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Guilt crashes over me, pulling me under its relentless current. He would still be alive if it weren’t for me. If I hadn’t let myself get so close, if I hadn’t fallen so easily for Thena’s lies and led us into her trap, he would still…
Kallias’s hand brushes mine.
I can’t bring myself to look at him. I should be the one providing comfort, not seeking it. But the grief in his gaze is overwhelming, and if I look too closely, I’m terrified it will only confirm that he blames me too.
Something tickles against my ankles, and I glance down. Small yellow and purple buds burst through the pebbled shore, their petals peeling back as the flowers bloom with unnatural speed. I stare at them blankly, too many emotions sprouting and tangling within me to pick them apart. My fingers tremble as I bend down and gather the delicate flowers into a bundle, then I step into the shallows and place the small bouquet gently on Maxim’s chest. The nape of my neck prickles with the awareness of eyes on me, and I try to ignore it as I return to Kallias’s side.
The High Acolyte steps forward, his voice low and even as he begins the rites. His words drown beneath the memories rushing through me—every laugh, every quiet moment, every sacrifice he made for us.
When it’s over, Kallias and I move together without a word. Our hands find the boat’s edges, and we push it farther into the water until the current embraces it and pulls it forward.
Kallias takes another step, raising his hand. A flicker of red-orange light sparks between his fingers before he releases it, and the flame leaps onto the cloth, spreading quickly. Fire blooms as Maxim’s boat drifts farther.
Holding my breath, I reach forward and take Kallias’s hand in mine, hoping to anchor him as the boat grows smaller.
“Nyssa,” Kallias whispers. “I’m not ready to let go.”
His words unravel me, and tears blur my vision, falling hot and unchecked down my face. I tighten my hold on his hand. “You don’t have to. Some things stay with us, always.”
Kallias pulls me toward him, wrapping his arms across my chest and resting his chin on top of my head. My focus stays locked on the boat, on the fire, on the fading image of Maxim as he disappears into the horizon, leaving only the glow of flames against the darkening sky.
Together, we stand in the water.
A fugitive spy and a ruinous prince, sending their steadfast guard out to sea.
Chapter 56
Aella
The fractured sky beyond the War Room window glows against the velvet sprawl of night. It almost looks like a dome of glass, encompassing as far as the eye can see, the cracks spreading slowly across the surface as more shards of silver and gold light fall away.
I wrap my arms loosely around myself, unwilling—or unable—to look away. It’s been four days since we returned to Kosmos from the Games…but not all of us. We’ve spent all our time in the War Room, turning our grief into work, discussing and discarding plan after plan to get Titaia back.
Beyond the window, the faintest wind shifts along the crumbling sky. Something unnerving stirs in its rhythm, creeping through the glass and curling into the stone-walled chamber like an uninvited guest. It brushes against the back of my neck, soft and murmuring, before sliding closer and tickling my ear.
“Daughter…”
The word coils through me, wraps around my sternum, and pulls. It isn’t the first time I’ve heard that title murmured in places too distant to trace, but now…it’s louder. Demanding.
The tug comes again, invisible and insistent, dragging my senses in every direction at once. I stiffen, every nerve in my body charged and taut, then I slowly turn away from the window and start toward the door.
Lyxander is at my side in an instant, and the heat of his body at my side eases some of the tension in my chest. He follows without hesitation, his boots scuffing softly against the floor as we sweep through the winding halls of Kosmos.
“What’s happening?” he asks.
I draw a breath, the air tightening in my lungs as the pull tangles against my ribs. “I think…the Anemoi are calling me.”
“Calling you how?”
“I feel it,” I say, pressing a hand to my chest. “In here.”
His eyes pulse with silver light, and he moves closer to my side.
The pull leads me to a heavy door I don’t recall passing before, but glimpses of the night sky and a courtyard are visible through the narrow slivers in the wood.
Four figures stand luminous in the dark, each impossibly tall and carved from something ageless. Wings rise angular and vast behind them, their forms echoing every storm, every zephyr, every breath of wind that has carved the world into itself.
I hesitate, my feet frozen against the stone floor.
