by Jamie Foley
“Are you all right?” Brooke asked. He seemed healthy, but her breath caught as she saw Iraleth lying on the floor, cradling her belly. Iraleth gave Brooke a weak smile, but her face was pale and sweat plastered her silver hair to her forehead.
Coriander carefully helped his wife to her feet. “Bless you,” Iraleth said.
Brooke bowed, trying not to let her concern show on her face. “I have a way to sneak you out.”
“All we needed was the keys.” Coriander addressed another man who waited by his side. “Get the women, children, and injured to safety.” The man nodded and offered Iraleth his arm.
“Be safe.” Iraleth leaned toward Coriander to kiss him on the cheek, and he hugged her gently while whispering in her ear.
“You’re not going with them?” Brooke asked.
Coriander studied her as he embraced his children and told his son to look after his mother. “I get the sense that you’re not, either.”
Brooke knew she should accompany Felix and continue pretending that his powers were hers, but she would much rather continue sneaking around the palace until they found Lysander and Ryon. Maybe Felix would continue to follow her if she just started off in a dangerous direction.
“What’s your plan, then?” Brooke asked.
Coriander waited until his family was out of earshot. “I’m going to kill my sister,” he murmured.
Brooke had a small intake of breath. She hadn’t taken him as someone capable of such . . . darkness.
“You don’t understand, or you wouldn’t look at me that way,” Coriander whispered. “She drained Iraleth’s syn. While she was injured and pregnant. In front of my children.”
Brooke grimaced and glanced back at Nariellyn, who nodded and said, “She’s weak but she will recover.”
“Thank you for healing her,” Brooke said. “Well done.”
Nariellyn gave a thumbs-up.
“Illiana is beyond saving,” Coriander said. “She has lost her sanity to the syn. Absorbed too much of it. If not by her actions and words, you can tell by her eyes.” He took a blade that one of the men handed him and stuffed it into his belt. “She will die from it sooner rather than later. Ending her before then will be a mercy killing.”
Brooke frowned. She’d been an only child and had always wanted siblings. But in this situation . . .
“You’re certain we can’t save her?” Brooke whispered. But she remembered Felix’s words—she knew the answer.
“If there was a way, I would take it.” Coriander’s stature went rigid, as if tensing his muscles could protect him against the tragedy of what had to be done. “She has done this to herself.”
The dishes on the serving tray chattered together as Kira’s hands shook. She took a deep breath and willed her nerves to calm.
Anyone who looked at her for half a second would know she wasn’t a slave. Her posture was too straight. Her gaze not downcast. Her clothes completely wrong.
She’d only gotten this far because of Aegwyn and Tekkyn covering for her, but now she was alone. Lost in the heavenly palace with a tray of food that would by no means serve as an excuse for her to see the king.
Ryon. The king.
Kira’s eyes misted again before she desperately blinked the tears down and focused on her stride down the long, empty hallway. The pounding of her heart was almost as loud as the clacking of her shoes on the polished floor. Silk curtains flowed toward her from the open windows and brushed her leg, sending a chill up her spine.
She would never find Ryon in this maze. But even if she did, how would he react? He’d married Illiana. His cousin. Instead of her.
Ryon’s glass-gold bangle weighed heavily on her wrist. I’ll end up in prison for sure. Aeo, help me!
Kira slowed her pace as she neared two columns at the end of the hall. She peeked around the corner, looking for guards and hopefully some extravagant doorway beyond which a king might reside.
“Go right,” said someone behind her.
Kira was so startled that a glass tipped and fell off her tray. It shattered on the floor, sending hundreds of shards skittering down the hall.
It’s me!
The voice in her head sounded like Lysander. But when Kira looked behind her, she only saw the curtains billowing on the breeze.
Footsteps sounded beyond the hall and to the left. Fast approaching.
A strong grip took Kira’s arm and pulled her to the side, behind one of the pillars. Her vision went black.
Quiet. Lysander’s thought pressed upon her mind.
It took all of Kira’s strength not to resist or drop the rest of the tray’s assortment. She wanted to greet Lysander and curse him at the same time. But he wouldn’t hear the curse so she’d hit him instead.
You can hit me after this guard passes.
Kira wondered if he could hear her thoughts.
The footsteps came frighteningly close, then stopped. “Hello?” a man called.
Yeah, your thoughts are louder than most.
Kira stayed as still as her nerves would let her. She couldn’t decide whether Lysander’s invasion of privacy into her mind was worth not having to write to communicate with him as she’d done the last time, since she didn’t know the Phoeran hand-language.
Did you have to scare the light out of me? Kira thought. What are you doing here?
I thought you’d recognize my voice, Lysander returned.
I’ve only met you like once! Kira snapped.
You still hate me, huh?
You gave me enough reasons to. Kira wondered if he could sense her frustration, too. But she reminded herself that it was Lysander’s suggestion that led to her finding the herbal cure for her mother’s cloud sickness. So he couldn’t be entirely evil.
Was he trying to rescue Ryon? But hadn’t Lysander disappeared with Brooke? Did that mean Brooke was nearby as well?
A sigh emanated from where the guard must have stood, not three foot-lengths from them. He grumbled something about people leaving things on pillars in the windy hall.
We both want Ryon back, Lysander thought. Isn’t that why you’re here in that cringey travelling merchant costume? I’m shocked you got this far.
Kira clenched her jaw. Let go of me.
Lysander’s grip on her arm eased. Stay close. I think I know where Ryon is.
Kira took a deep breath and let it out as silently as possible. Thank you. I . . . I’m sorry.
His deep laughter rumbled through her head. No you’re not, but it’s fine. This way.
Kira followed Lysander’s lead as he gently pulled her along. Walking blind was difficult enough, but the tray made everything more tedious. She wished she could set it down, but she didn’t want to spare the time or risk the suspicion of leaving it somewhere.
The stairs were the most difficult. Halfway up the spiraling staircase, Lysander took the tray from her. For some reason, she didn’t hear him set it down, either.
Here.
Kira continued on and gasped when her vision abruptly returned. She stood in a different hallway, this one circular with the sun and orbiting stars bejeweled into the tile floor. A door just ahead.
Lysander knocked.
No answer.
He knocked again. “Ryon?”
Kira wondered if Lysander could hear Ryon’s thoughts. And if these were the king’s chambers, where were the guards?
“His thoughts are . . . off,” Lysander muttered. “These aren’t the king’s chambers; they are the heirs’.” He turned the doorknob. It clicked, and the door slowly swung open.
Ryon sat on a lonely chair in the center of the curved room. He didn’t respond to their presence. He stared at the wall.
Kira rushed to him. “Ryon!” She crouched in front of him, interrupting his vapid gaze. “Ryon, it’s me.” She took his hands in hers.
He met her gaze with unfocused eyes. Slowly smiled. Said nothing.
“What’s wrong?” Kira yearned to hug him, but something wasn’t right. Everything
wasn’t right. Her heart ripped in two different directions at once.
And where were his lenses?
The tray clattered as Lysander set it down and drew his dagger.
Kira followed Lysander’s gaze to the window that overlooked the beach and distant mountains. She didn’t see anything.
“Reveal yourself,” Lysander said.
A figure melted into existence not an arm’s length from Kira. She gasped and staggered back, then lurched forward to place her body between the man and Ryon.
“Who’s this?” the man asked. He raised his hands and took a step back.
“His fiancé,” Lysander muttered.
“Oh. Not any more, eh? Unfortunate.” The man’s face grew solemn. He took another step back and addressed Kira. “I am Xavier.”
“What did you do to him?” Kira demanded. She pulled a throwing knife from the sheath she’d hidden inside her tunic. Pointed it at Xavier’s throat.
“Muddlewort,” Xavier said, as if that was supposed to mean something to Kira. Lysander rummaged around the vials of herbs that were strung across his chest.
“You were the one who took him,” Kira accused, having no idea if it were really true.
Xavier dipped his head. “Queen’s orders.”
Lysander growled as he took a cup from the serving tray and poured a vial of dried herbs into it. The liquid began to steam. “How do her orders compare to Zamara’s?”
“I am ever loyal to the throne,” Xavier said. He lowered his hands, ignoring Kira’s knife. “And we have new blood on the throne now, eh?”
Kira narrowed her eyes at him. What was he implying?
It didn’t matter. She would kill him.
Except Xavier hadn’t drawn a weapon, and his body language didn’t imply any kind of threat.
She stepped to the side as Lysander approached Ryon, but still stayed between him and Xavier. Lysander handed the cup to Ryon and guided him into drinking.
Lysander must have heard the confusion in her thoughts, because he explained, “They drugged him. This is the antidote. There, no—careful. Good.” He tossed the empty cup aside—at least, that’s what Kira assumed from the clattering sound since she didn’t take her eyes off of Xavier. “He’ll be responsive soon.”
Xavier prevented hope from flooding Kira like a stalwart dam. He glanced at the door behind him. “You have me to thank for that. At the amount she wanted me to administer, he might already have sustained permanent damage.”
Kira’s blade didn’t waver as she tried to puzzle it out. “Then you don’t always follow orders?”
Xavier fixed her in a lionlike stare. “I am ever loyal to the throne,” he repeated.
“You just didn’t want her on the throne,” Lysander said.
Xavier said nothing, but Kira sensed words unsaid hanging in the air: no one wanted Illiana on the throne.
“She wanted a king. I gave her a king.” A thin smile stretched across Xavier’s lips.
Kira contained a shudder. She couldn’t figure this man out. Whatever he was, he gave her goosebumps.
How long would Lysander’s antidote take to work? She wanted nothing more than to tend to Ryon but refused to remove her blade from Xavier’s direction.
“Are you going to try and drag him back to Jadenvive?” Xavier asked.
“Kira?”
Her stomach leapt into her throat at Ryon’s voice. She whirled.
Ryon grinned weakly at her. “You’re not a dream.”
Kira collapsed on him and hugged tight. Wept. Didn’t let go.
Ryon squeezed her back with a grunt of discomfort. He glared at Xavier. “You.”
Xavier dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “My lord.”
“You really married her?” Kira managed, her voice unsteady.
“No! I didn’t . . .” Ryon swallowed and squinted at his reflection in an ornate mirror that hung from the wall. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “At least . . . I have no memory of that. And I’m pretty sure you have to be aware of . . . anything . . . to actually make a vow.” Ryon grimaced and looked up at Lysander. “Thanks. You got anything for a beast of a headache?”
Lysander nodded and disappeared.
“The vow was . . . accepted,” Xavier said. “Legally.”
Ryon looked sick in more ways than one—mirroring Kira’s own feelings. “I didn’t marry her,” he said. “I’m not married.”
Kira buried her face in his shoulder. He hadn’t truly betrayed her.
“But I want to marry you. Only you, ever.” Ryon gently brought her face up to meet the fire that reignited in his orange gaze. “I’ve proposed to you like three times now, and they’ve all been lame. I wanted to take you to the waterfall or do something with chocolate or paradise flowers, but with the attack and . . . and then the other attack, and . . .” He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his temples.
“Hey, it’s okay.” Kira placed his hand over his. “I don’t need all that fancy stuff. I love you.”
“I love you, too!” Ryon grinned wide despite his obvious discomfort. “Your dad gave his blessing, you know.”
Kira felt heat rush to her cheeks. “He did?”
Ryon made an obstinate noise and rolled his eyes. “Of course he did.” He lifted an eyebrow and gave his signature lopsided smile, then paused to gauge Kira’s reaction. She couldn’t stop an awkward grin.
“I mean, we’re in a castle, right? So that’s kind of romantic, yeah?” Ryon slid out of the chair to get down on one knee, nearly fell over, and caught himself before taking Kira’s hand. “Will you marry me?”
“At the first opportunity.” Kira swiped at moisture from the corner of her eye. “I just have one question.”
Ryon looked like he was strung so tight that if she flicked him, he might. “What . . . What is it?”
“How old are you?”
He blinked. “I’m twenty-three. Is that okay? How old are you? Am I too old?”
“I’m eighteen.” Didn’t he already know that? Kira resisted the urge to toy with him when he was so vulnerable. “Works for me. Let’s get married, old man.”
Lysander slunk down the opulent halls, trying to keep himself from panting. He’d be nearly exhausted by the time he reached Illiana after stealthing Kiralau around the palace, having to use Phoera to manipulate both light and sound energy. It pushed his skills to the limit, and his limit was much lower thanks to the dreamthistle he was still recovering from.
It was a good thing he wasn’t planning on fighting Illiana, because by the time he reached the Grand Balcony, he’d be barely able to fight a branch runner.
But if Ryon changed his mind and decided to leave his room and follow Lysander after all, things could get ugly. And Lysander didn’t really expect Ryon to remain in his beautiful prison for long. The fact that it kept Kiralau safe was Lysander’s only winning dice roll.
Still, he retained his invisibility to prevent Ryon from following him to Illiana and complicated everything.
Until he remembered that Ryon grew up in the palace, too, so he’d know his way around whenever he regained clarity of mind.
Lysander had to knock some sense into Illiana—fast—or else there would be blood. Whose blood, he didn’t want to guess.
The service stairway that led from the kitchens to the Grand Balcony was packed with servers like ants in one of their tunnels. It further confirmed a fact that Lysander didn’t want to be true: Illiana was hosting some kind of large banquet there. Which meant the private conversation he wanted with her would instead be in front of a large number of nobles and in view of the entire city, as the balcony stretched out elegantly over the marketplace.
But Lysander had to confront her immediately, or Coriander might find her first. Felix and Brooke might have released his brother by now, and as soon as the guards became aware of a jailbreak, chaos would descend on the palace like a tornado.
Somehow Lysander doubted a confrontation between Coriander and
Illiana could have a peaceful ending.
He reached the open double doors to the Grand Balcony. The guards on either side saluted sharply, causing the upright red feathers on their helmets to wave. Lysander nodded to them as he entered.
He imagined the expansive room was loud because of the laughter and clapping and drinking he saw the nobles doing. Dozens of them sat at a long table that ran beside the railing that was open to sea-salted air. A throne of sorts sat in the middle, upon which perched his little sister.
Golden spikes crowned her head, and her necklace flashed and glittered in the midday sun. A scarlet red dress covered her like blood. Glowing orange eyes watched fire-dancers twirl on the opposite side of the table, spinning with ribbons and sparks and tongues of flame.
Her eyes—they were actually glowing. He’d never seen a human’s eyes glow like that. Illiana was half elemental, but still, it seemed . . . wrong.
Foreboding pumped through Lysander’s veins as he entered. Rounded the table. Approached Illiana’s royal seat.
She saw him and her face lit with joy. She stood and called out to him—words he couldn’t quite make out on her lips. As he approached, Illiana leaned in and embraced him.
He hugged her back, wary of her crown and the fragility of her frame. Anxiety drained from him as they embraced. Perhaps Xavier hadn’t reported him as a traitor after all.
“Brother,” Illiana greeted as she pulled away. She made an attempt to hand-sign, but she’d never been good at it. Her movements were clumsy, and she wore strange golden claws on her forefingers that made her movements even more difficult to decipher. She made an obvious gesture at a chair beside her, and a noble stumbled out of it. “Sit and eat! Tell me: where have you been?”
Lysander didn’t sit. “May I speak with you in private?” he asked quietly, hopefully being heard over the obvious noise of the room. “I realize it’s a bad time, but it’s urgent.”
Illiana sat back down with effort—her gown didn’t appear to be made for comfort—and took a drink of wine. He couldn’t see her lips to discern her dismissal.
Lysander leaned over the table, close to her ear. “I wouldn’t interrupt you unless it was extremely important. It involves your safety.”
