"Elias?" she asked softly.
Unhearing, he moved his palm away from his face, staring at his hand in mounting horror. His eyes widened as his chin shook, then his arm, then his entire body.
"Elias?"
The question was little more than a whisper, but it was enough to draw his attention. Where moments before there had been nothing but warmth in his brown irises, now there was electric terror. "Who are you?"
She reached for him, but he was on his feet in an instant, stumbling back until his wings crunched audibly against the wall. He dug his heels into the ground to get farther away. "You're not my friend. You're not the princess. Who are you? What have you done with her?"
"Elias," she said calmly, standing with her hands outstretched as a sign of peace. Stupid! She cursed herself. That was so stupid! She'd been in this world beneath the mist for too long, surrounded by its magic. She'd forgotten to be afraid. She'd forgotten that in her world she was something to fear. "It's me. The same me I've always been."
"Who are you?" he shouted, so loudly she flinched.
"I'm Lyana. I promise, I'm me. Do you remember when we were learning how to fly and Luka fell off the staircase in the crystal palace? You thought he broke his leg, but then he got up and he was fine. That was me. I healed him."
"No." He shook his head with such ferocity she worried it might snap off. "No. That's a lie. Stop."
"And that time you slammed a practice sword into Cassi so hard you thought she broke a rib? You were horrified, and we snuck you into her room so you could apologize, but then she jumped out of bed and terrified you, uninjured and fine? That was me. I healed her too."
"No! I don't believe you!"
"Please, Elias—"
"No! Stop! No!"
"Please!"
With a scream, he clamped his hands over his ears, dropped to his knees, and crouched over, spreading his tan wings around himself in a cocoon. He swayed back and forth, murmuring to himself, "No. Don't listen. It's Vesevios. He's trying to trick you. Don't listen. No. Stop. No."
Lyana pressed her palm to her mouth as it fell open, trapping her cry inside. She reached for him, then paused, not sure if her touch would only make it worse. He was terrified. Of her. Of this world. Of the magic he'd been taught his whole life to fear. And right now, he was too deep into his panic to hear logic, to hear the truth. Right now, the only thing she could do was make him more afraid. No matter what she said or did, it would only cause him more pain. So she ran, out the door and into the hall, where Malek was waiting to catch her.
They didn’t need words.
One look into her eyes and he knew.
One look into his and she did too—he'd been right to forbid her from returning to the world above to warn her people. They weren't ready, and maybe they never would be. Elias was like a brother to her, yet the first sight of her magic had brought him to his knees. If he didn’t understand, what hope did she have of convincing anyone else? What could she do, just one person against a lifetime of fear?
Lyana clutched the front of Malek's shirt as she cried against his chest. He held her until her tears ran dry and long after. Their hearts beat as one, no sound in these dark halls except their ragged breathing.
There was no telling how much time had passed when she finally pulled away, but it was enough to feel a change in the air. As she found his stormy eyes, the space between them thickened. He stared at her the way he always did, as though he could see right through her, into her very soul. Heat flooded up her neck as Malek slowly lifted his hands to her cheeks and brushed her tears away. He slid his fingers through her loose braids, then settled one palm at the back of her head as the other came to rest upon the side of her throat.
She didn’t know what to do.
Chaotic and uncertain, her heart ached with despair yet pulsed with a new sort of yearning. He was her king. She was his queen. This was what destiny had foretold. As he leaned forward, she couldn’t move, trapped between the desire to give in and the voice in the back of her head telling her to run.
Malek paused before touching her lips, his breath tickling her skin as he studied her expression. He wanted this. She could feel it in his spirit, a longing he'd never quite been able to hide, but there was a certain disappointment there too. Still, he closed the distance between them, pressing their lips together, and she let him.
The kiss lasted only for a moment. He pulled back with a sigh and dropped his hands from her, releasing his hold. Lyana breathed as though coming up from the depths of the ocean for air. Had she been suffocating? Her chest burned.
"I—" Malek paused.
"I want to stay," Lyana jumped in quickly, not sure what he was going to say, but also positive she didn't want to hear it. "Here, with Elias, I mean. I want to stay and try to talk to him again once he's calmed down."
"Of course." Malek swallowed and stepped back. "I'll have someone bring you both food and whatever else you need."
"Thank you."
An awkward silence stretched between them.
"Lyana?"
"Yes?" she answered too quickly, too cheerfully.
"That wasn't what I wanted, for him to react that way." He meant it. She could see the truth in his eyes. Though she also saw a confession—it was exactly what he'd expected. "And I'm sorry for you."
"I know, Malek."
He stared at her for another breath, then abruptly turned and walked away. Lyana fell back against the wall behind her, letting the moisture of the stones seep into her feathers and her clothes, the coolness welcome. When the sound of his footsteps faded, she lifted her fingers to her lips and touched them gently, unsure what to think. So she didn't. She just stood there and stared at nothing, finally doing what he'd always wanted as she built a wall around her heart to keep her unruly emotions at bay.
37
Xander
Helen spent the better part of the journey from the House of Wisdom warning Xander about the severity of the earthquakes that had wracked his homeland during his absence, but no words could have prepared him for the sight of Pylaeon as he crested the mountain ridge and saw the city in the valley below. It was in ruins. Stones lay crumbled, wood splintered. A haze hung in the air, thick with soot and dust. The river overflowed where the dams had fissured, flooding entire streets. Part of the castle wall had collapsed. The only sparks of color were the mountains of flowers deposited at the ebony arches throughout the city, the spirit gates leading lost souls to Taetanos's realm. They were offerings and prayers, a symbol of the suffering his people had endured but also of their unyielding faith in their god to come save them.
At a loss for words, Xander landed on an outcropping of rock and stared at the destruction, his heart aching for his home. He should have been here. If his mother had sent word, he would have returned in an instant. But, of course, that's why she hadn't. She'd wanted him safely out of harm's way. And a part of him hoped she'd thought that if she just gave him enough time, he'd come home with all the answers.
Instead, the only things he'd found were more questions.