“We both know it wasn’t,” he murmured, frowning.
Cassi scoffed, rolling her eyes. Her king lifted a single brow in response, making her pause, swallow, and remember which world she was in—which monarch stood beside her. “What else could it have been? Lyana’s birthday is only a fortnight away, and if she is who we think she is, it would be no surprise if the power started responding earlier than we thought.”
“It’s possible,” he said sternly as he crossed his arms and turned to the window, watching the clouds churn as though they were real, and as though they carried news. “But so are any number of other things. The magic binding the isles to the sky is not as strong as it once was, you and I both know that, and there’s no telling for sure what disturbed it. Not yet.”
Cassi bit her tongue.
“I received no word of a dragon responding to the call of the magic, and without that, there’s no way to know where the surge came from,” her king continued, just to press the point a little further. He studied her for a moment before taking a seat at the table. “Now, we have more important things to discuss. You have updates for me, I assume?”
“I do,” Cassi responded, emptying her voice of personality as she tried to focus on the business at hand.
With a simple thought, the dream shifted. Two quills and sheets of paper appeared, some blank, some filled with the parts of the plan they’d already figured out. Cassi dipped her feather into a pot of ink and began to scrawl as she described what she’d learned on her many midnight adventures, but only half of her mind was paying attention.
The other half was in her own dreams, not his. Because the earthquake had to have been Lyana. Cassi’s lonely heart couldn’t accept the idea of it coming from anyone else. Her friend was the queen who was prophesized. And in two weeks, Cassi was bringing Lyana beneath the mist. There would be no more lies. No more secrets. No more half-lives. They would walk across the wet wooden planks of the floating cities together. Cassi would show Lyana her power, would show Lyana that magic was to be treasured, not despised. That it was beautiful. That the people who wielded it were beautiful too. And that the life her friend had always been aching for, of adventure and travel and choice, could be hers—could be theirs.
As she bid her king goodbye, other thoughts filtered in.
That she would meet him, see him, touch him.
That in two weeks, she would no longer be the figment of his imagination, the invisible spirit in the night, but a girl, flesh and blood, made of magic and wings. He would see the real her, no more hiding, and she would see the real him.
Malek.
Adult. And grown. And tangible.
By the time Cassi returned to her body, she was wide awake. No matter how hard she rolled from one side to the other to get some sleep—some real sleep—her eyes remained resolutely open. So, she slipped out of bed and went to the balcony to sit with her feet dangling over the edge as a cool breeze brushed against her cheeks and ruffled her feathers, wrapping her in a loving embrace. She leaned forward, resting her brow against the rail, hands gripping the spindles as her gaze landed on the moon, creamy, glowing, and so familiar.
It looked so much like her mother’s eyes.
Two weeks, Cassi thought one final time.
Then she’d be home—wrapped in his arms, surrounded by the scent of salty air made sweet with magic, a thing she’d tried to recreate in the dreams but always failed to reproduce. Because even magic had its limits, and there were some things that just weren’t the same unless they were tangible and physical and real.
Cassi was so lost in the moon and her memories, she hardly even noticed the little white dart flashing across her vision, a shooting star passing through the night, there and gone in one fleeting moment. It was only much later that she realized it had been Lyana, getting herself into trouble once more.
47
Lyana
Lyana stood on the balcony, peeking through the curtains at the raven sprawled across his bed, repeating to herself, This is a bad idea. This is a bad idea. This is a bad idea. The last time they’d spoken, he’d yelled at her to leave his room, a room with crystal walls that was hundreds of miles away, and yet could have been this one. He’d said they weren’t friends. He’d said he was leaving all memory of her behind. He’d said all those things, and yet today in the square, as the stones had fallen and his body was all that had kept her safe, he’d said something else.
I’ve got you.
Lyana stepped out of the shadows and into the soft light of the lantern by his bed, low on oil but still burning, bright enough for her to see the grooves of his face, relaxed in sleep but not peaceful. She wasn’t sure she had ever seen him look truly at ease—it was as if he lived his whole life teetering on an edge—but tonight, she knew the cause of his distress, the broken bends in his hollow bones, the blood still caked across his feathers. And this? This at least she knew how to fix, whether he wanted her to or not.
Lyana knelt beside the mattress, leaning over his bare shoulders so she could gently graze the top sides of his feathers with her fingers, magic already prickling to life beneath her skin.
Rafe sighed.
For a moment, the wrinkles on the bridge of his nose disappeared, then he blinked. Lyana watched the sleep leave his eyes, and the contentment too, as his vision cleared and recognition sparked.
“What are—”
“Stay still,” Lyana softly commanded, pressing her palms against a broken part of his wings, hearing him hiss. She didn't relent.
“I’m fine,” he protested.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“You shouldn’t have come,” he grunted. One side of her lips tugged into the smallest smile at the words, because they were empty of everything except stubborn pride. His muscles were loose and he surrendered to her touch as her magic intensified. Even though his expression remained obstinate, his body relaxed as her power shot over his skin. “I don’t need your help.”
“Whether you need it or not is irrelevant. I’m giving it regardless,” Lyana countered. “So be quiet and accept it, because unlike all the bodies I saw piled in the square, and all the children who were crushed, and all the people who went to sleep tonight not sure if they’d wake up, you—” She paused to compose herself, realizing the word had come out like snarl. “You, I can help.”
He winced, closing his eyes. “Thank you.”
The words were so quiet she almost didn’t hear them. And though a snappy retort was always on the tip of her tongue whenever she was around him, Lyana sighed instead. “Thank you. I would’ve— I should’ve—” The memory flashed clear as day—an avalanche falling toward her, one split second from sending her to the grave. A shiver crept up her spine. “You saved my life.”
“It was no big deal,” he murmured lamely, eyes darting every which way before landing back on her face, deep and rich and full of much more feeling than his words.
Lyana held his gaze and pointedly lifted her brows.
“You’re my brother’s mate,” he offered as an explanation, though it sounded more like a reminder—to her, to him, to both.
“Did you know you’d survive?” she asked.
Rafe paused for a long time before he answered, “No.”
She looked at her hands, watching his wings heal inch by inch beneath her touch, and focused on the work instead of the unease coiling in her stomach. But the silence just made her nausea grow, as though her body and mind were at war—one aware that what she was doing was wrong in every sense, and the other heedless as it took pleasure in the sizzling heat of his skin, in the searing twinge of his magic rising to meet hers.
Rafe writhed his shoulder blades and turned his head so it faced the wall instead of her. Then he cleared his throat and asked, “So, how are things going with Xander?”
Lyana kept her focus on the injuries healing beneath her glowing fingers, trying not to wonder why he kept bringing the conversation back to the one topic she didn’t want to discu
ss with him. “Fine, I guess.”
“The two of you seemed happy. In the square I mean, before everything happened…”
“I didn’t know you were watching.”
“I wasn’t,” he hastily replied, head twitching as if he had winced again. An amused smile played on her lips as he went on, “I mean, I was, obviously. But just for your protection— Xander’s protection— Both of your protections.” He managed to toss her a frustrated look. “Would you just answer the question?”
“Which was…?”
“Are you happy?” He paused again. “With Xander?”
“We’re…” Lyana searched for the words, keeping her attention on his wing. The area beneath her hands had been healed for a few moments now. She shifted her weight, moving farther down his wing, far enough from his torso to breathe, far enough the air coming in from the balcony cooled the back of her neck—just enough of a shock to clear the turmoil from her mind.
“We’re different people,” she continued as she brushed her fingers down the outer edge of his wing, finding the breaks in what should have been smooth bone. A shiver rippled over his feathers, catching the light from the lamp, the way she imagined an ocean wave might reflect the moon at midnight. “But maybe we’ve found a happy medium.”
Her eyes flicked up, finding his.
He dropped his gaze. “Good.”
Lyana finished healing the rest of his left wing before standing and walking to the other side of the bed, sensing his attention as she knelt at the far side of his right wing, starting from the outside this time.
“Why are you limping?” he asked softly.
“I can’t heal myself,” Lyana said with a shrug. “It’s nothing, just a scratch, gone in a few days.”
He frowned. Lyana could feel it without having to look up, as though his dissatisfaction were a tangible thing pressing against her, a finger nudging her arm like a petulant child. Somehow, she found it endearing.
“I’m fine, really.”
“I—” He released a heavy breath. “It’s a little strange, isn’t it?”
This time, Lyana looked at him. “What?”
“You’ve never met anyone else with magic, have you?”
She shook her head.
“Neither have I." The crease in his brow deepened. "What are the chances that when we finally do, the person we meet has the exact opposite power to ours? Strange, right?”
“Unless…” Lyana swallowed to ease the sudden dryness of her throat. Because she’d never spoken to anyone about her theories, not even to Cassi. Magic was forbidden. Even mentioning it was dangerous. But here, in the ever-shrinking firelight, her power touching his, an act more soul-baring than words could ever be, Lyana felt safe enough to wonder out loud. “What if it’s not magic?” He cocked his head, confused, as she pursued, “What if it’s a gift? From the gods?”
She waited for his instant denial, his joke or his rejection, but it never came.
Instead, he simply asked, “How do you mean?”
“Have you ever been to your sacred nest?” Her mind was already jumping ahead, her magic flaring with her excitement. Palms glowing more brightly, she funneled all her power into his bones, moving to a spot still unhealed.
“Not since I got my wings,” he answered.
“Well, I’ve been to mine, plenty of times, and there’s something about being so close to the god stones—” Lyana flicked her gaze to his face, finding him enraptured, then returned to her work, letting her thoughts race as her hands moved again and again, faster as the energy pulsed through her. “When I was there, my magic would light up, as though something within me recognized the power inside the stones, as though they were one and the same, as though Aethios himself had reached out and put a little piece of his spirit in me. I don’t think what we have is magic, Rafe, at least not the kind our ancestors feared. I think we were chosen—by Aethios, by Taetanos, by all the gods even. We were chosen for something more.”
“For what?” he whispered.
Lyana put her hand on his shoulder, realizing that in her frenzy she’d finished healing his other wing and was kneeling beside him. Her fingers traced the curve of his biceps, running along his skin. His eyes followed.
“I don’t know. I only know I’ve always had this feeling,” she said, mesmerized by the contrast of her dark skin against his. She was made for the golden glow of the sun, just like her magic, while he was made for the silvery sheen of the moon. Two opposites, yet the same. “This feeling that I was meant for something more. A yearning in my gut, a beating of my heart, a sense that my destiny is bigger than what’s expected of me. And I’ve always been looking for it, searching the world for a sign, for a clue, for a map to the adventure I know is waiting. I haven’t found it yet, but I found you, and maybe we were supposed to figure out the rest together.”
Her fingers had stopped and rested in his, curled so they almost held hands but not quite. Silver-and-gold static filled the empty space, crackling and sizzling like stolen starlight.
“Ana…” Rafe said her name as though it caused him pain. He removed his hand and snapped his wings closed, rolling to the other side of the bed and jumping to his feet. His face was stone, carved into resolute blankness. “You should go.”
“Rafe,” she countered. Even as the word rolled out of her lips, she knew it wasn’t enough, didn’t pierce him the way her informal name, Ana—short and simple and steeped in so many unspoken implications—pierced her. Again, she was struck with the frustration of knowing Rafe wasn’t the name she was supposed to use, but Lysander wasn’t either, not anymore. He was someone else, something else, something she hadn’t figured out yet.
And she wouldn’t tonight.
Not when his wall was back up.
He walked to the curtain draped over his balcony and pulled it aside, looking at everything and yet nothing, certainly not at her. “You should leave, now, before anyone sees you.”
Lyana listened.
She crossed the room and stepped out into the shadows of night, breathing the fresh air, her chest tight. As she spread her wings, she looked over her shoulder, meeting the blue eyes watching her beneath hooded brows. “I’ll be back.”
With a beating of wings she was gone, not giving him the chance to tell her no.
48
Xander
He’d woken before dawn, but it had still taken Xander the better part of the morning to find the courage to walk to Rafe’s room. And now he was there. Standing outside the door. Knuckles lifted to knock. Hesitating.
After a few minutes, he finally twisted the knob and barged into his brother’s room unannounced the way he usually did. Rafe was in bed, arms thrown over his head, staring at the ceiling with bloodshot eyes as though the clouds painted there held the key to the universe.
“You look like hell,” Xander said, forcing a cheerful smile to his lips, fighting the wave of anxiety coursing through his veins and making him jittery.
The conversation with his mother played on repeat in his head.
As did the image of Rafe and Lyana, buried in the wreckage and tangled like star-crossed lovers in the last scene of a tragic play.
But what to say?
And how to say it?
And—
Xander funneled all the anger and the questions into his invisible fist, storing them away to be dealt with later, because now he needed to remain calm. Everything would go so much smoother if he could pass it all off as a ridiculous joke.
Rafe threw him a brief glance. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“How are you feeling?” Xander asked, perching on the stool in the corner of the room, his feet on the rungs. Casual. Ordinary.
Rafe sat up and flared his wings as he ran his hands over his face, pushing sleep and exhaustion away before taking a deep breath. “Awful, but alive.”
Xander studied the bends beneath his brother's feathers, all exactly where they were supposed to be, no longer broken and battered and jutting out at all en
ds. They didn’t talk about Rafe’s magic. Not really. It was like dust, to be swept under the rug, there but not there, out of sight and out of mind, until it was too obvious to ignore. Now was one of those times.
“That was…” Xander searched for the word, eyes continuing to rove over the injuries that were no longer there. “Fast.”
Rafe knew what he meant.
He closed his wings as he stood, hiding them behind his back and joining Xander at the window. “It looked worse than it was.”
“It looked bad, Rafe,” Xander said quietly. “It looked fatal. It was fatal…to nearly everyone else.”
The edge of Rafe’s lip rose, though his eyes remained stormy. “Let me guess, the people are talking?”
“Can you blame them?”
“No.” Rafe faced him, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes softening. “What do you need me to do?”
“My mother wants me to send you away,” Xander said in a lighthearted tone.
He expected Rafe to respond with a snort and, Banishment again? How unoriginal.
Or perhaps a roll of his eyes and a tired sigh.
Or maybe even a grin and, A vacation? Lovely.
Instead, Rafe held his gaze, features disturbingly still as he asked, “Should you?”
A nervous laugh spilled from Xander’s lips. “Come on. It’s just gossip.”
“It’s only gossip if it’s not true.”
“Rafe, you’re not cursed.”
His brother just shrugged.
“Rafe,” Xander insisted, putting his hand on his brother’s shoulder.
Shirking the hold, Rafe stepped back. “Maybe you should send me away, Xander. You don’t need me anymore. You have a mate and a kingdom, and I’m just a liability.”
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