With a slight quirk to his lips that he couldn’t entirely stifle, Xander entered his room, leaving her to her duties, and made for the trunk by the foot of his bed. Cassi had said he should always have a weapon on him, and the truth was he did have a dagger, one gifted to him a long time ago. He hadn't looked at it in ages, hadn’t even thought about it since the moment he tucked it into his old fighting leathers and stored both away. But maybe it was finally time to face the past and all the memories he'd buried.
Xander removed the books and the blankets, searching for the bundle hidden at the bottom. As his fingers brushed smooth hide secured by a belt, relief coursed through him and he quickly unraveled the fighting gear now too small for his grown-up body. The hilt of the dagger had been carved to resemble a raven in flight, and at its base gleamed an obsidian stone, as opaque and inscrutable as his god. The weapon was a gift from his father.
Rafe had one just like it.
They'd been in the practice yards, one of the few places in the castle where his mother had allowed Rafe to visit him, perhaps because it was one of the few places where she never ventured. His father was there too often, and she loathed the sight of him. At that point in his life, however, just a boy with no awareness of grown-up things, Xander had been in awe of the man—his prowess, his power, his stature. When he looked back, it was hard to believe there’d been a time in his life when he'd wanted to be just like his father, but he had. That was before he’d discovered the wonders of reading, before he’d realized he would never possess the sort of strength his father valued, before he’d stopped trying to be someone he wasn't and learned to accept the person he was.
"Enough," the king had said, interrupting the fight that had broken out between Rafe and him, the two of them rolling around on the grass as boys did. If memory served, his brother had had him in a frustratingly efficient headlock. "I have a gift for you boys."
They stopped in an instant, turning to him eagerly.
"What, Father?" Xander asked while Rafe remained silent, happy to let his brother speak for him.
"The same thing my father once gave to me," he said, pulling the twin daggers from behind his back. "I'll show you how to wield them, but you must promise me something."
"What?" they said in unison that time.
"No more fighting." Rafe frowned at Xander, who elbowed him. "You're brothers. You're blood. There's no one you can trust more in the world than each other, no one you can rely on, no one you can depend on, not even me. And I want you to remember that."
"We will," they chorused, already grabbing for the blades. The response had been more to appease him than anything else, and they'd spent the rest of the day in the practice yards ignoring the advice and competing for his attention. But in the years that followed, after he was gone and nothing remained to fight over, the heart of his statement had sunk in.
Xander eyed the dagger.
It had been too big for him then, but it fit his hand now. And he imagined that if he walked to Rafe's room, he'd find its twin hidden at the base of a similar trunk, abandoned but not forgotten. He knew his brother. Even though it might be the only gift their father had ever given Rafe, he wouldn't have taken it with him when he left. He wouldn't have wanted the reminder that he had been the son their father favored, or the son to first break their promise to remain true to one another.
But had he been first?
Cassi's words came back to haunt him, words about sacrifice and love, and one person always giving while the other did nothing but receive. She'd been speaking of a different sort of love, but it wasn't that different, not really. And in this matter between brothers, Xander knew which role he'd played. Rafe had given up all memories of their father, though most of his had been good. He'd given up his life, pledging it to his prince instead. In the end, he'd given up his love, his home, his very place in the world.
Now Xander would give up something—his pride.
The plan with the House of Wisdom wasn't just about finding Lyana, he wanted his brother back as well. Rafe could never return to the House of Whispers, not with what the people now believed, but a part of Xander hoped his brother would learn he had traveled to the home of the owls and would come running. They had much to talk about before all could be forgiven, but he wanted to have that conversation. He owed it to Rafe, to himself, and to the long, complicated history between them. If his brother didn't come, then somehow, someway, he would find him. That was a promise.
Xander stood and tucked the dagger into his belt. Tomorrow, Cassi could show him how to use it. Until then, he would confess his secrets to the blade, the way he would have confessed them to Rafe had his brother still be there to listen.
17
Cassi
Stepping into Malek's dream was like stepping into the past. His spirit wrapped around her, so strong and familiar, a warm embrace, until she remembered the hard look in his eyes as his magic held her down and the orders on his lips, until she remembered that his affection had been as false as the world she now crafted around them.
Cassi stopped spinning the tendrils of his mind into his preferred meeting spot, a castle room with stone walls and a heavy iron chandelier, dreary and drab and dire. Instead, she imagined blue skies and a lush grassy plain that extended as far as the eye could see. Wildflowers, as sweet as they were beautiful, covered every inch of the ground. In the distance, lavender hues hinted at far-off mountains topped by cones of white. They stood on the roof of a stone keep, heavy and impenetrable, the winds whipping around her legs. Crumbled buildings littered the grounds below, remnants from a time long ago, once homes and shops and an imposing city wall, now nothing more than moss-covered rocks and ruins.
"This is new," Malek murmured by her side, his feet braced against the breeze and his hands clasped behind his back. In the dream, she imagined him the way she'd last seen him in the House of Whispers, with a sun-kissed glow to his skin and golden highlights in his hair, those eyes as inscrutable as a stormy sea.
"I thought it was time for a change."
His brows lifted inquisitively. "Are you trying to send me a message, Kasiandra?"
"No message."
"Then what is this place?"
"It's Lantos," she said, stepping forward so her toes extended out over the edge of the building. Her wings shifted, feathers ruffling in the breeze. There was no more reason to hide them from him. He'd seen the real her while she pleaded for his mercy, desperate and broken, still covered in Rafe's blood. And she'd seen the real him. "It's the capital of the House of Prey, commonly referred to as the City of Ruins. I've been told it was once a vibrant city that fell to waste when the isles were lifted into the sky. The kings and queens of these lands have always been solitary creatures. They never trusted their subjects. In turn, their people never trusted them. They keep to their fortress, and their people keep to their homes in the open plains. Without citizens, the city crumbled."
"Ah." He stepped beside her, not afraid of the height. Perhaps he mistakenly thought she'd catch him if he fell. "So it is a message then. You think I'm too wary. I've been told as much before."