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But I don’t want clean.
I want his blood on my hands, the way he once relished mine on his. One cut for each scar I carry. Then more for Titaia.
My theïkós hums through my veins as the air around me sharpens with the desire to be the blade I wield. I curl my fingers against my palms and hold it back.
Not yet.
Nyssa’s life is more important than this man’s death.
My chain of thought is broken as the sound of soft steps enters the chamber.
“Would now be the time,” a voice says, “to remind everyone this is neutral ground?”
My head snaps toward the gate, my breath stuttering as his presence washes over me before my eyes even land on him. Lyxander. He steps forward with lethal grace, his silver eyes like lightning frozen mid-strike. His wings are gone, a pale blue himation draped over his shoulders in their place, clasped with a matching brooch to the one Silas wears.
Kato and Rhaya are close behind him, their footsteps echoing, similarly adorned with shimmering silver threads and icy-blue accents that align them with the North.
Slowly, I face forward once more, clinging to the precarious stillness anchoring me in place. Their presence carves deep into my chest, flooding it with emotions I refuse to look too closely at.
Lyxander’s words hang in silence as he stops beside Xerxes.
“It’s so good to see you again,” Keres says at last. “But I hear you also have something that belongs to me.”
“Nothing of mine belongs to you.”
“Enough,” Xerxes commands.
Keres’s gaze flicks back to Lyxander, then past him to the line of Acolytes. “Neutral ground,” he echoes. “I do love rules. Anything that can be broken, really.”
A chorus of metallic hisses fills the chamber as the Acolytes produce narrow blades of pale steel from within their sleeves.
“Step aside,” one of them orders.
Keres chuckles, even as he takes a small step back. His guards mirror him reluctantly, a rippling motion as they fall into calculated retreat.
Xerxes strides through the doors—Silas, Cynna, and Titaia moving in his wake. I bow my head again as I fall into step behind Titaia. But Lyxander remains still, his gaze heavy on me.
I fight the urge to touch the cuff at my wrist and check my disguise. He had told me Harpaurai gained an awareness of one another once they emerged. His seemingly immediate recognition must be because of that ability.
I brush past him, and only then does he follow, leaving Kato and Rhaya to take up the rear.
“When you see Aella,” Keres calls lightly, “tell her I’m looking forward to our upcoming nuptials.”
My footsteps falter as a low growl sounds behind me.
“Say her name again, and I’ll tear it from your tongue.”
Every muscle in my body tightens as the force of Lyxander’s words settles somewhere deep within me. My next breath trembles from my lips and I will myself to move, refusing to give anyone further hints that I’m anything more than what I’m pretending to be.
At least, for a while longer.
Chapter 47
Aella
Our group walks in silence toward the northern wing of the temple. The absence of further confrontation, of obstacles, should feel like relief, but instead it only leaves more room for my thoughts to run rampant as Lyxander’s presence hounds me through the halls.
I don’t understand him. He had an entire week where he could have followed me to Kosmos. He knew where I was and why, but he didn’t. So why come at all? Why now?
