to hide his torso from sight as he picked something up off the floor.
Rafe’s heart dropped.
“Did you know our mothers were friends once?” Xander murmured, still crouching on the ground.
“No,” he rasped.
The Raven and the Dove Page 31
