“How can you say that?” Xander squinted, as if unable to recognize the man before him. Was this why Rafe had been spending hours upon hours in the practice field swinging a sword? Never coming to lunch or to dinner? Hardly coming to his room at night to talk? Because he was afraid of being replaced? “You’re my brother. I’ll always need you. And if you weren’t the way you are, if you were anyone else, my mate would be dead and my kingdom lost, and that’s the truth, no matter what anyone else believes. All right?”
Rafe raised his chin almost defiantly. “All right.”
“Good.” Xander said again and offered his brother a wry look. “Now really try to hold on to everything I just said, because you’re not going to like what comes next.”
Rafe scowled.
“I need you to stay in your rooms, out of sight, until after the mating ceremony.”
The blue glare deepened, but it had a resigned edge.
“I know, I know.” Xander held up his arms. “But people need to believe you’re recovering on a normal timeline. Well, a plausible timeline anyway. A few weeks and hopefully this will seem like old news.”
Xander didn’t want to give voice to the ugly thought that shouldn't be in his head, the thought he tried to push down, down, down his right arm into the invisible fist where all the malicious, nasty parts of him lived—but he couldn’t quite get rid of it.
And by then, Lyana will be mine, before the gods.
It was jealous, spiteful, and he hated himself for it.
But it was true.
He couldn’t bring himself to ask Rafe about the courtship trials now, not with that horrible thought knocking all the rest out of place. He didn’t want to accuse his brother or his mate. He didn’t want to place blame where there was none to place. Because it couldn’t be true. There was no way. Rafe loved him. Rafe was loyal. Rafe would never betray him like that, never, not with the past they shared.
He turned the conversation to lighter topics and stayed for a while longer, smiling and laughing with his brother, purging the unclean feeling before he left. By the time he got to the princess’s room, he was himself again, and the sight of her smile made his day all the brighter.
“How are you feeling?” he asked as he stopped just inside the threshold, unsure if he was welcome.
Lyana was resting in her bed, being primped by the servants, tossing one of them an annoyed look as her pillow was stripped away to be fluffed. Her calf was wrapped in a fresh bandage, which meant the healers had stopped by that morning.
Sensing his gaze, she wiggled her exposed toes and said, “I’m fine.” But then she eyed him suspiciously, even as her grin widened. “Unless you mean to drag me to more lessons, in which case, I’m in excruciating pain and don’t wish to be disturbed.”
A laugh popped out before he could stop it. “No, no, I promise.”
Her eyes sparkled.
She was happy today, invigorated in a way he hadn’t expected, as though the encounter the day before had somehow freed her, made her comfortable enough in the castle and on the isle to finally let him in.
“Actually…” Xander coughed and cleared his throat as he took a few steps closer, so he could sit at the edge of her bed, their eyes at the same level. “I thought, if you were feeling healthy enough, you might want to come with me to visit the injured?”
Her expression turned somber.
“I just…” he continued, unwilling to ruin her mood. “I thought it would lift their spirits, to have their prince and new princess visit and offer Taetanos’s blessing. I can teach you the words on the way, they’re simple enough. I wish there was more to do, but the healers are doing their best. No matter how small, I want to do something.”
Lyana grasped his hand. “I’d love to.”
“Really?” he asked, not surprised so much as hopeful—hopeful this could be a turning point for them, maybe the start of something deeper.
Lyana squeezed his fingers. “There’s nothing I’d love to do more.”
49
Rafe
Rafe spent most of his day praying she wouldn’t come, hoping she’d been nothing more than a dream, telling himself she hadn’t meant her parting words, but he couldn’t ignore the pang in his heart when he heard the swish of feathers brushing against his curtains in the late, late hours of the night.
“I know you’re awake,” she drawled softly as she stepped into the room, her boots scuffing over the wooden floorboards.
He knew they were boots because the silk slippers most women wore in the castle would have been silent, and the very idea that she was wearing shoes meant for outdoors provoked a sinking feeling in his gut. Still, he kept his back to the balcony, cheek resting on his hand as he breathed slowly and steadily, feigning sleep on the off chance she might turn around and fly away.
She didn’t.
She sighed, and the wood stool in the corner, the one usually occupied by Xander, creaked softly as it took her weight.
“I had an idea today,” she said conversationally, as though they were two people at a dinner table instead of an intruder and a man who clearly—well, he hoped clearly—wanted to be left alone. “Xander took me outside the castle walls, and we traveled to the houses of everyone who was injured in the earthquake, saying a blessing to Taetanos over their bodies. Some of them were awake but weak, and some of them had yet to open their eyes though their chests still rose and fell with breath. But their families were so grateful—they truly believed a simple prayer from their future king and queen would make all the difference. And I realized, as I said goodbye and they kissed my hand and looked at me through grateful eyes, that I could do much, much more to help.”
Rafe sat up and spun in an instant. “No.”
“I knew you were awake.” Her grin was a triumphant thing that stretched from ear to ear.
“And I knew you were reckless,” he countered, a frown tugging at his brow, “but I didn’t take you for a fool.”
“Is it so foolish to want to save lives?” she asked. “I would think it far more foolish to sit back and watch them die when I know in my heart I could save them.”
He stood and made an imploring gesture with his hands. “It’s dangerous.”
“I didn’t think a man who faced a dragon on his own would ever say something so cowardly.”
The words struck him like a blow. “That was different.”
The princess just shrugged. “Why?”
“Because”—he half growled, half spat the word as he took a step closer—“my life isn’t important. Not the way yours is. Not the way Xander’s is.”
She looked away and back at him before she said, “Your life is important to me.”
“And yet,” Rafe said, seizing the upper hand and trying to ignore something her eyes stirred deep inside him, “you would risk it, and your own, on a—”
“Did you think about what I said?”
All I did the whole damn day was think about you, he thought as a sneer crossed his face, directed more at himself than at her. “No.”
“Liar,” Lyana muttered. “You just don’t want to admit it, because maybe what I said was true. Maybe we were chosen by the gods for something more. Maybe we were chosen for this. To help people.”
“Even if we were, what are you planning to do?” Rafe asked, pointedly eying her wings. “You don’t exactly blend in as it is, and if anyone sees you, they won’t care that you think your power is a gift from the gods. They’ll label it magic and condemn you.”
“I brought a large cloak,” she said slowly.
Rafe noticed the black fabric in her hands, which she rung with her fingers, and he couldn’t help it—he bent over at the waist as laughter erupted, heavy with disbelief. For a moment, he really thought he was losing his mind. “A cloak?”
Lyana crossed her arms and glared. One white wing whipped around, shoving his shoulder and sending him off balance. “I wasn’t finished,” she practically snarled. “I brought a large cloak, so once we get o
n the other side of the castle wall, it’ll cover my wings, and we can walk from house to house instead of flying. It’ll take longer, but we have less of a chance of being seen. Xander told me the healers were giving all the injured sleeping tonics, so they shouldn’t wake up if we sneak in, and either way, I’ll keep the hood up so my face is covered in shadow. I noticed that nearly every house in Pylaeon has a balcony of some kind by all the windows, so it should be easy enough to slip in and out quickly.”
The gods.
It actually wasn’t a completely horrible plan.
“How are you planning to get out of the castle unseen?" he asked, not yet willing to agree. "You can’t fly, not with those white feathers of yours.”
Lyana smiled sweetly. “That’s where I was hoping you might be able to help.”
Rafe groaned and rubbed his face, his mind in turmoil. On the one hand, it was the most reckless idea he’d ever heard. On the other, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to live with himself if ravens died when he could have helped save them—or if something happened to the princess. The gleam in her eye said she wouldn’t take no for an answer, and he had the horrible feeling that even if he didn’t accompany her, she’d go through with her plan anyway. Rafe knew what happened to ravens caught with magic—the sound sometimes haunted his dreams, that unmistakable whistle of the executioner’s blade slicing through air before a dry thud announced the job was done. Beheadings were public affairs, though he could never bring himself to watch. Instead, he’d observe the crowd. Sometimes, that was worse. The cries of the loved ones. The cheers from everyone else. The haunting fear in Xander’s eyes as he glanced at Rafe, wondering if he would be next.
No.
He couldn’t let that happen.
Not to her.
“I know a way,” he admitted. The words came out in the barest whisper, as though his throat had fought to keep them in. “There’s a passage. My father once used it to sneak my mother into the castle, before he had rooms set up for her among the servants'. Xander and I used it as boys. It’s old, as old as the castle itself. My brother and I used to wonder if it came from a time before the isles were lifted into the sky, when war was common and quick escapes more common still.”
As he spoke, Lyana’s eyes shone with intrigue. She clasped her hands to her chest, fingertips turning pink from being squeezed so tightly.
Rafe shook his head.
What had he gotten himself into?
“Let’s go,” Lyana blurted, taking a step toward the door.
“Hold on.” Rafe grabbed her arm. “Let me see the cloak first.”
Lyana obliged and threw the fabric over her shoulders. It was a deep-black velvet, expensive but not necessarily royal. There were no jewels or gems on it, no markings of any kind, and from a distance, it might pass for something cheaper. Most importantly, when the hood was pulled up, it fell all the way to her nose, making him wonder if she could see. The back was voluminous enough to cover her wings and still trail on the floor.
“Where in all the houses did you find this?” he asked in wonder.
Lyana dropped the hood as she pulled the fabric close. “My grandmother was a, shall we say, large woman, and she used to complain that her wings would get cold when she ventured outside, so my grandfather had this made as a gift. When she passed, he gave it to me because I loved how much it still smelled like her.”
The affection in her tone brought a warm feeling to his heart, a tender sensation he wasn’t used to but liked. Though there was something else too, a subtle sort of yearning as he wondered what it must have been like to grow up with a family like that.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have laughed when you said you brought a large cloak,” he teased.
Lyana shook her head with a satisfied, “Hmph.”
He eyed her hands. “Do you have gloves?”
She pushed the cloak aside to take two black gloves from a pocket in her jacket, pulling them over her fingers.
“What about something for your neck and chin?”
Again, Lyana produced a disguise in the shape of a deep ebony fur that would cover the exposed skin beneath her hood.
“Not the first time you’ve ever snuck out of a castle,” he guessed, unable to fight the desire to smile at her antics.
Lyana studied him as he, too, donned gloves and a dark outfit meant to blend with the night, then pulled a hood over his eyes, shrouding his features. “Not yours either.”
He nodded at her. “Come on, then, before I change my mind.”
Leading the princess down the halls, he was careful to peek around each corner, searching for guards or servants on their nightly rounds. The passage was in the underbelly of the castle, not as deep underground as his mother’s room had once been, but close. The path was dark and dank. Moisture from the soil seeped through the stones, leaving a layer of slick algae and moss. They moved carefully, and after a few stumbles, Lyana reached out to take his hand for balance. He tried not to think about how comforting her fingers felt, entwined through his, how soothing, how natural. When they reached the end of the passage, he broke hold to open the heavy iron gate, made to look like another sewage hole in the street.
From there, it was her turn to lead. They took a few wrong, circular routes before she finally found her bearings in a city that was still foreign to her, and they made it to the first of the injured. Lyana stared at the building, studying the windows and doors, fighting to remember.
“That one,” she whispered, pointing to a balcony on the left of the second story. “That was his room.”
Rafe nodded, taking to the air with a single pump of his wings to land softly on the platform. He pressed his nose to the window, trying to see through the shadows of the room, until he found a small body curled on the bed and turned, bending to offer Lyana his hand. Careful not to use her wings, she leaped. It took two tries before he caught her forearm firmly enough to drag her up. On the balcony, Lyana slid her knife through the narrow slit in the window, clicking the latch. They were in. She rushed to the child fast asleep beneath the covers, stripped off her gloves, and closed her eyes, focusing on the work.
Rafe, on the other hand, stood guard in the darkness, hardly able to blink as he watched her, mesmerized. The grimace on the child’s lips disappeared. His raspy wheezing eased into long, smooth, flowing breaths. The tight little bundle of his body loosened, more comfortable as the pain seeped from his bones. And Lyana was a vision, lips slightly open, features relaxed. The golden light emanating from her hands glittered like the soft rays of the morning sun sifting through the clouds. And for a moment, he finally saw what she saw. That it wasn’t magic. It was something more. Her god, Aethios, flowing through her, giving her the power to heal the world.
Rafe had spent most of his life resenting his magic. It had saved him, but not his parents. It had made him an outcast, something to be feared. It had made him a fugitive, someone filled with fear. It had turned his brother into a liar and his life into a lie. But standing there, watching her, for the first time Rafe understood his magic was a gift.
Because his magic had saved her.
His magic had created this moment.
And she, and this, were magnificent.
50
Lyana
Lyana woke bleary-eyed and exhausted, but feeling better than she had in weeks. Maybe even months. Maybe…ever.
Finally, she wasn’t just sitting around, dreaming of something more, waiting for her life to find her. Finally, she was out doing something, something good, something with her magic. They’d only made it to four homes, but that was still four people who would wake up this morning miraculously healed, thanking their god, alive when they otherwise might not have been. And Lyana had made it happen.
Well, she and Rafe.
They’d made it happen together.
“What’s got you grinning like a buffoon this morning?” Cassi asked as she slipped through the door between their rooms and collapsed on Lyana’s bed, looking a little blea
ry-eyed and exhausted herself.
“Nothing,” Lyana murmured, sighing. Try as she might to arrange her face into a more appropriate expression, her lips remained resolutely wide.
Cassi stared. “Nothing.”
“It’s a beautiful day,” Lyana gushed, attributing her enthusiasm into something that might make a little more sense.
Leaving Cassi in bed, Lyana jumped to her feet and threw the curtains open as if her body had too much energy and could do nothing but explode with motion. The sun was high, higher than when she usually woke up, though she normally went to bed much earlier. And the sky was a clear, bright blue, reminding her of something else, someone else. She had the sense that she was exactly where she was supposed to be—a wonderfully foreign yet comforting feeling.
“Did they slip you some sort of herb for the pain? I’ve heard rumors that medicine isn’t the only thing they brew in the House of Paradise…” Cassi frowned, watching her in confusion.
Lyana pranced back to the bed, hopping from foot to foot. “Nope, nothing. My leg feels fine.”
Cassi watched her warily, nonetheless. “You’re a little too happy, even for you.”
“Honestly, Cassi,” Lyana said, hands on hips. “Can’t you just wipe the frown from your face and join me in this marvelous, wondrous, beautiful morning?”
Cassi watched her for another moment, then rolled off the bed to take a step toward the tray in the corner of the room, which Lyana hadn’t even noticed. She lifted the lid of the kettle, sniffing it. “What did they put in this?”
Lyana was prepared to argue with her friend some more, but her door crashed open, banging against the wall with a thunderous boom.
“Lyana!”
It was Xander.
An out-of-breath, smiling, excited Xander, as full of awe as she was. He paused, and his body jerked as though he suddenly remembered where he was. His eyes popping, he offered her a low bow before rising slowly. The sight made her feel even lighter.
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