Xander wrapped his hand around the knob and slowly twisted. He stopped to look at his mate with his complete attention, waiting for her reaction as the door slid open.
His private library was in the tallest spire of the castle, a narrow circle three stories high with bookshelves lining every open wall and the windows in between them. Still, the many volumes he’d collected spilled out of the shelves and onto the ground, into piles that teetered on the edge of collapsing. A long narrow table in the center of the room acted as his workstation. The only other pieces of furniture were two leather armchairs, one worn and one intact, that sat before the oversized hearth.
Lyana stared at the room, mouth dropping open as she inhaled excitedly. Her wings fluttered as she raced inside, eyes lifting and turning and circling. Xander felt a rush of pure gold, like the richest hummingbird nectar, sweep over him.
He waited for a moment before he followed her inside, trying to blink away all the dreams drifting to the surface. But the feat proved impossible. Xander glanced around the room more familiar to him than any other in the castle as though seeing it for the first time. Because when he looked at the chairs, he no longer saw just chairs, but he and Lyana sitting in them, a book on their laps, a fire blazing as the windows frosted with the winter chill. And when he glanced at his desk, it wasn’t empty but covered in parchments as he and Lyana bent over scrolls and books scattered over the scratched wooden surface, debating the topic at hand. And when his gaze roamed the shelves towering thirty feet into the air, he saw Lyana flying up the narrow space, darting between the stacks, grabbing more volumes than her petite arms could carry.
Xander started, realizing that vision wasn’t in his head. His princess had taken off and her ivory wings pumped as she raced around the room, darting and dropping and twisting as her attention jumped from one spot to another. At first, he didn’t believe his eyes.
Then, with a sinking feeling, he did.
Because her arms weren’t full of books, and her focus wasn’t on the shelves but on the windows. The longer he watched, the more she began to remind him of the firebugs he and his brother used to catch as children—how they zipped and zoomed in the little glass jars, glowing like magic in the dark. Once he and Rafe had fallen asleep before they remembered to release them, and when they woke, the bugs were nothing more than motionless black pellets at the bottom of the glass. He had turned the jar over, trying to release them back into the air, but they’d simply fallen to the ground and disappeared between the blades of grass. It was only then that he realized all the buzzing in circles hadn’t been a show for his benefit, but a desperate attempt by the bugs to get out of the jar. He never caught them again after that.
“The view is spectacular,” Lyana marveled, nose against the glass as though if she pressed hard enough, she could be outside, too.
Xander cast another longing glance at the fireplace before straightening his shoulders and walking across the room to open one of the windows. The wind whistled as it rushed through the crack, ruffling the pages all around him. Lyana was by his side in a second. Xander gestured toward the landscape, pretending this was what he’d wanted to show her, trying to infuse his words with an enthusiasm he could no longer feel.
“From here, you can see the entire city of Pylaeon,” he told her. Lyana was enraptured, unaware of the lack of luster in his tone. “Taetanos’s Gate is that spot of white all the way over there between the mountains, and you can see the sun glinting off the river as it cuts through the center of the valley and into the city. The wooden homes along the outer edges are for the more modest ravens, while the stone ones closer to the castle and city center are home to some of the people you’ve been meeting. I don’t know if you can see, but over by the river, most of the buildings are on stilts or columns because during spring, the snow melts and the river spills over its embankments, flooding the streets. And do you notice the black archways spotting the city? There’s one to the left over there, and another over there, and there and there. Well, we call them spirit gates. They lead lost souls through the maze of our city and toward the river so they can follow the water to the entrance of Taetanos’s world. At least, that’s what we’re told as children. And that over there is the main town square, though it’s more of a rectangle really, since the river cuts between the two halves. The bridge connecting each side is the widest and flattest one in the city. And the fountains on either side siphon water from the river to make them shoot into the air like that. Every month there’s a market that gets set up and everyone in the town goes just to gossip, even if they have nothing to sell and no money to buy things. This time of year, children sometimes swim in the shallows of the fountains. But in the winter, the water often freezes over, and they hold hands while they slip and slide across the ice. I used to watch them all the time as a child, wishing I could go out and join them, but I never did, because, well, you of all people must understand why. Anyway…”
He trailed off, unsure what else to say. But he didn’t have to speak. Even without his words, her eyes widened, focusing on the smallest details as though trying to memorize everything she saw, as though trying to drink it all in.
After a few moments, she blinked, only then realizing he’d stopped talking, and turned to him with a curious groove on her brow. “You really love them, don’t you?”
“Huh?” Xander asked. “Who?”
“Your people,” she said, as though it were obvious.
“I’m sure no more than you loved yours,” Xander offered, feeling a little uncomfortable. Surely his actions hadn’t warranted such scrutiny.
But the warmth in her expression was still there, steady and strong as she shook her head with a half smile. “No, no, you really care for them, about them. I can tell from your voice, from the way you talk about your home. I loved my house and the doves, but I’m almost ashamed to admit, I loved myself more. But you don’t. You love them first, and yourself second.”
“Isn’t that what a future king is supposed to do?” he asked offhandedly, overwhelmed by eyes that seemed to probe into his soul.
“Probably, though my guess is they rarely do,” she murmured.
Xander slid his gaze back to the window, searching for a distraction or a shift in the conversation—anything to take the attention off him and how easily she saw through him, especially when she remained a mystery.
“Oh, look,” he exclaimed a little too loudly as he found a familiar figure down below—the owner of a set of speckled wings that could never belong to a raven. “I think that must be your friend Cassi in the practice yards, and that’s probably Rafe with her.”
The princess tensed beside him.
Xander turned from the window, observing how she watched her friend and his brother with a slight curl of lips. He suddenly remembered her words on the last night at the House of Peace, when they were standing at the edge of the isle, having their first few moments of honesty. She’d called Rafe rude and a grouch as a sneer passed across her features.
“You don’t like him very much, do you?” Xander asked softly. “My brother, I mean.”
The princess inhaled sharply as she spun toward him, eyes wide as though caught in some illicit act. Her wings dropped, and a small puff of air slipped through her lips. “Am I so obvious?”
A soft laugh escaped his lips. “A little.”
“I’m sorry—" Lyana paused, folding her lips.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
He was grinning now. “What?”
“Nothing, it’s just, well…” Her face scrunched tightly for a moment. “He never apologized,” she rushed to say, as though the confession were a flood she couldn’t control now that it had started. “He never apologized for tricking me in the trials, for pretending to be you. He acted smug when we returned to your guest quarters, and arrogant, and not the least bit sorry for fooling me, and I’m not sure I could ever actually like someone who acts like that.”
Xander’s throat constricte
d as he shifted his weight, mirth vanishing in an instant, because the princess could just as easily have been talking about him and his actions. Rafe hadn’t been the only one involved in that trickery.
As though she could read his thoughts, Lyana continued, voice smoother this time, no longer filled with ire, “I don’t understand how two people who look so similar could be so completely different. You are so kind, Xander, so honest, and I knew at a glance how horrible you felt about the trials. I could read the shame across your face as soon as you confessed the truth. But him? He just— He just— He—”
Lyana broke off, and her feathers bristled, leaving her words at that.
“He’s complicated.”
Xander sighed, turning from the window to lean against the shelf, feeling grounded and supported by the spines of his books as he faced the princess. He wasn’t surprised at her words. Lyana had grown up with a mother and father who perhaps loved one another. Her brother was her equal in the eyes of her people, a sibling they all cherished just as much as they did her. His childhood, Rafe’s childhood—they were as foreign to her as his home. But he didn’t want them to be. Lyana would never fully understand him until she understood his brother. His mate and his brother were the two most important people in his life. He wasn’t sure what he would do if they couldn’t find a way to get along.
“Rafe is good at putting on a front, at pushing people away," Xander continued. "He always has been. Because, well, it’s a lot to explain.”
Lyana remained silent, watching him, giving him the opening.
Feeling exposed, he worked through the discomfort. Lyana was his mate. His mate. She deserved to know even the darkest parts of his past. “My mother was the first princess in five generations to bring home a mate from the courtship trials. Before that, our house had been shunned, the last pick in a string of unlucky trials that left our princes and princesses outnumbered and unmatched. But when she returned with a falcon from the House of Prey, our people were ecstatic. They glorified her and my father as the saviors of Taetanos, the ones who would return the other gods’ favor to our small island. The day my mother went into labor with me, she rushed to my father’s rooms in her excitement, only to find him in bed with one of her chambermaids. She wanted to murder the girl, but my father begged for her life, telling my mother his lover was pregnant, too. And though she seems callous now, she wasn’t always that way, especially not with me or my father. She relented.”
“Rafe,” Lyana whispered in shock.
Xander nodded. “That’s how my brother, Rafe, was announced to the world. And for five years, he lived in the lowest level of the castle, hidden away with his mother but close enough for my father to visit them. When we were children, they both died, leaving Rafe an orphan. I ordered he be moved to the royal chambers, with rooms next to mine. And though he’s been my best friend for as long as I can remember, my mother and my people have never forgiven him.”
Lyana’s gaze slipped toward the window. “Forgiven him for what?”
Xander’s attention was pulled by an unseen force, falling to the courtyard below, where a raven and an owl sparred, swords arching, bodies fluid as though made for fighting. He had few memories of his father, but one had taken place in that very spot, as he was given his first sword. The weight had been awkward in his hand. He’d stumbled over the steps. But he’d made an effort, practicing the footwork again and again, so focused that he’d failed to notice when his father’s voice faded. Dripping with sweat, smiling because he thought he’d improved a little, Xander had spun, searching for his father’s approval. Instead, he’d been presented with his back. Those sleek brown wings were spread as the king knelt over his other son, the one who held a blade twice the size of Xander’s in two sturdy hands.
He looked at Lyana, tearing himself away from the memory and the view that had sparked it. “They’ve never forgiven Rafe for being the son my father loved more than me, the strong son, the warrior. And he’s never forgiven himself either, which is why he never lets anyone get close. He doesn’t think he deserves it.”
Lyana turned to him in sympathy. “I’m sure that can’t be true, Xander. Your father must have loved you both, just in different ways. How could a parent ever do anything but love his child? How could anyone do anything but love you?”
“Maybe you’re right,” Xander said indifferently as he pushed away from the wall and closed the window. He didn’t need pity, especially not from her. “Either way, it’s all in the past. But that’s why my brother is the way he is. And maybe now that you know, you might find it in your heart to forgive him for his rough edges.” Xander sighed, turning toward the door, needing air and quiet. “We should go. There’s probably a seamstress worried sick somewhere in the castle because the princess she’s supposed to be fitting is nowhere to be found.”
He offered her a wide smile, trying to make it as real as possible. Lyana did the same, questions flickering in her eyes as they both pretended everything was fine.
He was silent as he led her out of his library.
Not because there was nothing to say. No, there was plenty. But he couldn’t bring himself to explain the truth—how he knew his father had loved Rafe and not him. There were too many memories, too many examples, all too painful to dredge up from the pit he’d shoved them into. Even something as simple as their names was riddled with countless levels of hurt and confusion.
Before Xander was born, his mother had wanted to name him Aleksander to honor his father. For months, while he grew in her belly, she’d thought of him as little Xander, the endearing nickname his father had been given as a child. But discovering the affair changed all that and turned her loving heart into a bitter one. When he was born, she locked his father out of the room and named her son Lysander instead, a raven name through and through—her father's name. Four months later, when Rafe was born, the wound opened anew. Word traveled up from the servants’ quarters that the king had been by his mistress’s side and had proudly declared his bastard son his namesake, Aleksander Pallieus, gifting him the last name of a prince of the House of Prey. As soon as his mother found out, she shifted the paperwork, changing his surname to Ravenson, the one given to orphans and bastards in the House of Whispers.
Xander, of course, didn’t remember any of that—he’d been nothing more than a baby. But he heard the rumors growing up. And he remembered, as a boy, thinking that the way his mother resolutely called him Xander seemed to originate in spite rather than affection, especially as her eyes sharply slid to his father with an aura of victory. It was only after his father died, when his mother switched to calling him by his full name, Lysander, that he understood she’d only used the nickname so that Rafe couldn’t. They called him Alek back then, a time so long ago he hardly remembered it. As soon as Rafe had been old enough to understand the problematic history behind his true name, he forsook it, shortening Ravenson to Rafe, and he’d gone by that single defiant word ever since.
Even as a boy, Rafe had seen how his very existence had stolen something from Xander. And that was why he pushed everyone away—he didn’t want to take any more. For that unnecessary sacrifice, Xander loved him, and always would.
“Thank you,” Lyana murmured as he dropped her back at her chambers, pulling him from his thoughts. She stepped closer and leaned on the tips of her toes, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, a mark that tingled even after she eased away. “Thank you for showing me your library, Xander, and thank you for sharing a bit more of your world.”
A mystified grin settled on his lips. “Thank you for accepting it.”
Her shy answering smile was visible only for an instant before she slipped into her rooms, but it left him buoyant.
Maybe she hadn’t loved the books.
Maybe she had only loved the view.
But it was something.
Even if he went there to read and she went there to wonder, they might go together. It could still be their place—a place where they were honest and open with
each other, a place where companionship and perchance love might grow.
41
Cassi
The waterfall was like a beacon on the horizon as the moonlight turned the cascade to flowing silver. Cassi made her way swiftly across the valley, caring little about the sleeping town below, mind on her mission—on the god stone. Truth be told, she could have closed her eyes and still found it. The power tugged on her soul, exerting a magnetic pull that would have been impossible to ignore. But this wasn’t about shooting her dream-spirit through rock and air. It was about finding a path a solid body might traverse in the bright light of day. She used the information Lyana had so freely given and slipped beneath the falls, finding the entrance to the sacred nest almost immediately.
The cave was dark.
There were no lanterns, no sources of light, making it difficult for Cassi to distinguish any detail. She only knew she was following a hollow hall because of the lack of friction on her spirit, something that was always present when she forced her way through solid barriers. She moved slowly, trying to draw a map with her mind as she reached out, using the subtle resistance of stone as her only guide.
The thunder of water grew soft and distant after a while, a clue as to how far she’d traveled down the winding path, but that wasn’t what made her smile. As she turned another bend, the buzzing current in the air strengthened, and a new sound echoed down the empty corridor. It was the somewhat grating chirp of ravens, though tonight, the guttural caws were music to her ears.
She was close.
A soft bluish light blinked to life at the far reaches of her vision, but it was enough. Cassi abandoned her careful trek and flew toward the source of the light. Golden bars blocked her path, a gate like the one before the sacred nest in the House of Peace, but Cassi slid right through.
The Raven and the Dove Page 24