Tristan pressed his ear against the stone. In the hallway beyond, footsteps thumped and broadswords clanked. If he had to guess, nearly half the palace guards had come down to confront them. Shuffling sounded, as if the soldiers were stepping aside, followed by the clack of slow footsteps.
He’d recognize that gait anywhere. Unhurried. Self-assured. Arrogant, even.
A crazed laugh, bordering on hysterical, burst through the door. “There’s only one other person in Ethyrios besides me who could have entered this chamber.”
Tristan’s feathers shivered at the clarity, theproximity, of that voice.
“Hello, my dear brother,” Eamon said.
The last time Tristan had seen Eamon, he’d been taunting Tristan about how Tartarus was going to rip Cassandra to shreds. Taunting him about how he’d planned to sacrifice Tristan to shore up his own claim to the Crystal Throne.
If he were capable of it, Tristan would blast through this door and use his bare hands to peel Eamon’s flesh from his bones.
“Ironic, isn’t it?” Eamon continued. “You managed to escape one cell only to end up locked in another. Is that bitch Ione with you? She’s been making such a hassle for my citizens.”
“Fuck you, Eamon!” Ione shouted and Tristan fought the urge to clap a hand over her mouth.
“Sheiswith you,” Eamon chuckled. “My lucky day.”
“How many guards can you take?” Tristan whispered. “We should have suspected that he?—”
Ione pressed a hand against his chest. “There is something we can do…” she trailed off, searching his eyes. “A way to call for the Goddess’s assistance using the connection we forged during the Turning ceremony.”
“How?”
More shuffling sounded beyond the door followed by the metallic hiss of a broadsword being unsheathed. Eamon about to spill his own blood to open the chamber?
Shit, they hadseconds.
“It doesn’t matter,” Tristan whisper-shouted. “Whatever it is, just?—”
Ione grabbed him by the back of the neck and hauled their mouths together, pressing her body into his.
And though her lips were warm and soft, familiar even centuries later, he felt nothing. No passion. No stirring in his groin. No urge to wrap his arms around her.
He pushed her away with a soft snarl.
Then shock barreled through him as beads of water formed along his palm. He raised his hand, then looked to Ione, who wore a similar expression of astonishment. Lightning crackled at her fingertips and sparks flashed through her indigo eyes.
“What…” Tristan croaked out, “…what’s happening to us?”
“It worked,” Ione said, relief and awe softening her words. “I was worried that since you…” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Itworked.” She tucked her sack inside her cloak. “But we’ll only have the power temporarily. We can work together to create a storm.”
“I’ve never wielded water. How does it?—”
“Don’t think, justfeel.Like how you call upon the wind.”
Tristan planted his feet and lifted his palms, reaching for his wind. It swirled around him in a thrashing cyclone, but other than a few small bursts of water, he couldn’t get a handle on the new magic.
“It’s not working!” he shouted over the roar of his wind and the sizzle of Ione’s lightning.
“Water responds best to peace and calm!” Ione yelled, honey-colored strands whipping across her face.
How the fuck was he supposed to findcalmwhen his brother and a hallway full of Vasilikans and palace guards were waiting on the other side of that door?
A memory pierced his panic, one he could’ve sworn was sent by the Goddess herself.
Blue-gray eyes. Soft, supple skin. The scent of honey and rosewood. And a warm body moving atop him.
