Kale Harbor is unnervingly still. No sails on the water. No cries of children racing the tide. No bustle of dockhands cursing under their breath. The silence clings thick to everything.
A breath rumbles in my chest. “I won’t walk into another ambush. Not with Amara’s life in the balance. Not when time slips like sand between our fingers.”
“Modok is dead. Nyraxes too. The Fae are finished here.” Her eyes flick past me to the Golden Son, bent over a water barrel, washing salt and grime from his face. “The Legion will be the danger here.”
My jaw locks, teeth grinding. “And you’re certain you want to hand him over to them?”
“He’s the only leverage we have. Their commander. They’ll bend if he tells them to.”
“And what if that command is to shred us to ribbons?” I say. “That human owes us no loyalty.”
Zyphoro only gives a languid shrug, shrugs, as if the thought doesn’t stir her blood in the slightest. “Then I’ll take him apart. Piece by screaming piece. Until his little soldiers do as they’re told. Makes no difference to me. So long as it spares us a battle.”
A bitter laugh slips from me, low and humorless. “Never thought I’d see the day you’d speak of avoiding a fight.”
The corner of her mouth lifts, but her gaze stays on the land. “Amara saved me,” she says, her voice carried on the warm breeze curling over the waves. “I owe her a debt. Stilling my blade for a day is the least I can do.” Then her eyes cut to mine, sharp as the dagger she toys with. “But the moment she is well…”
“Yes, yes.” I roll my eyes and sigh. “Then the oceans will run red with the blood of your enemies.”
Her hand snaps out, gripping my forearm. The unexpected weight of it startles me, but what unsettles me more is the sheen in her eyes.
“I will keep the Legion occupied while you get Amara to the Grove.”
My shoulders sag, the truth unraveling itself between us. “That’s what this is, isn’t it? You’re planning to be the distraction. The bait.” I shake my head, voice dropping low. “Sister, I cannot let you. It should be me.”
Her fingers shift, softness turning to steel, before she thumps my shoulder with a playful blow. I wince, though it’s nothing more than a nudge.
“You can’t be everywhere at once,” she says, almost gently. “Amara. The Legion. All the wars you insist on fighting. Lucky for you, you’ve a twin who can stand where you cannot. Besides, it may not even come to that. Ronin may still control them.”
Her words are meant as comfort, but they strike something deeper. A reminder of all the places I cannot be. Of all I’ve already failed. Estra’s face rises unbidden in my mind, my daughter swallowed by the void, lost to me.
Without speaking, my sister steps closer, as if she can feel the dread gathering inside me, strangling me from within.
“What if this doesn’t work, Zyphoro?” I murmur, hating the fracture in my voice. “What if I lose them both?”
She exhales, steady as ever. “We have never known defeat, brother. That truth will not change today.”
And in that moment, I see her more clearly than ever. The other half of my coin. Where I am steel, she is fire. Where I falter, she stands unshaken. When the weight drags one of us down, the other rises to bear it. Together, we are unbreakable.
How many centuries have been stolen from us? Stolen from her, her name struck from memory, her face erased. Yet now, with Zyphoro Phaedren restored, what wonders, what terrors, might we unleash?
I will hold my wife and daughter again with my sister at my side.
Orios’ heavy strides upon the deck shift my thoughts, the clang of his steel boots thunderous. He stands a mountain beside us, his armor so black its sheen reflects nothing, spiked pauldrons and flowing leather cloak at his back, his fists hidden beneath sharp gauntlets. Behind him, Solena appears, her dark hair slicked back and braided intricately down the middle of her head, trailing like a whip down her back, her fingertips stained now forever with black ink.
With one hand she carries Orios’ helm, while her other nestles inside his.
“Rook,” Orios says. “Reon is fading. We must move now.”
My eyes flick to the cabin door, and a weight like iron pools in my gut. Nerves crawl through my veins, strange and unwelcome. I’ve longed for this moment, yet dreaded it all the same. There is no turning back. Not now.
The heavy tread of boots on timber reaches me before the Golden Son himself steps into view, wearing a mismatch of whatever scraps of armor we found lying around the ship. Our gazes collide, no words needed. Hatred and malice simmer there, stitched together by duty. Amara’s fragile, stubborn threads the only thing binding us from bloodshed.
Zyphoro steps forward with a predatory smile. “It is time, darling.” She reaches to brush a stray blond lock from his eye. He bats her hand away, glaring.
She laughs. “Oh, we’ll have to get much closer than that if you want an escort to your army.”
The runes carved into her skin flare to life, pulsing with light as her vast black wings unfurl in a thunderous snap. The wind catches their span before she folds them into a lethal, elegant bloom. She opens her arms.
