Pebbled lips pulled back from massive white teeth.
She’d moved so quietly, despite her chains.
Cael took to the stairs, his clomping footsteps silenced by screams as the dragon ripped the keeper apart.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Trophonios’s workshop was silent, but not empty, as Tristan entered.
A lone figure bent over the Compendium at the far workbench, her tucked white wings glowing in the moonlight.
Tristan had just returned from Typhon Mountain, where Cael had slipped him a crucible full of dragon-fire. He’d known the instant he’d touched the warm graphite that his choice was made.
It took every ounce of his integrity to not portal straight to Tartarus.
But he needed to tell Ione first. In person. He owed her that much after all she’d done for him, for the rebellion.
A floorboard creaked beneath his foot and she turned, her honeyed hair sliding over a shoulder.
Her smile died when she met his gaze.
What expression was he wearing? He’d never been great at hiding his true feelings.
And right now, despite the difficult conversation ahead, effervescent joy and molten desire coursed through him at the thought of reuniting with Cassandra.
“Does Trophonios know you’re playing with his toys?” Tristan asked, an attempt at lightness.
Ione didn’t bite. Merely gestured to the seat across from her.
High Gods, why was this so strained? Why waseverythingbetween them so strained? As if the bond they’d shared in youth counted for nothing.
What a cruel trick of immortality—to age a friend slowly enough to mask centuries of change.
“I don’t need the jokes and the small talk, Tristan.” Ione rubbed her temples. “I can tell you’ve made your choice.”
“I have,” he said, taking his seat. Her hand lay on the table between them, but he didn’t reach for it.
“Born from phantom wings and mortal bones, a new Delphine will rise to light the way.I don’t think those words could have been any fucking clearer.”
Tristan flinched. He hadn’t heard Ione swear once since they’d been reunited.
“Delphine,” he whispered. “Not Empress. You could be one and not the other.”
Silence crackled between them, kinetic and combustible.
“Why do you want me?” he asked.
She jolted, her brows jumping. “I?—”
“No, honestly. Why do you wantme, specifically? Is it just because some Goddess says you should?”
She flattened her palms on the table, sneering. “Love is a luxury. One that people like us don’t enjoy unless we’re extremely lucky. We were, once. And we could be again if you’d just give us a chance. I’ve always known you were idealistic, but I never thought you’d be stupid enough to risk your people for somewoman.”
Tristan huffed out a bitter laugh, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “Adelphinae’s principles in action.”
Ione’s face went stony. “If you breach those wards and enter Tartarus, I cannot guarantee the Crystal Throne will be waiting for you when and if you’re able to come back.”
He sat up straight, looming above the table. “Are youthreateningme?” He spoke in a low, powerful voice. A Prince’s voice. AnEmperor’svoice. “It will be waiting for me because I am its true and rightful occupant. You may have built this movement, but you did so usingmyname. It would be very dangerous for you to forget that.”
