Page 137 of Fate of the Sun King

“Then he pretended he saved us to make himself look like a hero?” Erevan adds.

“How could I forget? Remember you were so scared you pissed yourself?”

“That was water. I spilled water. How many times do I have to say it?” Erevan exclaims, and we both start laughing at the well-worn joke.

“Gods, he’s always been such a fucking prick,” Erevan says after a moment of silence. “Why did we ever let him get away with that shit?”

“He was a royal heir,” I say. “And he was very good at getting his way.”

When I say that the four of us played as friends, I truly mean that there was a hierarchy within our tiny group, and I was always at the bottom, with Erevan coming in a close second.

“What do you think would have happened if Kyros hadn’t found you in the woods that day?” Erevan muses. It’s a question I’ve asked myself a thousand times.

“I would have died out there,” I say, knowing it’s true. Part of me is sure I would have tried to return to my father to make him suffer for what he did to my family. But he probably would have killed me in the process, and I’m not sure if I would have had the courage anyway. In the end, this was the better fate.

Now that I’m no longer a frightened child, I’ve considered returning to see if he’s still there, toiling in his hollow, miserable life.

Erevan doesn’t respond to that, and I stare at my now empty glass.

“So, what are you going to do?” I ask. “How are you going to… embarrass him?”

“I’m not sure. I’ll think of something. Surely that bastard has some skeletons I’ve yet to uncover.”

He looks over at me, and I wish I could tell him everything I know. Would it be the thing he needs? If Aphelion were to learn that Tyr is alive, nothing would save Atlas’s neck. But I can’t. The words stick to my tongue. It’s one thing to skirt around Atlas’s rules and utter a few half-truths sprinkled here and there, but it’s quite another to spill out his secrets like poison injected directly into a vein.

“If you know of anything?” Erevan suggests.

“Fuck off,” I bite. “You know I can’t.”

My anger coalesces into swollen clouds, threatening to drown me as Erevan gives me a grim, pitying look.

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. I’ll think of something.”

After my talk with Erevan, I head back to the Sun Palace, doing my best to go unnoticed by the dozens of courtiers filtering in from every part of the continent. But no matter how much I avoid eye contact, keeping my head down, there’s no hiding these fucking wings on my back. I stand out like a flashing red light over an inky pond.

Though I look straight ahead, I feel every curious eye peeling me apart. Thankfully, I know this palace like I know the back of my hand, and before long, I’m able to maneuver my way into a quieter area of the building.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I sag against the wall, running a hand through my hair.

“Gabriel.”

Callias, the palace stylist, storms in my direction, flanked by two of the Tributes. I remember them as the ones that Lor became friendly with, Halo and Marici.

“We’ve been looking for you,” Callias says, and I suppress a groan. Why the fuck can’t everyone just leave me alone?

“Where is Lor?” the one on Callias’s left asks. Halo, with her dark curly hair and deep complexion and her lips currently pulled into a frown.

“What?” I ask.

Callias’s guilty smile is sheepish.

“I might have let it slip that I’d seen her,” he says, and I sigh loudly.

“You’re really shit at keeping secrets,” I say.

“I know,” he agrees.

“We want to see her,” the other Tribute, Marici, says. “We’ve been worried sick about her.”