I know exactly what she speaks of, and the thought of her trapped in that cage for all those years grips my chest with an iron fist, each breath crushed beneath the weight of regret. “You were lost to me,” I murmur, my voice hoarse with unspoken sorrow. “Just as much as you were to everyone else. I couldn’t help you, Zyphoro.” A bitter sting pricks behind my eyes, and I swallow hard against it. “I couldn’t even remember that I’d lost you.”
A wry smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, sharp and knowing, as she waves her fingers. The shadowy blade in her hand dissipates into nothingness, a phantom of her fury. “I wish I could believe that, brother,” she says, her tone laced with quiet cynicism. “I truly do. But as every creature who’s had the misfortune of loving you learns sooner or later, you and deceit walk hand in hand.”
Before I can muster another word, she ensures she has the last. Her wings burst from her back, the motion so forceful it tears through the air with a whip-crack sound. The updraft nearly stings my face, forcing me to turn away as feathers scatter like dark embers in the wind. She steps backward without hesitation, falling over the edge, her silhouette vanishing from sight before reappearing in a graceful arc. She swoops across the deck and climbs into the sky, weaving effortlessly among the seabirds as she heads for the shore, her figure cutting through the burnt orange glow of dawn.
“I would have saved you if I could,” I murmur to her distant form, though I know my words will never reach her.
The descent down the ladder gives me far too much time to stew in my thoughts, her words lingering like echoes in my head. Zyphoro has never softened her truths, nor has she hidden the cold fact that she would kill me if it came to that. I do not doubt her. In some strange, twisted way, I appreciate her candor. She has made my failings unmistakably clear, and if I fall short again, knowing she would end me feels almost...reassuring.
When my boots finally hit the deck, I hear a rough cough behind me. Turning, I find Orios standing there, and as always, I’m struck by the sheer immensity of him. Even stripped of his Reaper’s armor, he remains a towering monolith of muscle with his long, thick black hair tied back in a knot, though lately, he leaves much of it loose to fall over his broad shoulders, the dark strands framing his stony expression.
Orios never waits for orders. By the time I notice a task needs doing, he’s already halfway through it, no matter how grueling or thankless the work. It’s a quality I respect, perhaps the one I admire most. But above all, what sets him apart is his silence. Unlike the other Fae aboard this damned vessel, who seem to relish every opportunity to point out their prince’s flaws, Orios keeps his opinions and his judgments to himself.
For that alone, he’s earned my favor.
“Rook,” Orios says, his tone steady. “Do you want us to go ashore armored and armed?”
I appreciate his vigilance. “Only lightly. It’s best we move among the people quietly and avoid drawing attention. Wear layers. Hide your runes.”
He nods, still so rigid and disciplined, as if he were back in line with the Reapers on the sparring grounds. “As you wish.”
With a sharp turn, he heads below deck, his every step a stark reminder of Baev’kalath. Much like that cursed ladder is of losing my wings.
Word has reached me of the chaos consuming my kingdom. Lady Ilyra’s spies have proven invaluable. Their messages carried on the wind, painting a grim portrait of what’s unfolding. As one of my most trusted advisors, she governs in my absence, but even her influence falters. The noble thrall houses, already fractious, refuse to yield, their infighting so bitter that the Legion of Saints roams freely, unchecked and unchallenged. The Sundered Kingdoms are living up to their name in ways I never dared imagine.
While the Mordorin holds dominion over the Untold Sea, no Fae stands to oppose the human army on the mainland.
I tighten my jaw, a wave of guilt and dread crashing over me. Baev’kalath crumbles in my absence while I chase something I desire more. More than my kingdom. More than my duty.
And when I return, if I return, I may find nothing waiting for me but ash and ruin.
The world I knew may be gone, overtaken by the very enemies I once swore to hold at bay. Their banners might hang from the towers I was meant to protect. Their laws written over the bones of my people. I may come back to silence, to strangers, to a kingdom that no longer remembers my name.But I would make the same choice again.
Again and again.
Century after century.
For even the smallest chance that she might smile at me once more…and say her heart is still mine.
Chapter 4
Amara
With a wave of Anethesis’ hand, my invisible chain vanishes, but not my collar. My gaze follows the Golden Son as he departs, catching one last glimpse of his masked face when he pauses at the threshold and glances back. Then he is gone.
“Apologies, Princess,” Anethesis says, his voice carrying a silkiness that mirrors his long, pale hair. It falls in perfect sheets, framing his sharp features. “Ronin is an unfortunate necessity. I hope his visits do not cause you distress, especially in your condition.”
“I welcome his visits as much as I welcome yours,” I say coldly. “With all the enthusiasm of a hot poker to the eye.” I narrow my gaze. “Do you know he asks me the same thing? If the Ithranor are treating me well? Makes me question who I should be more wary of. Him or you.”
Anethesis laughs, the sound tight and clipped, as though forced through his lips. “Don’t be absurd. Driftspire is the safest place in all the realms, and no Fae will treat you more kindly than House Ithranor.” He lifts a hand, and I flinch, but he stops just short of my face. “Have we not fed you? Clothed you? Given you every comfort?”
I glare at him. “You’ve chained me like an animal.”
He nods, utterly unfazed. “If we hadn’t, you’d likely harm us or worse, try to escape, and we can’t allow that. We’ve waited far too long for you.” He exhales, his smile broadening with unnerving ease. “You don’t understand how precious you are to House Ithranor. You’ve given us the rarest gift of all. Hope.”
“Hope for what?” I ask, unease crawling under my skin.
“For a return to the old ways. To the world we should never have left.” His smile falters, replaced by a grim shadow of longing. “This new world has brought us nothing but death and suffering.” Then a flicker of light dances in his eyes, like the first rays of dawn. “But you can take us back. Back to Meranor, the ancestral lands of the Vornahl.”
