A plate of oats and berries was set before her. Lyana picked at it halfheartedly.
“If we can move on to more important topics,” Queen Mariam suggested, rolling the parchment in her hand closed, her tone demanding obedience. “You turn eighteen in three weeks, correct?”
Lyana nodded, already anticipating where the conversation was going. Traditionally, no mates could be joined before the gods until they were both eighteen—the age at which magic either made itself known or didn’t exist. Lyana’s magic had, of course, already announced itself, but she’d hidden it for years, and she could hide it for a few more weeks until she and Xander were united before the gods. Maybe then, with enough trust and ties to bind them, she’d consider what Rafe had told her just before she’d left his room two nights ago, words barely more than a whisper, so soft they almost weren’t real. That Xander knew his secret—knew of his magic and didn’t mind.
A bit of her heart warmed at the thought, and Lyana glanced up from her plate to find Xander observing her and gauging her responses, the lavender in his eyes soft in a way the queen’s deeper color was not.
“Since we’ll have been waiting longer than most of the other matched couples,” the queen continued, not bothering to wait for Lyana’s response, “my advisors and I have decided to proceed with the mating ceremony on the same day as your birthday so the two celebrations can be combined.”
Lyana nodded, although the queen had formulated no question, because she’d expected as much. Most of the matched couples were probably, at this very moment, standing in their sacred nests, performing the ritual before the gods, declaring their unending loyalty to someone who was little more than a stranger. Luka and his mate had probably celebrated their vows yesterday while Lyana had been flying farther and farther away, leaving him and the rest of her family behind. How strange to think they’d shared everything growing up, their deepest, darkest secrets, and yet one day after she left home she’d already missed the most important moment of his life.
They were already moving on without her.
And Lyana was here, sitting at a table, surrounded by books and a foreign new family, her eyes on the windows across the room, on the balcony and the fresh air and the rising sun. But the idea comforted her, because that, of all things, hadn’t changed.
The endless blue sky had always called to her.
And her soul still ached to respond.
“Excellent,” Queen Mariam said, regaining Lyana’s attention as she slid a bit of parchment across the table. “I’ve arranged a schedule for your next few weeks if you’ll take a look. There is much to learn about our people and our customs before you become their queen. This afternoon, the owners of our mines and our most affluent tradesmen will be coming to the castle so Lysander can introduce them to you. In preparation, this morning we will be reviewing their names and stations, talking points for you to remember, as well as the goods they sell to the other houses—raw materials from our mountains like metals and stones, obviously, but we also have a small array of crops and specialty crafts we exchange as well. All of this will be very important for you to understand in the future, when it is Lysander’s time to rule.”
Inwardly, Lyana groaned.
Outwardly, she took the paper and kept a smile glued to her face as Xander opened the first of many volumes, his face more animated than she ever recalled seeing as he began to tell her of his home.
38
Rafe
Home sweet home, Rafe thought with a grunt as he swung the blunt blade of his practice sword at the bag of beans he’d strung up as his opponent, satisfied as the blow vibrated up his arms. He pulled back, spun on his toes, and sliced the air, again and again, throwing all his weight into the movement, controlled yet savage, precise yet reckless with frustrated abandon.
He didn’t know why he had thought anything would be different.
First morning back, and Xander was dining with his mother in the room where Rafe was not allowed. The servant who had left a meal outside his door had scurried off immediately as though Rafe were a monster lurking in the night. The guards who had helped him during the courtship trials now watched him with narrowed eyes from across the practice yards, not bothering to include him in their exercises. Even Helen, who normally helped him train, had proceeded with caution, observing him with a calculating gaze, not even offering her usual morning greeting—something he’d always known she’d done for Xander’s sake, anyway.
He’d thought maybe when he helped bring back a queen, the guards at least would alter their opinion of him, even if the common raven would never know what had happened at the House of Peace.
Clearly, he’d been wrong.
Rafe arched the sword over his head and whipped the bag with his blade, unconcerned as a bead of sweat dripped down his brow. He had to keep moving, keep fighting, keep smacking things around so he wouldn’t wonder if his sour mood had to do with something else—something like the princess currently dining with Xander and the wonder in her eyes as she’d stuck her arms into the waterfall. It was the same expression she’d worn when he’d shown her his magic, as though it wasn’t something to fear but to celebrate—as though he wasn’t someone to fear but to celebrate.
Rafe dropped his sword, curled his palms into fists, and punched the damned bag instead. The scratch of burlap against his knuckles was a welcome distraction from the pain lingering in other places of his body. The field of his vision narrowed, so there were no guards, no ravens, no practice courtyard and no castle, just him and this undying opponent, and the sting of blood gathering on his skin as he beat the senseless thing even more senseless. When his body was within an inch of giving out, Rafe pumped his wings and used the extra force to place a kick right in the center of his target, fraying the rope. Just as he was about to land the final blow, the hiss of an arrow made him start. The point landed with a thud in the center of his bag, immediately sending a cascade of beans to the floor, the sound like the patter of rain during a summer storm.
“What—” Rafe spun, surprise nearly making him choke on his words.
The owl stood behind him, lowering her bow as she shrugged. “I thought you could use the help.”
“How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough,” she answered elusively.
He frowned. “Long enough for what?”
A smile tugged at her lip, a haughty sort of thing, as though she could see right through his skull and read every thought in his mind. The very idea made him wary. But a moment later, it was gone.
She blinked and stepped forward, walking past him to kick at the now loose pile of dried beans on the floor, sending a sprinkling over the dirt. “Long enough to know you could use a partner, and as it happens, so could I.”
“Look…” Rafe shuffled through his memories, trying to recall her name. “Cassi, right?”
The owl nodded, ruffling her wings proudly, the black-and-white speckles even more out of place than anything about him, though she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she spread her feathers, as though unconcerned to stand out. “Yes, Cassi.”
“Well, Cassi, thanks for the offer, but I’m fine,” he gruffly replied, bending to pick up his sword as she watched with an eyebrow slightly raised.