"I don't think that will be necessary."
"The people are rioting for Rafe's head right now. Need I remind you that you look just like him?"
Xander scowled. "No."
At his tone, Cassi finally loosened her hold, pulling the knife from his throat and unraveling their limbs. Without her so close, the air felt cool and a shiver raced down his spine as he turned to face her head-on. She was shorter, though not by much, and he might've been heavier only because of his bones, whereas he had the sense that the body hiding beneath her clothes was made of muscle—supple and smooth.
Don't think about that, he chided, heat gathering at his collar.
"I didn't mean to offend." She mistook his response for annoyance and glanced down to play with the dagger in her hand. "The people want blood, and they might be fine replacing one brother for another if the true target of their frustration can't be found."
"I know." He put his fingers gently against hers and she froze, staring at their hands. He hastily dropped his away. "That's why I'm going out into the city right now, to show my face and ease their fears, to prove I'm still the prince they know. You can come if you'd like, to watch my back. Though I'm afraid another lesson will have to wait. I doubt the people would approve of you tossing me up against the castle walls. At least, I hope they wouldn't."
A smile passed over her lips, there and gone. She flipped the dagger in her hands so that she held the blade and offered it to him. He couldn't help but feel there was a veil over her eyes, guarding the truth. "Take this. You should always have a weapon on you, just in case. To hold your secrets, if nothing else."
Their fingers grazed as he took the blade. It felt cumbersome in his hand, as though it might do more harm than good. Xander gave it back. "I'll get one from Helen. I don't want to leave you defenseless."
Cassi arched her brow dubiously.
"I will," he insisted.
With a shrug, she slipped the dagger smoothly back into her belt. "At least keep more aware of your surroundings, especially out there." She jerked her chin toward the window. "In the meantime, I'll see if Nyara surprises me and kills Tassos in his sleep, the way I'm sort of hoping she will."
He laughed and shook his head. "You're terrible."
"You have no idea."
With that, she left. Xander watched until she turned a corner, black-and-white speckled wings disappearing around a bend. Even then, it took a moment for him to move, still considering the hollow tone of her voice. He'd only been joking, but Cassi's response was all too real. Another piece to the puzzle of her, one he wouldn't solve today.
Xander turned in the opposite direction to make for the practice grounds, his original destination before he'd been sidetracked. Helen was already there waiting with an escort when he arrived, his message from breakfast having reached the spot before he did.
"We start with the wounded," Xander ordered, then took to the sky.
His guards flanked him on both sides as he soared over the castle walls and into the city beyond. A group still gathered near the main gate, tossing rotten fruit at the wall and cursing Rafe's name. But if they meant real harm, they would have used their wings to storm the castle itself. This was more frustration than fury, which meant he still had time to remedy the situation.
They traveled to the homes of the wounded first, those burned by dragon fire or crushed by falling stone. He said prayers to Taetanos with the families, offering what little comfort he could, as well as food and money to ease their burdens. The healers followed soon after, sent from the palace itself, with salves from the House of Paradise to help with the pain. Xander had already met with the relatives of the few who'd passed, but he stopped by their homes again to leave flowers by their doors, not interrupting their grieving, but not ignoring it either. The bouquets were made of fragrant lilies, the same he put under the spirit gates, using the scent to guide lost souls to the river, where the entrance to his god's realm was waiting. His final stop was to the rubble, buildings crushed by dragon claws and burned by dragon flame. He did what he could, struggling to help clear debris. Soot stained his clothes and skin, mixing with his sweat. There were no speeches that could cure their pains, so he didn't give any, choosing to work beside them instead. It meant so much more than empty words. He could see it in their eyes—the burgeoning respect, rebuilt much like the houses around him by placing one stone at a time.
People whispered, of course.
Fire cursed.
Where's the bastard?
What'd he do with the princess?
The gods are angry.
Taetanos help us.
Xander listened without comment. He couldn't defend Rafe—it would only bring more questions. Yet he found he couldn't damn him either. Oh, he was still furious. His invisible fist trembled by his side, his anger so much harder to tame now that it had tasted freedom. Perhaps it was unfair, but there was a part deep down in him that reveled just a little in hearing people curse Rafe's name, that was still livid with his brother, not only for stealing his mate, but for leaving him alone to pick up the pieces. Sometimes at night he found himself going to his brother's rooms, forgetting for a moment that he wasn't there, an old habit that wouldn't die. He didn't know who he was without Rafe there to act as a foil. It was so much easier to be carefree with Rafe by his side to carry his troubles, so much easier to be happy in the face of Rafe's perpetual grouchiness, so much easier to focus on his studies with Rafe there to guard his back. They were two sides of the same coin—as much as he loathed Rafe, he loved him, and maybe that hurt most of all. Missing Rafe felt like missing a piece of himself, one he'd never get back, and Xander had no one to blame but himself.
Weary and ravenous, Xander returned to the castle in a solemn mood, needing peace and quiet and a chance to rest his mind. He skipped dinner with his advisors and ordered it brought to his study instead. He wanted to lose himself in his books, in other worlds and other lives far different from his own.
When he stepped through the door, wind ruffled his feathers. With a curse, Xander ran across the room to grip the sheet that had torn loose from the broken window, sending a draft throughout the space. Moisture already wrinkled the pages of his books, nothing a fire wouldn't cure but still an annoyance he didn't need. The shifting pages only made his hackles rise.
They better not be damaged, he thought as he dropped to the ground to see what had ripped the curtain loose from its nails. I ordered the window sealed.
Xander frowned.
The nails hadn’t ripped loose. They still bit into the curtain, securing it to the floor and the walls. He ran his hand up the fabric, searching for the source of the tear. That was when he found the perfectly straight line cut through the center as though with a knife.
An arm came around his throat.
"Cassi—"
The grip tightened, cutting off air as something sharp bit into his side. Pain flared, followed by a warmth spreading across his jacket. Blood. His blood. Xander jerked in surprise, disbelief outweighing the ache as a heavy body wrestled him to the floor, crushing him against the rug. Instinct took over—instincts he wasn't aware he possessed—and Xander threw his right elbow into the assailant, remembering Cassi's advice. The man groaned but didn't let go. Still, his grip loosened just enough for a scream to break through.