Xander frowned, confused.
Then he gasped.
A sensation like nothing he’d ever felt in his life passed through him, as though a ghost had reached into his chest and latched on to his soul, closing a fist around his heart, stealing the breath from his lungs. A bond was severed, disconnecting his mind from his body. The priest pushed and Xander flew back, wings useless as a wave of pressure sent him stumbling over the ground, off balance, legs and arms no longer responding. His mind screamed to fight. He tried to beat his wings and kick with his legs, but it was useless, like running into a stone wall armed with nothing but the feeble hope of toppling it.
The priest stood, eyes focused and bursting with gold sparks of lightning, then took a step toward Xander.
When the man looked toward the ground, Xander dropped to his knees. When he widened his eyes, Xander’s spine curled and his arms snaked behind his back, as if tied with invisible string. His wings arched above his head, as if in the middle of a rapid descent. Phantom fingers lifted his chin. The white feathers pinned to his chest suddenly felt like a target on a practice field. His heart pounded, thumping against his ribs, because he knew without a doubt this stranger wasn’t interested in playing games.
Another man stepped out from the shadows of the grove, then a woman. They stood to either side of the leader, paying him no attention, focusing on the princess by their feet, who was still lying lifeless against the ground.
Lyana!
No sound crossed Xander's lips, even as everything within him ached to fight, his voice trying to scratch and thrash and crawl its way out.
I’ll save us! I’ll figure this out!
But he couldn’t.
And he wouldn’t.
Because he didn’t even know what this was, didn’t even know what he was fighting. And for a brief moment, Xander wished Rafe were there—a desire so intense and so unwanted it burned across his thoughts with searing pain.
Rafe would have found a way to act.
He would have unleashed his raven cry.
He would have used his magic.
He would have done something.
But Xander wasn’t his brother. He had no god-gifted cry. No illicit magic. No battle-hardened instincts. And there was nothing he could do but freeze in horror, bound by invisible hands, as the man ripped the priestly robes from his shoulders, revealing a coarsely woven jacket and an array of blades along his belt. A shiver ran through Xander as a small dagger was pulled free.
The man walked forward, grim determination on his face.
Xander switched his gaze to Lyana. Her chest rose and fell. Her mouth parted. One of her legs twitched, then her eyelids fluttered open. Those emerald irises, dazed and confused, found him across the room. A wrinkle appeared on her forehead as she pushed her palm against the stone, sitting up.
I’m sorry, Xander thought.
I’m sorry I wasn’t enough.
The man drew back his arm, though Xander barely registered the way the sharp edge of the blade caught the light of the sun. Odd how the mind wandered in that last second of existence, stretching it into a whole lifetime of dreams. He and Lyana speaking their vows. The cheer of his people as they returned, a mated pair, the beginning of a new age for his house. The two of them at peace in their little haven of books and windows, a joining of two different sides. The sight of a smile finally returned to his mother’s lips as she held her first grandchild in her arms. Teaching his son how to read while Lyana trained their daughter how to fight. The laughter that would have returned to his quiet streets. The light and warmth that would have filled the dark halls of the castle. And lastly, the two of them, side by side on matching thrones as they watched their heirs fight for their own mates, small smiles on their lips as their eyes met, remembering the pain and confusion and heartache of the early days, and how it had all given way to a life of so much more.
He saw all of that.
Then just as quickly it was gone.
The blade plunged into his chest and Xander fell back. He stared through the bars at the top of the sacred nest, finding trees and sun and open sky, distantly hearing Lyana’s scream as his vision grew dim.
Then it faded.
He faded.
Entirely.
63
Rafe
As soon as the tremors stopped, Rafe jumped to his feet, heart in his throat.
Xander. Lyana.
Were they alive? Were they all right?
He had to go. He had to find them. He had to be sure.
Consumed by panic and fear, he didn’t hear the whistle until it was too late. The arrow sank deep, slicing through the wing joint in his back, eliciting a hiss through clenched teeth as he tried to fight the blinding flash of pain.
Rafe spun.
Beneath his skin his magic flared, racing to heal the wound. His eyes were sharp as they scanned the back corner of the room. Was it a guard sent by the queen? He couldn’t even articulate the idea that anyone had been sent by Xander.
When his gaze landed on his foe, he slackened, overcome.
“Cassi?” he asked, mouth falling open as the owl stepped from the shadows, bow already drawn with another arrow. All the warmth in his heart turned into a void. There was only one person who would have sent her to do this deed. One person, and he couldn’t even think her name for fear it would cut too deep—for fear he would never recover from that dark truth.
Cassi didn’t answer, anyway.
She just let another arrow fly free.
Rafe dove to one side, snapping his wings close to his back so he could roll across the floor, gritting his teeth as the wound hurt with the heat of molten iron. He stopped on his knees, crouching low, and reached to remove the arrow still lodged in his back. Again, Cassi stretched her arm, preparing another strike. Rafe whipped his twin blades from their scabbards and jumped to his feet. By the time the arrow was in the air, he was ready, using the edges of his swords to swat it from the sky.
He charged, focus acute and blades blazing.
But his heart wasn’t in it.
Rafe stopped before crashing into Cassi, sure he could have used his size and skill to overwhelm her, but not trying. Because it was Cassi. His friend, he’d thought, after so many hours spent on the practice fields together.
“Why are you here? Why are you doing this?”
Cassi discarded the bow and reached for her sword, silver eyes as sharp as the blade in her hands. “It’s not personal, Rafe.”
He snorted and stepped closer.
She stepped back and to the side.
They circled, locking eyes as they sized each other up in the narrow space of the room. Rafe was used to fighting in open skies and large arenas, where he could fly and swing his arms without fear of obstacles. But this was different. His mother’s rooms were modest. The floor was littered with furniture half-eaten by flames. The light was poor. The ceiling low. And already, the air had grown cloudy with the dust wafting up from their footsteps.
“We both know I’m better with a sword,” he said, trying to give her a way out of the mess she’d started.
Cassi lifted a single brow, tilting her head. “Do we?”
She attacked.
Rafe jerked back, surprised at her speed. Cassi swung, the arc wide over her head. Rafe met her blow with both swords raised, taking the force of her assault easily. But he realized too late that the move was a distraction. As soon as his blades met hers, she dropped and spun, reaching for a dagger hidden at her back and cutting a deep slice into his thigh. A cloud of dust burned his eyes as she pumped her wings, retreating before he could counterattack. Magic flared, traveling down his body to the gash.