A tingle slipped down her spine.
The blade in her hand shifted as Xander swallowed. He turned his face upward, something defiant about the motion. Against her better judgment, Cassi looked away from the guards and down at the prince at her mercy. She expected to find hate in his eyes, to read anger and loathing in their lavender hue. She expected his stare to confirm the one thing she already knew to be absolutely true—that she was unworthy of trust or of love. Instead, as she met his gaze, she saw the last thing she ever expected.
She saw compassion.
Xander was sorry for her, for whatever had brought her to this point, for the life she must have led, for the lies he didn’t understand. And he was sorry for something else too.
Cassi shifted her focus down the straight line of his nose, past the soft curves of his lips, over the strong edge of his jaw, pausing for a moment on the spot where her dagger dug menacingly into the thin skin of his neck, then farther still, until she saw what Helen had. Though she held his arms securely against his chest, she'd failed to notice the way his elbow bent toward his biceps and the silvery edge of the arm guard poised to strike—the very one she'd designed to save his life, now a twist of his wrist from ending hers.
Or maybe she'd noticed, and she hadn't cared.
They breathed against each other, neither moving a muscle, the rest of the world still and waiting. It felt like one of her lessons, one of her puzzles. Tell me how you'd escape my hold, she might have said. Tell me how you'd get away.
Except this wasn't a game.
They weren't playing pretend anymore, if they ever had been at all. Cassi looked into Xander's tender eyes again, willing him to make his move, to take away this choice she'd never wanted. If the world ended because of her inaction, so be it. What had the world ever given her anyway, except heartbreak and despair?
Do it, she thought. Do it!
He didn't.
Even with the truth of her wretched soul laid bare before him, her dagger at his throat and her lies at last undone, Xander remained still. His wrist didn’t move. No blade sprang free to slice her throat. Against anything she ever could have imagined, he chose to spare her. He chose to believe there was something within her still worth saving.
Was there?
Cassi dropped her weapon. It clanged loudly against the floor as she shoved him away. Helen was there in a heartbeat, yanking her arms behind her back and binding her wrists. Xander sat clutching his neck, his stare as tangible as any touch, but she refused to meet it.
"Someone else will come," she said as they dragged her toward the door. "Someone else will come to do what I could not."
39
Lyana
In the dank dark of the windowless corridors at the base of the castle, time ceased to exist. The outside world was far away, no mist, no sea, no city, nothing but the subtle drip of water and the gentle hum of silence. It would have been peaceful, this welcome break from the constant barrage of a thousand lost souls, if she were alone. But the crying spirit on the other side of the door cut into her with the precision of a trained fighter who knew just where to slice so as to elicit the most pain. Lyana had no idea what day it was, what hour, or how long she'd been stationed outside Elias's room, fighting to make him understand, but it hardly mattered. She wouldn't leave until she finally got through to him.
"I'm coming inside," she said through the wood to avoid surprising him.
As the door creaked open, she found him on the far side braced for battle, his hands coiled into fists. The wet sheen to his copper cheeks shone golden in the reflection of flames, and the undersides of his spread wings were stark against the damp gray stone.
Lyana sighed.
At least it was better than the last time she'd entered, when he charged the second she pushed open the door. Before her mind had time to catch up with her body, she'd grasped his spirit with her magic and frozen him in place, which had only served to heighten his terror. She was still cursing her folly. They'd trained together most of their lives—she knew how to fight him with her bare hands, how to wrestle him into submission, or at the very least, defend against his attack. Yet somehow, in these past few weeks beneath the mist, magic had become her first instinct. She blamed Malek.
No magic, she silently ordered. Absolutely no magic.
Though she'd spent the first eighteen years of her life hiding her power, stifling it took more effort than she liked to admit, as if she were trying to repair a dam after the river had already been unleashed. The magic ran through her, wild and rampant, just like her spirit, rebelling against any attempts to be contained. They'd both grown used to the freedom.
"I brought food." She dipped her chin toward the tray nudged against her hip and used her free hand to close the door behind her. "I thought you might be hungry."
Elias didn't move.
Those brown eyes bored into her as she stepped slowly and deliberately into the room, not making any sudden moves. She sat on the bed without looking at him as she adjusted the bowls and poured two cups of hot tea. She made a show of tasting the fruits and breads so he knew they were safe to eat.
"It's not as good as the food back home," she said conversationally. "They lack our variety, especially in seeds and nuts. Down here, they're too precious to eat. And I think something about the absence of the sun dulls most of the flavors. Even the ripest fruit doesn’t have that juicy sweetness I love. But the tea leaves are just like the ones we used to import from the House of Paradise, with a spiciness that settles in the stomach. I find it rather soothing. And with the moisture in the air, nothing ever seems to go stale. Here, try a bite."
She ripped off the corner of her sweet bread and offered it to him. The dough was infused with bits of dried fruit, which mixed well with the salty flavor of the air. Elias remained still and staring. With a shrug, she popped the piece into her mouth.
"Suit yourself," Lyana murmured and curled her legs beneath her as she took a sip of tea, encouraged that he hadn't screamed or yelled or threatened violence. If she just kept talking, maybe he'd think they were in the lush halls of the crystal palace, not the dank dungeons of Da'Kin. Maybe she would too. "Will you tell me about Luka's mating ceremony? I tried to imagine what the palace looked like a hundred times, but the image keeps changing. His mate's feathers are auburn, if I remember correctly. And her name is Iris, right? I always wondered if they incorporated a few amethyst garlands to match the colors of her home, something I know my mother would understand. But I can't imagine Luka saying the vows in anything except the brilliant white and gold of our house. Aethios must've—"
"Don’t say his name," Elias interrupted darkly.
"Who? Aethios?"
"Don't," he growled, taking two steps forward, his body hunched and hulking. She wasn't afraid. This was what she'd expected. He was a warrior loyal to the House of Peace, and he would defend it until the bitter end. "You're an agent of Vesevios and I won't have you speak the name of Aethios, highest of them all."
"Whether I'm living here upon the sea or up above the clouds or in a place beyond the horizon that no one's ever seen, I'm a daughter of Aethios, Elias. I always will be. And I won't feel sorry for saying his name."