Page 55

I don’t know who I’m more furious with—him, for withholding the truth, or myself, for believing it at all.

He knew. From the very beginning, he knew.

He saw the blade that first night, recognized it for what it was, and still, he said nothing. Instead of telling me the truth, he took me away from everything I had ever known.

Nyssa. Kallias.

Their faces flash in my mind, vivid and aching. He didn’t just take me—he put them at risk. He left them to face the fallout of my absence, to deal with the chaos I left behind.

I could go back.

My side of the bargain is fulfilled. I helped him get home and avoid recapture, and the mark that binds us hums quieter now, as if it knows. I could release him, walk away, and return to the Sorrows. I could find Nyssa, figure out some way to sneak her out, and we could flee together.

The idea is tempting, a lighthouse in the stormiest of seas, but even as I consider leaving, something holds me back.

My gaze falls to my bare hand, where no ring remains, nothing left to suppress the power beneath my skin. I’ve made progress; my theïkós doesn’t scream beneath my skin, but it doesn’t rest either—like the power is ready and waiting for me to use. And, somehow, the thought doesn’t scare me so much anymore.

If I leave now, I’ll lose my chance to learn, to become something more than what others have made me.

But what if that, too, was a lie?

Lyxander’s warning about theïkós—about the consequences of suppressing it, about death—had been the final push that made me accept his bargain. Was that just a way to manipulate me into coming here, or was there truth to it?

I heave a sigh, raking my fingers through my hair. I don’t know enough. Not about him, not about this magic, not about myself. And that uncertainty gnaws at me.

I need to know.

Before I can make any decision—before I can even think about leaving or staying—I need that one truth.

I stand, my muscles protesting from days of stillness, but I ignore the ache. My gaze catches on the mirror, and I wince.

My hair is still black, the braid falling apart, and my rumpled clothes are the same as I’d last been wearing on our final stretch through the mountains.

I reach for the wooden charm hanging around my neck, tug it free, then toss it onto the bed. The instant it leaves my skin, the magic fades, and my hair shifts back to its usual pale blond. I untangle the braid and comb my fingers through the strands until they fall in loose waves down my back.

I square my shoulders and lift my chin, forcing the tension in my body to ease. The reflection in the mirror still looks tired, but there’s a spark of determination in her eyes now, a flicker of resolve that wasn’t there before.

I turn away, crossing the room in a few strides, and pull open the door.

The hall is silent save for the distant murmur of voices carried to me on the air. I follow the sound until I find an arched opening to a stairwell carved into the marble. The air warms as I descend—one flight, then another, the voices growing louder and the tugging of the bargain mark lessening with each turn.

Finally, I reach the bottom, and the stairwell opens into a semicircle room. To the right, an unlit fireplace looms behind a large oval dining table. Tapestries and sculptures fill the spaces between tall arched windows, looking out over a snow-drenched landscape.

The mountainside falls away where the windows to the left overlook the sea, moonlight spilling across the restless waves below. On this side, another fireplace burns low, its light spilling across a large woven rug and the recamiers and chaise longues arranged around it.

Lyxander stands near the hearth, his wings tucked close to his back. Behind him, the two Harpaurai who had been in the room when I woke up have turned to watch me, their conversation halted. They exchange a glance and rise from their seats. One of them offers a tentative smile as she passes.

I wait until their footsteps retreat up the stairwell.

“Was it a lie?” My voice is loud in the silence that has fallen over the room.

He doesn’t move at first, but then he turns and lifts his gaze to meet mine. His face is impassive, carved from stone, but I watch him closely, searching for any crack in his calm. A flicker of guilt, a shadow of hesitation—anything to betray him. But there’s nothing. Only the faint ripple of tension beneath the surface.

“You’ll need to be more specific, little bird.”

“When we made the bargain, you said suppressing theïkós has consequences. You said it could end in death. Was it a lie?”

“No.”